Chapter Fifteen
A Dance, A Hug, A Kiss
Cheyenne
Late Wednesday morning, the second one in June, I find myself participating in the most intense staring contest of my life. It takes place over the square top of a black M’s Pub patio table in Omaha’s Old Market, and it was initiated by Milo.
The stakes?
Winner’s choice of ice cream flavor for everyone when we stop at Ted everything is lined up nicely, just waiting for someone to push the Start button.
My brow furrows in confusion.
Maybe Indi snuck downstairs while I was reading with Milo. I forget sometimes that she’s only eighteen because she has the maturity of someone so much older. I’ve told her I can handle the house and Milo—that’s what I’m here for—but caretaking is engrained too deeply in her.
I grab the laundry basket, but then I spot the mythical housekeeper fairy in the form of Colton’s head. It’s barely visible through the sunroom windows, a waning sunset turning his dark curls golden. Leaving my phone and the basket on the sofa—next to the folded towels and clothing, stacked neatly for each person in the house—I let myself through the screen door.
Colton glances up. His arm is sprawled along the back of the wicker sofa, his t-shirt wrinkled, and his eyes tired, but he taps his ear, grinning.
Only then do I remember putting my Airpods in. I pull them out and tuck them in the pocket of my striped linen shorts. I also make a mental note to remember I put them there; I really don’t feel like buying new ones because I tossed them in the washer.
“Did you hire the new housekeeping fairy?” I ask.
“Me?” he asks with false incredulity. “Cheyenne, I can’t say. That would take the magic —” he wiggles his fingers around the word “—out of it. Don’t you think?”
He has a dish towel draped over his shoulder, and his t-shirt is damp right at the level of the sink. But I play along. “Yeah,” I say, “I guess it would.”
“But, if I had, I’d probably have to report how the fairy did.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “You would?”
“I would,” he confirms. “Performance reports are crucial at the HFHQ.”
“HFHQ?”
“Housekeeping Fairy Headquarters.”
“Ah. In that case, they get a shining five-star review from me,” I say conspiratorially. “Except that they didn’t start the dishwasher.”
“I know,” he says, shrugging. “They didn’t want to use the water if you were going to take a shower.”
Awareness thrums lightly at my pulse points. I open my mouth to say something, but a yawn shudders through me.
Colton’s amusement fades. He shifts slightly and pats the cushion beside him. Maybe it’s the easy rain outside, maybe it’s the exhaustion pulling at me, or maybe it’s just the magnetic pull of my best friend. It could also be the dish towel slung over his shoulder or the blue smear of washable marker across his sun kissed cheek.
Whatever it is, I don’t fight it. I sink onto the cushioned seat, and my body sighs with relief when Colton tucks me into his warmth. He draws tiny circles on my shoulder with his index finger, smooths them under the pad of his calloused thumb, and tilts his head until it rests lightly against mine.
“You didn’t have to do the dishes,” I tell him. “Or the laundry.”
He smiles against my temple. “Probably shouldn’t tell the housekeeper fairy that part, Fini. They might retract their services.”
Fini.
Once again, the childhood nickname catches my breath in my throat. Colton and I used to lay side by side—on the dock, or on a picnic blanket, or in the bed of my dad’s truck. We’d hold our summer bronzed forearms up, side by side.
Infinity—that’s what we are, he’d say. The freckles he traced from my arm to his made the universal infinity sign. I’ll call you Fini for short.
Colton shifts beside me now. His whiskers snag on my hair, and he pulls something from under a throw pillow. My lips tilt when he sets Milo’s tie, and a second identical one, in the palm of my hand.
“It’ll be way too big for him, but I thought we could wear them to the wedding together,” he says. A hint of boyishness traces his words. “I already cleared it with Ember.”
I tip my head back to look at him. “What about Graham?”
“Cheyenne,” he says, grinning, “my baby brother will be lucky to make it to his ceremony with his tie, considering how stupidly in love he is. The last thing on his mind right now is what tie I’ll be wearing. Trust me.”
The thought of quiet, bookish little boy and teenage Graham being so wholly in love makes me smile. If anyone is going to take his vows seriously, it will be Graham. I start to get up, but Colton’s arm tightens around me, keeping me firmly tucked into him.
“Not so fast,” he murmurs. His mouth is too close to my ear. Goosebumps lift on my exposed skin. This time, when he shifts, he pulls something from the pocket of his shorts. “Something for you, too, but I’d prefer if you don’t wait until the wedding to wear it.”
I freeze when I see the small box in his hand, and I look from the baby blue velvet to him. “Colton—”
“You’re not allowed to Colton me about this.” He retracts his arm, and I wish I didn’t miss his warmth, but I do. I also wish I couldn’t hear the bashful earnestness behind his firm tone, because it sounds a lot like vulnerability. Something Colton has never been good at. “This engagement might be temporary—”
“Fake,” I correct.
“—but any woman of mine will wear my ring, fake or otherwise,” he finishes, ignoring my correction.
The box cracks open to reveal a ring that steals my breath. One that’s so very different from the one I wore for three years. I’m not the girl with the fairytale wedding planned on Pinterest, because I had that wedding, and it became a nightmare. Looking at this ring, I want to cry. Of course Colton would know me so intimately that he knows my style, with or without Pinterest.
A circular diamond is flanked by two of the tiniest infinity signs I’ve ever seen, and it sits in a smooth white gold setting.
“Colton,” I say again, more deliberately. I shake my head and blink hard. “No. If this is real, which it better not be, you shouldn’t—”
“Doesn’t matter what I should or shouldn’t do, because I did.” He lowers slowly to one knee and reaches for my left hand. My fingers tremble, but he steadies them with the gentlest pressure to my knuckles. “Cheyenne, I know this is unconventional. I also know it’s hard because of our past. But like I just said, I want you to wear my ring. So, Cheyenne Kolter, will you agree to be my real fake fiancée?”
I nod, more of a jerky movement than anything else. I can’t say more than a whispered yes , and I only say it because I know how deeply Colton’s need for words of affirmation runs. Volunteering to be his fake fiancée spur of the moment was one thing. But this?
This is simultaneously the happiest and saddest moment of my life. I’m sure of it. Not all that long ago, I imagined exactly this. I dreamed of watching Colton lower to one knee and ask me to be his wife. I always wondered how he would combine his penchant for grand gestures and my preference for quiet ones.
But over the last few weeks, I’ve learned I will always love Colton. Not the fleeting kind of love. A deep, beautiful, sometimes painful love that defies all logic. One that will never look right on paper, one that might always be unrequited. But right now, I don’t let that stop me.
“Can we dance?” I ask, unable to meet his eyes. My own throat works as I watch his Adam’s apple slowly bob up and down. “I know this is fake, but…couples do something when they get engaged, you know? Dance, hug…kiss.” I swallow to hide the tears in my voice. “Can we dance, Collie?”
Colton doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t make me feel like the idea is ludicrous. He slides the ring over my knuckle and eases to his feet with a tremoring grimace because of his formerly injured left hip. He pulls up my newly created Choose Happy playlist, shuffles it, and tugs me to my feet.
One large palm settles between my hip and the small of my back, fingertips pressing just possessively enough into my skin. His other hand supports mine, and his pulse thunders against his ribcage. I tip my head until my cheek rests in the hollow between his throat and his collarbone, and my eyes flutter closed, damp lashes resting on my cheeks.
Bubbles Up by Jimmy Buffett drifts through the sunroom while sunset brushes strokes of warm honey light through rain clouds.
And we dance.
Barefoot , he in pajama shorts and me in linen ones, he in a t-shirt and me in a sweatshirt.
Quiet , our chests pressed together, his heartbeat and mine in sync.
Steadfast, like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers if he holds me too loosely, and I’m scared to fully let him in.
It’s not until his other arm tucks me closer and I feel the pressure of his soft, trembling lips against my skin that I realize it. We’re not dancing anymore. We’re standing still. My bare feet rest between his, my salty tears drip onto his shirt, and both of his hands hold me close.
A dance, a hug, a kiss.
At his core, Colton Del Ray is still the little boy who wants nothing more than to be loved like he loves. But until that boy learns to love himself that way, I don’t think he’ll stop running away from those of us who have always loved him with a deep, beautiful, sometimes painful love.