Whit
Jonas scrambles out of the passenger seat, eager to be on school grounds for the first time in his life. And on a Thursday night, no less.
Rummaging through my purse for our tickets, I follow Jonas into the school and join him in the entry line.
I didn’t bother inviting anyone with us tonight, since Jonas isn’t actually in the art show, but looking around at the families present, I’m wishing I had.
There seems to be an average of four adults for every kid here.
I hand Jonas his ticket with a thin-lipped smile. “You see Theo around here anywhere?”
Raised on the balls of his feet, he looks around. “Not yet. He’s probably already in there.”
A family I’ve never seen before—with both parents and two sets of grandparents hovering around a kid who looks to be about thirteen—is in front of us.
The pretty blond mom turns to us with a surprisingly sweet expression.
As somebody used to pity or disdain or apathy from people in this town, I give a smile in return that is awkward as hell.
“Do you have a piece in the show tonight?” she asks Jonas.
“Uh…no. We’re here ’cause my friend does.”
“What a great friend you are.” She smiles at Jonas, then up at me.
My heart soars, and I rest my hand on Jonas’s shoulder to keep from hugging this strange woman and embarrassing everybody. “He’s a great kid.”
“I’m Charlotte,” she says, extending her hand. “Are you guys in 4-H?”
“Whit.” I shake her hand, it’s firm yet soft, and she has the most stunning cobalt blue nails. “Jonas just joined, actually.”
“Hopefully you love it. Our son, Landon, has been doing it for…oh, about five years now,” she says.
Landon turns to us with a tentative smile upon hearing his name, then resumes conversation with his grandparents.
“We should exchange numbers. I’m not claiming to be an expert, but if you ever have questions about any of this 4-H stuff, I’m happy to try to help. ”
“That would be amazing. Thank you.” I slowly recite my number, jittery with nervous excitement as she types it into her phone. “I absolutely love your nails, by the way.”
“My friend does them—I’ll text you her info.”
The line moves ahead so Charlotte and her family are handing in their tickets, and she gives us a quick wave and a “See you in there!”
Jonas and I turn our tickets in, then head toward the music emanating from the school gymnasium.
There have to be a hundred people here, milling about and slinging winter coats on the backs of chairs to claim their spots at one of the many beautifully decorated tables.
This is more like a fancy gala than what I expected from a 4-H fundraiser, and I’m suddenly feeling underdressed in my black jeans and green blouse.
Paintings, sketches, pottery, and even a welded sculpture are displayed in the center of the gym, and Jonas instantly lights up, pointing wildly at a landscape painting. “That’s Theo’s. Come see it.”
He runs ahead, and my boots clomp across the shiny wood floor. I dodge people and tables to catch him, and by the time I reach Theo’s art, Jonas is taking off once again. This time with his new buddy, Theo.
Less than six months ago, this was the last place I saw us being.
For one, because I was apparently oblivious to the fact that Jonas loves animals.
For two, because trying to convince him to do anything besides play video games was like pulling teeth.
And for three, because I was certain we wouldn’t last a month of school before they’d be expelling him.
Somehow I didn’t step foot into the principal’s dingy office for the entire month of September. I should be feeling better than ever before since I’m not breathing in that musty, moldy air or constantly stressing about Jonas’s well-being. I should be…but I’m not.
We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Colt.
Jonas and I were trapped in an endless night, with no signs of daybreak until he showed up.
He was the warmth of sunlight on our faces, and the breath of fresh spring air, and the new dawn we desperately needed.
He was the sun, and I was the moon, our fleeting time together an eclipse.
I tuck my arms across my chest and scan the gymnasium.
All I see is Colt—every cowboy hat, every shaggy head of brown hair, every pair of suntanned, muscular arms. And in a room of primarily farmer-type people, that’s all I see.
So I choose to focus on the art, assessing each piece as if I’m a professional critic.
Lost in the curves of blue along a rocky lakeshore drawn by a high school senior, I startle easily when the voice I’ve dreamt about every night swoops into my space.
“Hey, Mama.” He’s peering over my shoulder, so close I could turn around and kiss him. Quickly, before anybody noticed. “Whatcha looking at?”
I turn so I’m looking at him. The real him. Not the apparitions I’ve been avoiding all around this fluorescent-lit gym. And most important, I’m looking at his mouth—the lips I want to feel smiling against mine again.
“W-what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t step back and, though it’s painful, I welcome the warmth of his body so close to mine. He’s at my house every Saturday, and one afternoon I saw him walking into Anette’s, but I’ve kept myself at arm’s length.
“Jonas invited me.”
Jonas invited him. He came.
“Oh,” I mouth.
“Did you think I was going to say it’s because I wanted to see you?”
My eyes blow wide. “N-no…” I stammer.
“Well, that’s a bummer, because you definitely factored into my decision. I mean…mostly I have a hard time turning that kid down when he asks for something—he gets those damn puppy eyes from you, by the way. But also, I…I wanted you to see that I’m here. Always.”
“Colt, you don’t—”
He interrupts me with a shushing sound. “We’ll talk later.
Right now, I’m going to bid on this drawing that a six-year-old named Sarah made of a horse with a rainbow mane.
Then I’m grabbing a plate full of food and eating until I want to barf, because I paid twenty dollars to be here and want my money’s worth. Care to join me?”
Despite my best efforts, I can’t help but smile. And damn it if that’s not what won me over about this man in the first place. Taking my positive reaction to mean yes, he steps back and gestures toward where sheets of paper are set out for people to silently bid on the artwork of their choice.
“You look rather dapper tonight.” With Colt no longer mere inches from my face, I take my time giving him the once-over. Dark wash denim and a forest green button-down, as if we planned matching outfits. “I thought the only shirts you owned were graphic T-shirts.”
“I knew this was a fancy thing, so figured I should dress to impress. But don’t worry”—he slowly undoes the top three buttons to reveal his Hootin’ and Hollerin’ shirt underneath—“I still had to wear my favorite shirt, so I feel a little less out of place here.”
“Ah, yes. I understand.” I twist my purse to show him the raccoon pin, my free hand reaching to rub the back of my neck.
It feels like I’ve just exposed myself to him, proving he was right; there was—maybe still is—a connection between us that extends beyond the chemistry in the bedroom and him knowing how I take my coffee.
His eyes ignite. “You got the pin.”
“I did.” The pad of my index finger traces the raised edges. “Thank you.”
“We’re like superheroes with these fun secret identities.”
“Or members of a weird underground raccoon gang,” I say, walking alongside him across the gym, reveling in the way a simple graze of his arm against mine makes my entire body tingle.
“That gang would have so many snacks. Sign me the hell up.”
Reaching the auction table, Colt writes a number down below Sarah’s name.
And I quickly scan the table in search of Theo, reaching blindly for a pen.
When my fingers tap against Colt’s rough hand, we both freeze in place.
Caught up in the moment, I let my pinky ghost over the back of his hand once, then twice, before arduously pulling away.
I clutch the pen so tight my thumb cramps as I delicately draw the number twenty next to my name on an otherwise empty bidding sheet. “So…um—”
At the same time my mouth begins to form something resembling a sentence, Colt blurts out, “You look beautiful tonight.”
My cheeks heat, and I give a half-shrug of modesty. “Oh, thanks.”
“You complimented me earlier and then I got talking about raccoons like a total dipshit, and I meant to compliment you first but I don’t have the vocabulary to tell you…
The way you look right now…” His husky voice goes quiet, sharing a secret in a room too loud and crowded to mind what we’re saying anyway.
“You’re all the colors and sounds and light, and before I saw you tonight—whenever you’re gone, really—everything was cold and dull and dark.
Anyway, that sounds stupid…so let me just say, you’re so fucking pretty, Whit. ”
Colt’s words stoke the eternal fire in my core, send flames of lust licking up my spine. I lick my lips, admiring the way his eyes drift over my body.
Jonas and Theo bound toward us, sneakers squealing across the gym floor as they skid to a stop. They’re out of breath, with rosy cheeks, as if they’ve been working out.
My nose scrunches. “Why are you guys so sweaty?”
“No reason,” Jonas clips.
Bullshit.
I lower my tone. “Jonas.”
“We didn’t do anything. We were…well, we were gonna do something, but…”
“Seriously? You’ve been doing so good lately, and now…”
Theo coughs into his sleeve and gives Colt a pointed look. “It’s Logan.”
I turn to Colt. “Wait, you know about this?”
“Well, I don’t know about this. But I know about the kid who’s been bullying Jonas, yeah.”
Bullying Jonas?
With my index finger dug into my temple, I exhale loudly. This isn’t a conversation that can wait until we get home tonight. Looking around at the sheer number of people in this room, it’s also not a conversation that’s happening here.