by Roxie Noir
I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something weird going on. I’ve known Caleb for twenty-six years now, and the man is up to… something.
“I’m trying to find more stout,” I say, popping back into the room. “If you see a keg, take it to the front. We’re going through it faster than I thought we would.”
“Gotcha,” he says.
Then he looks around, puzzled.
“Is there a system in here?”
I just sigh.
“The system is that we need to have an all-staff meeting in which we hammer home the importance of organization,” I say.
For a long moment, we both just look. Finally, Caleb points.
“Is that it with the yellow tape?” he asks. “I don’t have my glasses on.”
“Sure is,” I tell him, making my way over to the keg. “Weren’t you gonna get contacts?”
“They bother my eyes,” he says. “I think there’s another one right next to it.”
We each grab one, then carry them out, through the warehouse and between the huge silver vats. Today is the brewery’s Fall Fest, and it’s going even better than last year’s.
The front room is jam-packed with people buying beer. The patio — which is at least twice the size of the front room — is hopping. This year a couple of food trucks set up in the overflow parking lot, we rented a pumpkin-shaped bouncy house, and later tonight we’ll be lighting the bonfires.
There’s a part of me that can’t believe all this is really happening, but I also know exactly how much blood, sweat, and tears went into it. I’ve got the spreadsheets.
“Thanks,” I tell Caleb as we put the kegs down. “I’ll hook this one up, then I’ll be out —”
“You don’t think we need more of the… blond?” he says.
“Are we out?”
“Seems like you should be sure. Also, the cider. People have been talking about it a lot, you should probably grab some more of that one too.”
I’m crouching by the empty keg, disconnecting the tap, but I stop what I’m doing and look up at him.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says much, much too quickly.
“Caleb,” I say, slowly. “You’re as jumpy as a long-tailed cat —”
“There you are!” says another, female voice, and I turn.
It’s Daniel and his fianceé Charlie, and they’re both coming toward me.
“Hi,” I tell them, more suspicious by the second. “Everything all right?”
“Completely fine,” Charlie says. “But do you remember that time you asked if I could make custom tables for the big room? What size were you thinking?”
I unhook the old keg, move it out of the way, tap the new one and slide it into place without answering. All three of them are just standing there, watching me, while I work.
“What happened?” I finally ask, standing and brushing my hands together.
They look at each other.
“Nothing,” Daniel says.
“Did someone pop the bouncy house and you’re trying to fix it before I see it so you don’t have to listen to me bitch about insurance?” I ask. “Is there some…”
I trail off. I’m so confused that I don’t even have a suspicion about what’s going on. I’m just certain that something is, indeed, going on.
“You’ve lost your marbles,” Daniel declares. “We just came to say hi.”
“So it’s cool if I go outside and make sure the bouncy house is still up to code,” I say, pointing at the door.
“I do think we should talk about the tables —”
Charlie gives up on that as I walk past her, toward the door that leads outside.
“Seth!” Daniel shouts. “It’s so nice in here!”
“Shit,” I hear Caleb say as I step through, the door closing behind me.
It’s fucking beautiful today. This is the reason people move to the Virginia mountains: it’s clear and crisp and cool, the forest behind the brewery mottled orange and red and gold, the mountains unfolding into the distance the same bright hues of autumn.
It smells good. It feels good, and all the better for knowing that autumn never lasts nearly long enough.
That said, nothing seems to be on fire behind the brewery, so I head around the side, an unpleasant twist in the pit of my stomach at what I might find. Really, they should have just left me alone. I’d probably still be in there, double-checking that we had enough of each kind of beer.
As I walk, I can’t find anything wrong. The bouncy house is fine, if bouncy. The tower of hay bales isn’t on fire. Everyone seems to be having a perfectly good time out here, so maybe my brothers were just being —
Then I see the hair.
I know instantly why they didn’t want me out here.
She’s here, standing fifty feet away. Her back is to me but I still see that shock of red curls in my dreams. I’d know it anywhere.
I’m still walking. I don’t think I could stop if I wanted to.
I had no idea she was in town. I haven’t seen her — haven’t heard from her — in two years, not since I called her at midnight after my buddy’s wedding, a little drunk and filled with the kind of loneliness that a stranger with a nice ass can’t fix.
“Seth!”
It’s Caleb again, and now he’s power walking across the patio, barreling toward me.
I just cross my arms over my chest.
“You gotta go back in there,” he says, closing the distance. “There’s, uh, everything exploded. All the tanks. Stuff is on fire? Your computer is an arc reactor now? It’s mayhem.”
“I’m sure Daniel can fix it,” I say, and start walking again. Behind him, I can see Levi, his secret girlfriend June, and his best friend Silas watching us. I’m tempted to wave, since apparently I’m a spectator sport now.
“Godzilla showed up,” he says. “And there’s a hostage situation.”
“I’m just going to say hello,” I tell him. “That’s all. I swear, Caleb.”
“Shit,” I can hear him say as I step around him.
A breeze blows. I swear all noises hush. I walk up, reach out, tap her on the shoulder.
Delilah turns, and for a moment, she just looks at me.
Then she smiles, and I feel like the sun just turned on.
“Hey,” she says. “I thought you might be here.”
“You thought right,” I say. “How have you been?”
Chapter Six
Delilah
Still Two Years and Three Months Ago
“Go ahead, I want to say goodbye to someone,” I call across the dark patio to Lainey.
“You want us to wait?”
“Nah, I’m good,” I say.
“I’ll text you tomorrow about hiking,” Beau shouts as they head off, past the glow of the bonfires.
There’s a part of my brain that knows what’s good for me. It’s the logical part. The rational part. The part that identifies patterns and understands cause and effect.
That part of my brain is politely suggesting that perhaps I could also leave right now.
But the rest of me — not just my brain, of my entire being — isn’t interested in leaving. The rest of me doesn’t give a shit about pattern identification, or about cause and effect, or about knowing what’s in my best interest.
It cares that Seth Loveless is back there, and that three hours ago he gave me a hug that I’ve been replaying on an endless loop ever since.
That’s all. A hug. It wasn’t an embrace. He didn’t wrap me in his arms. He certainly didn’t hold me close. Nothing but a friend-I-haven’t-seen-in-a-while hug, and here I am still thinking about the way his body ever-so-briefly felt against mine.
I try to look casual as I head back to the bonfires, as if I’ve got my eye out for someone but it doesn’t really matter if I find him or not. I walk as though I’d prefer to find this person and say a proper goodbye, but if I don’t, it’s no big deal.
Truth is, I think my hands are shaking.
The truth is that before today I haven’t seen him in two years, not since he called me at midnight, his voice like silk and sandpaper, to ask if we could meet somewhere halfway between us.
I haven’t seen him since I said yes and grabbed my keys while he named a town. I called Joshua, my then-boyfriend, from the road and told him I didn’t think we should see each other any more. When I got the Old Dixie Inn, I’d been single for about two hours.
Two days later, I left at four in the morning while he was still asleep. I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t say anything, just put on the clothes I’d worn on the drive up and left.
Until today, we haven’t talked since. We still haven’t really talked, because the polite chatter of hi, how are you, what are you up to these days, oh you moved back to town? can’t be counted as talking.
Just like that hug can’t be counted as a hug. Here I am, though, wandering through the half-dark with my hands shaking and an entire nest of bats fluttering through my chest cavity, feeling like they might burst out into the night.
Maybe he’s seeing someone now. Maybe if he’s not seeing someone — and Seth is never really seeing someone — he’s already got some other girl tonight.
Maybe I’m going to go up to him only to realize that he’s got his arm around her, and I’m going to feel like an idiot. Maybe last time was really the last time, like we always swear it is.
Finally, I spot him. My heart leaps.
My stupid heart always leaps.
He’s standing there, holding a beer, talking to someone. A man. It’s hard to tell in the firelight, but it looks like his older brother’s best friend whose name I don’t remember right now, but who used to be around the Loveless house sometimes.
Steve? Simon? Skip?
And then Seth looks over at me, and in the dark his face is exactly like I remember it.
I stop wondering if he’s with someone else.
“Delilah,” Seth says as I walk up. “You remember Silas? Levi’s friend.”
“Hi,” I say, and we shake hands. “You look familiar.”
“Likewise,” he says, smiling at me.
It’s a nice smile. I vaguely remember a lot of girls talking about this smile when we were in high school.
“Delilah just moved back to open a tattoo shop,” Seth tells him.
Something touches my jacket, moves it against my back. Presses in right against the base of my spine.
Seth’s hand. I breathe, focus on the inhale, the exhale.
“Where from?” Silas asks. If he sees what Seth’s doing, he says nothing.
“Leesburg, up north,” I say. “I just got back a few weeks ago.”
“Weeks?” Seth says, a frown in his voice.
“Well, welcome home,” Silas says. “I, for one, am glad you’re here because the only place to get inked up now is Deadbeat Tattoos over in Grotonsville, and from what I hear you’re better off with a ballpoint pen and a needle.”
Seth glances at me, an odd look in his eyes. He presses his palm against my back and even through a jacket and my shirt, heat flares.
Silas seems nice and all, but we have to wrap this conversation up.
“Well, if you ever need anything, look me up,” I tell Silas. “Southern Star Tattoos. Grand opening in a few more weeks. Tell all your friends!”
“Tempting,” he says. “I’ve been considering getting the text of the Fifth Amendment somewhere so I can quit repeating myself to rich idiots who don’t know the law. On my ass, maybe.”
I laugh, starting to remember Silas a little better.
Seth’s thumb strokes my spine. I stand a little straighter, concentrate a little harder.
“That’s a good place for text, actually,” I say. “Plenty of space, and since they don’t tend to be exposed to much sunlight, the art is less likely to fade and blur.”
“Huh,” he says, thoughtfully. “Interesting.”
I glance at Seth again. His eyes meet mine, indigo in the dark. On my back his hand lifts briefly, then slides under my jacket. Skin on skin.
My hands have stopped shaking.
“I actually just came by to say goodnight,” I tell the two of them, a lifetime of politeness training taking over. “It was good seeing you today.”
“Likewise,” says Silas, waving his beer in the air.
Seth’s still looking at me, that expression on his face, and it feels like the firelight is his gaze: rushing, flickering, heated, relentless.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says after a moment, one side of his mouth lifting into a small smile. His thumb strokes my back again, dips into the valley of my spine.
“Thanks,” I say, softly. “You never know what’ll happen between here and the parking lot.”
“No, but you can make an educated guess,” he says.
His thumb strokes my back one more time. It’s not a gentle stroke. It’s firm, like he’s trying to find the notches in my spine. Like he’s testing me.
I don’t budge.
“I’ll see you later,” he says to Silas, turning his head.
“Later,” Silas says, holding up his beer, and we walk into the dark.
Chapter Seven
Seth
Still Two Years and Three Months Ago
The three hundred feet between the bonfire and the parking lot is the longest walk I’ve ever taken. It’s long because the whole way, I can feel my brothers watching from where they’re standing by the bonfires, and I know what they’re thinking. After all, they did their best to keep me away from her earlier.
It’s long because there are still people here, at Fall Fest, waving and saying hello.
But mostly it’s long because she came over to say goodnight. It’s long because she didn’t move away from my hand on her back, because she sank into me. It’s long because when I touched her she gave me a look that made me feel like I could throw lightning bolts and make it rain.
In my less lucid moments, I sometimes wonder if she’s a sorceress. A witch, maybe. Some sort of enchanting demon, because what besides black magic could explain her hold over me?
“You do this every year?” she finally asks.
“By this, you mean Fall Fest? Yes,” I say.
“You guys make good beer.”
“You mean Daniel makes good beer,” I tell her. “I make good business decisions.”
That gets a smile out of her, a quick laugh.
“Of course you do,” she says, teasing. “I’m sure you’ve got a complicated flow chart for every decision.”
“Who says they’re complicated?”
“So there are flow charts,” she says, laughing.
Her laugh makes me feel like silly putty, like she can mold me however she wants. It always has.
“I can’t make staffing and overhead decisions based on a whim and a prayer, can I?”
“You could,” she points out.
She looks at me, her eyes dancing, her smile in the fine creases around them. I’m light as a feather, needy as a black hole. Her car is on the other end of the parking lot, and it feels like miles away.
“Can I show you something?”
“What?”
I reach into her pocket and take her hand. It’s warm as the bonfire we just left, and her fingers wrap around mine just like I remember.
“A surprise,” I say, and steer toward the shadow behind the brewery, a spot where the lights from the parking lot don’t reach.
The surprise is that when we reach the dark I turn, pull her in, push her up against the wall. The surprise is that she’s already pulling me toward her as I do, head back, lips slightly parted.
The surprise is that when I unzip her jacket, her nipples are already hard.
“This the goodnight you were looking for?”
“Something like it.”
I push myself against her, already rock-hard. She makes a noise. I do it again.
“Good, I was afraid I might misinterpret,” I say. “Usually when you summon me you’re a littl
e more direct.”
“Silas was there,” she says, releasing the zipper on my jacket, her hands sliding over my shirt. “Half your family was ten feet away, I couldn’t just walk up and say hey Seth, wanna fuck.”
I grab one leg, hike it over my hip. She gasps, one hand clenching my shirt, cool knuckles against my warm skin.
“You could say it now,” I tell her, stroking my thumb along the gusset of her jeans.
“Hey Seth,” she whispers, her lips so close they’re brushing mine. “Wanna fuck?”
At last, I crush my mouth against hers.
Somehow, we make it to her car with our clothes on. She drives, and I don’t ask where we’re going. I just watch her, face lit by the dashboard lights. Lips dark, skin pale, chest still heaving.
She turns off the main road onto a gravel one that disappears into the forest, turns right. Before she shuts the headlights off I see the NO TRESPASSING sign, and then it’s dark as a tomb and I pull her onto me.
The first time is always rough, haphazard, frantic. We fuck like we’re time bombs. Usually it’s on the floor, sometimes a table. This time we spill into the back seat of her car, half-shedding our clothes as we go like we’re in high school again.
The only thing she says is are you still good? And I answer as long as you are and then I’m inside her, up against the back seat, and she’s bracing herself with one leg against the driver’s seat, the Jesus handle in one hand, her shirt and bra shoved up over her breasts as I wrap a seat belt around my fist and use it for leverage.
It doesn’t take long. The first round never does. When we both finish we’re a tangle of limbs and clothing and car parts, and I rest my forehead against hers and for a few moments, the world stops spinning and we float.
Then I clear my throat and ask if she keeps napkins in her car.
Delilah is staying in her parents’ guest house, so I offer to take her back to my place. There’s no point pretending that we’re done, so I don’t.
Instead, she drives us to the Hillside Motor Hotel, right outside the national forest. She doesn’t say why she doesn’t want to go to my place, and I don’t bother asking. I’d rather fuck again than fight.