“No.” I giggle. “There’s nothing sexy about a grown man being called daddy—sugar or not.”
“So true. Do you remember the—”
“Lion tamer,” we say in unison before bursting into laughter.
“He couldn’t have tamed a first grader. Where do you find these guys?” I laugh, wiping at my eyes. “His ponytail was epic, though. I—ah!”
When I jump at the sound of a knock to my left, my elbow hits the middle console. My phone goes flying across the car and lands in the passenger’s seat with a thud. I barely register the glow leaned against the seat before I take in the white of a smile on the other side of my door.
My heart blips like it’s been tased.
Dane grips the top of the car, the sleeves of a white T-shirt slipped back on his arms and exposing his solid biceps. The haze of the lights from the patio creates a spectacular shadow across his face that steals my breath.
“Neely!” Grace’s voice shouts from the other seat. “What the heck just happened?”
“Hey,” Dane says, ignoring the commotion next to me. His cologne, spicy and warm, percolates through the night air.
“Hey,” I reply.
His mouth forms an easy curve. “You gonna get out?”
“Yeah, I . . .” Glancing down in response to the shouted demand from my phone, I sigh. Dealing with Grace, who is going to want answers, doesn’t sound appealing. Neither does trying to tiptoe around the minefield that is Dane Madden. As Grace shouts again, my decision is made. “I need to get that.”
“Sounds like it.”
Bending over the console, I snatch the device. “I’m here. Sorry.”
“What happened? And whose voice did I hear?”
“I dropped the phone.” I look straight ahead, trying to keep my voice void of any emotion whatsoever. “Can I call you tomorrow?”
“No, you can’t call me tomorrow. I mean, you can, but that voice—I need answers. It had that twang that makes me want to . . . This could get awkward.”
“You think?” I choke back a laugh. “Let me call you tomorrow.”
“Call me tonight. Unless you’re taking more of my advice, and in that case, a call after breakfast would be sufficient, you little minx.”
My eyes flip to Dane’s. His arms are now flexed. The lines in his forearms are etched deeply, thicker than I remembered, and I wonder vaguely if they don’t look bigger because of the delicate green and yellow strings around his wrist.
“Neely,” Grace grumbles. “Don’t ignore me.”
“I’m sorry.” Shaking my head, I pull my purse onto my lap. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“That’s a good sign!”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It could be,” she chirps.
“Goodbye, Grace.”
“Go get ’em, tiger.”
Laughing at the purr she adds to the end of her goodbye, I end the call. That’s all it takes to shift everything inside both me and the car.
Dane’s presence is everywhere—outside my door, in the air, and rolling through my blood.
As I look up at his crooked smile brought on by Grace’s antics, which I’m sure he overheard, another zap of energy catapults through my chest. “She’s a bit of a handful,” I say.
“I’d venture to say I’d like her. She sounds fun.”
“She’s fun all right.”
With a chuckle that trickles across my skin, he opens my door. “Unless you drove all the way here just to spy on everyone from the parking lot, let’s go.”
“I’m not spying on anyone.” Even as I say the words, I skim my eyes down his wide neck, the way his shirt drags over the length of his shoulders, and at the narrowing of his sides into the waistband of his jeans.
“Whatever you say.” He steps back, giving me room to exit the car.
My sneakers hit the asphalt. I stand, my legs akin to Jell-O that’s almost perfectly set. They’re just a touch jiggly from the energy careening through me.
You’re a big girl. You can handle this.
The door latches shut.
“I know you aren’t here to see me,” he says. “But I’m glad you’re here anyway.”
“Thanks.” My lips twist, afraid to smile. I look up as a roar of laughter comes from inside the patio area, and the warmth in my chest spreads my lips into the biggest grin. “I’m glad I’m here too. I think.”
“They’ll be happy to see you.” He tucks his chin to his chest and heads the opposite way of the front door.
“Where are you going?” I ask. Pointing the other way, I make a face. “The door’s over there.”
He stops and sighs. “Yeah, and if you go in that way, everyone will stop you, and it’ll be closing time before you get outside. Follow me.” He waits to ensure I do as instructed before turning around and making his way to the corner of the property.
As I walk along the row of hedges, picking out voices I remember, feeling my heart fill with memories, I watch him move. Confidence oozes from every step he takes. Curiosity takes root.
“Dane?”
“Yeah?” He stops at the corner. I can see a little opening where the two fences, each forming a separate wall of the patio, meet. His Adam’s apple bobs, his hands going into the pockets of his jeans as he awaits my question.
I await it too. It was on the tip of my tongue, an inquiry as to what he’s been up to. Not building houses or fishing with Matt or playing poker with Penn, but all the other things—the little things—that make up who a person is. The hours from one a.m. to four. The way you fill an early Saturday morning or a late Friday night. What you do on a rainy Wednesday evening.
I consider his responses and pair them to what I know about him to be true, and how some of those answers will be impossible to shake. I realize I don’t want to know.
“You go first,” I say, nodding to the opening in the fence.
He pulls his brows together. He starts to speak but stops himself short. A realization settles over his eyes, muddling the green that was cloudless only a few moments ago.
With a shrug, he brushes the shrubs out of the way and disappears on the other side.
The little pendant hanging around my neck, a heart my grandmother gave me, vibrates with each breath I take. My shirt clings to my skin. My shorts are suddenly too tight. As I hear a chorus of laughter float through the greenery, I almost wish I hadn’t come.
Taking a deep breath, I grip the metal fencing. “Why are you so nervous?” I whisper to myself. “You’re going to say hi. Trade some stories. And you’ll be on a plane back to the city in a couple of days. Nothing to be nervous about.”
The metal is warm to the touch as I slide between the poles. The brick paver patio is strewn with pieces of leaves and an occasional beer tab as I step through. Instantly, my nostrils are filled with scents of spilled beer and garlic from Mucker’s famous pizza. Adjusting my shirt, getting my bearings, I watch as Dane slips into a seat beside Claire at the long table in the middle of the area.
Standing on the pavers, looking at a table of faces I love so much, all I can do is smile.
“Look who it is.” Matt’s voice rings out above the music playing in the little overhead speakers. His face splits with a wide, handsome grin. “It’s a good thing you showed up.”
“Or what?” I tease. “What were you going to do about it?”
He scoots his chair back and heads my way. Claire, Penn, Dane, and a couple of our other friends are watching us from the table.
“I was giving you until tomorrow, and then I was coming to find you.” Matt’s arms spread and I fall into them with no hesitation. “How are ya, Nee?”
“Good,” I say. My entire body relaxes against him. “How are you?”
“As handsome as ever.” He winks as he pulls back.
“That’s the truth. I’ve been all over this country and have failed to find a guy as handsome as you,” I joke.
“That’s about right.” His chest rumbles as he chuckles. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”
He takes his thumb and rubs it on my forehead, right between my eyes. It’s something he started in fifth grade when Penn hit me in the face with a spitball. As I screamed on the playground and threatened Penn within an inch of his life, Matt came to my rescue. Or so I thought. He wiped the area with his thumb to quiet me down, and then, as I stopped yelling and almost felt better, he whispered in my ear he was really rubbing it in.
I kicked him in the shin.
I also opened the door that afternoon to find Matt and his older brother, Dane, on my doorstep so he could apologize. Matt muttered through his apology while I wondered why my stomach felt like it was full of butterflies as I stared at the taller, slightly lighter version of the boy who tormented me. I may have forgotten about the spitball and what Matt’s “sorry speech” entailed, but I never lost the butterflies.
“Okay, okay,” Penn says, gripping my shoulder. “My turn.” He spins me to face him, and then, before I know it, I’m lifted off the ground.
“Penn!” I laugh as he turns a circle with me in his arms. “You’re a brat. Put me down.”