The Crush (The Crush Series Book 1)

The Return

I had thumbtacks between my fingers. A few more between my teeth, hands pressed against the wall to hold my new prized possession firmly in place.

A map of the Himalayas. Mountains that rose and fell and touched higher in the sky than a boy growing up on Texas cattle land could ever comprehend. My fingers reverently traced all the illustrated details as I worked, matching them in my mind with all the things I had read.

Someday I’d go. Someday I’d pack up my bag, and I’d go. Leave this small town where everything was the same and see a whole world where everything was different.

“Danny!”

I could hear my mamá calling from the other room, the kitchen radio dial being turned down. I pushed the last pin into place before I took a step back, surveying the latest addition to my collection. Someday I’d go…and I couldn’t wait.

“Mijo.” My mamá’s voice sifted through the door along with a quick knock that wouldn’t have startled me even if I hadn’t known it was coming.

“I’m ready. I’m ready,” I grumbled, crossing to swing the door open. When I did, her foot was already tapping where she stood in the hall, dressed in her red church dress and heels, her curly brown hair tied back with a matching ribbon. Despite her obvious hurry, she greeted me with a smile and took a moment to come in, her quick eyes confirming that I was actually dressed before they shifted to the ornamented wall.

“Looks good.” She grinned down at me as I followed her to stand and survey. “Will you send me a postcard?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and we both let our gazes roam over the distant geography for a while before she gave me a squeeze and turned to crouch in front of me, not having to bend as far to meet me at eye level as she once did. “You promise?”

I nodded, and her eyes studied my face the same way I had been studying my maps, looking at me like I was her own favorite destination.

“Come, aventurero. You can plot our course to church,” she said with a wry grin, her fingers deftly fastening the top button of my collared shirt.

“Mamá,” I complained, tugging at the neck and making the similarly outgrown sleeves of my shirt even more apparent. “It’s too tight.”

She laughed, ruffling my hair as we headed for the door. “Better stop growing then. I can only sew so fast.”

When we reached the threshold, I tried to steal a last quick glance over my shoulder at the freshly updated display. She saw me anyway.

“Come on, they’ll still be there when you get back.”