Denver
Five seconds of honesty?
I’m not standing on the Harts’ doorstep simply because I want to make Mrs. Hart happy. Just like I didn’t waste time with X-rays and doctor’s appointments because I needed Blair’s signature to register for the rodeo. And now that Kate and Cecily have reassured me that Blair was likely wearing a fake ring to fend off creeps at the bar, I am fully committed to having her back in my life.
Pizza boxes balanced precariously in one hand—bottle of white wine tucked into my side—I rap the knuckles of my free hand against the cream-colored door. I’ve been here a million times, but only through the front door a handful of them. Blair spent almost every waking hour at my family’s ranch, but that still wasn’t enough for us. When my mom started taking regular trips to the city for chemotherapy, I would sneak out and come here at night. Before getting my driver’s license, I’d steal ranch trucks and drive illegally down backroads to get here. Park a few houses down and slip in through Blair’s bedroom window. Then sneak back out before her parents woke up, getting back to the ranch in time for morning chores.
The front door opens and Blair’s dad, Frank, appears with a warm smile. Stepping aside so I can walk into the foyer, he says, “Long time, no see. How’s it going?”
“Never been better.” I follow him to the kitchen as if I don’t know the way, setting the pizza boxes on the counter and taking in my surroundings. Oak cabinets, nineties furnishings, and a large sliding glass patio door looking out at a vibrant green space. The only thing that appears to have changed in the Harts’ home over the last decade is the addition of Blair’s nephew among the dozens of family photos. I know I didn’t spend a lot of time here growing up, but the nostalgia carries a tinge of pain.
Is this how Blair feels when she’s at the ranch?
“We thought we’d eat out on the patio—it’s such a nice evening, and Faye can use the fresh air.” He pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge and hands one over to me. Whether it’s my nerves or the slick condensation on the outside of the glass, I struggle to hold the bottle steady.
Each of us grabbing a pizza box, I follow him through the open sliding door onto the covered patio to find Faye sitting alone at the table. I know I told Blair she didn’t need to have dinner with us. But a tiny, masochistic part of me was hoping she’d be here. Even if it was only to glare at me from across the table and shoot down my attempts at banter.
Maybe I made a big mistake in coming here.
“Pretty as always, Mrs. Hart.” I plaster on a fake smile and relax into a chair opposite her with a sigh.
“Oh, shush , you.” She flaps a hand in my direction, pink blush splashing across her cheeks. “How are you? Did you bring us the biggest bottle of wine you could find?”
“I don’t know about biggest , but the cashier promised me it’s a good one. It’s just inside….” I move to stand, but Frank beats me to the punch and lumbers his way back into the house. Faye smiles softly at me; she still looks like a stereotypical kindergarten teacher, with a bright-pink knit sweater with daisies all over it and faint lines around her eyes and mouth.
After a few seconds of staring at each other, I break the awkward silence. “So, no Blair tonight?”
“She’s here. I think she’s taking her time getting prettied up for you.”
The last thing she would be doing is anything specifically for me. And even if Blair wanted my attention, she knows hair and makeup isn’t the way. “She never needs to do anything special.”
“Tell that to her. She’s been in a tizzy all afternoon.” She smiles to herself. “You two are just the cutest.”
Before I can respond, the sliding glass door opens and— fuck —Blair steps out in a knee-length light-blue dress with thin white stripes on it. As she turns to softly close the door, the fabric swishes around her bare legs. Then she sits, prim and proper, in the chair next to mine, and the warm summer evening carries her spicy scent over to me. Perfume, makeup, dresses—nothing like the girl in dusty jeans I fell in love with all those years ago. Even still, I lose my breath in her presence.
Blair pulls open each box. “You brought meat lovers and supreme?”
I nod. “Your favorite.”
Pride rushes through me as I prepare for Blair to be ecstatic about me remembering her favorite pizza after all these years.
“I’m a vegetarian,” she deadpans.
“O-oh, well…um, I could go grab something else,” I stammer, considering every alternate takeout option in my mind. In Wells Canyon, the options are basically pizza and cinnamon buns. “Want me to get a different pizza? Salad, maybe?”
“I’m kidding, . Supreme is still my favorite. It looks delicious.” She brings a steaming hot slice to her mouth and slowly nibbles, nodding politely toward her dad when he sets a half-full wineglass in front of her.
“So, Denny, how are things going at the ranch?” Frank asks, shifting side-to-side in his squeaky metal chair.
“Better now that we have the cattle out on the range for the summer. We just got done driving them out there.”
Blair’s watching me with keen interest as she chews.
“You should’ve come. We could’ve used your help,” I say to her.
“I doubt I even remember how to ride.” She shrugs nonchalantly. Blair—who used to live for horseback riding—suggesting that not only does she not remember how to ride, but she doesn’t care? If my mother were in a grave, she’d be rolling in it.
“ Bull. You’re a natural, right? You don’t just forget that sort of thing.”
The corners of her lips pull into the closest thing to a smile I’ve gotten since the ambulance ride weeks ago. That’s a win, in my book.
The four of us talk until the pizza is gone, the sun is low, and the air has a sudden crispness. Then Frank and Faye head inside, leaving Blair and me to clean the dinner mess in silence.
Stepping back outside from clearing the plates and pizza boxes, she picks up the nearly empty wine bottle. “We may as well finish this. It’s a felony to waste good wine.”
I slide my glass over to her and sit back down, watching her carefully divide the remaining liquid between our cups. Wine definitely isn’t my drink of choice, but I’ll take that over being kicked out of here the second we finished eating—which is what I expected to happen.
“Thanks for coming over. Mom definitely had a good time. She’s been so reclusive…. It’s good for her to socialize a bit.” Blair swirls her glass before taking a hearty drink.
“I’m glad I came. It’s been a fun night.”
She looks at me over the rim of her glass. “I know you have better things to do on a Friday.”
I laugh under my breath. “Like what? Go to the Horseshoe like I do every Friday? I think I can afford to skip a week.”
Plus, you’d have to drag me in there kicking and screaming right now. My phone’s been vibrating in my pocket all night—no doubt it’s Peyton. I was sure to tell Colt I’d be at Blair’s tonight, knowing damn well he’d relay that information to Peyton. With any luck, she might think Blair and I are together, and decide to finally leave me alone.
“Don’t you have a rodeo to get ready for? Considering how committed you were to getting a clean bill of health, I would’ve guessed you’d be practicing or something tonight.”
“Nah, when you’re as good as I am, you don’t need to practice.”
Blair smiles. For a fleeting moment that makes my entire chest ache, until she catches herself and tucks it away with a roll of her lips. “I don’t know…the only time I’ve seen you get on a bronc recently, you fell off.”
“Has nothing to do with my riding skills. I’d have gone pro if I was shorter.”
“ Right. ” She playfully rolls her eyes, that smile threatening to pop up again to spite her. “So what’s the excuse for why you fell off?”
“I saw you.”
Glancing away, her head nods softly. And I watch her watch the evening breeze swirl around the garden. She and I have always been comfortable in the silent moments, so this discomforting quiet makes me wonder if I should’ve lied to her. I could’ve made up something about the horse being absolutely rank, an old injury flaring up, maybe a beesting to my eyeball.
Wind chimes clink together, wind whistles through tall decorative grasses, and I don’t know how long we sit in silence, but one by one various small, dim solar lights begin to light the backyard.
“So, you said your mom had a good time tonight. What about you?” I finally get the nerve to say something, and she takes a long, thoughtful sip of wine, her free hand fiddling with the neckline of her dress.
“Yeah…yeah, I did.”
Maybe she doesn’t hate me. Maybe. Maybe there’s a chance here.
“Blair, about what happened when we were—”
“Let’s not talk about it.” She cuts me off. “Please. Tonight has been really nice, and I don’t think bringing up ancient history is really necessary.”
“Okay, I just—”
“, please. Can we talk about present-day stuff?”
I exhale long and hard into my wineglass. “Sure. Pulled any good pranks lately?”
She wraps her arms tight around herself. “It feels a lot more like the world is pranking me. Patiently waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me this is all a very elaborate episode of Punk’d .”
“Sorry.” For now. For then.
“It’s fine. Plenty of people out there are going through a lot worse things, so…” She looks over at me with flattened lips, shrugging her shoulders and finishing off her wine.
Everything in my body aches to be her comfort, her safe space, her person. But she simply switches the subject with forced enthusiasm. “What about you? Any pranks? Piss Austin off lately?”
“You know I live to piss him off.” I laugh halfheartedly. “How long are you going to be in town for?”
“I’m not helping you prank him, if that’s why you’re asking.” Her tongue darts out to lick a drop of wine from the corner of her mouth, leaving her lower lip glistening in the dim patio lighting. “I’m here indefinitely, at this point.”
“Come to the rodeo. It might not be the sort of thing you city slickers do, but if you’re in town indefinitely you should have some fun, at least.”
“I should head to bed,” she says in a clear effort to end the conversation, reaching to collect the wine bottle and glasses from the table.
I steal a glance at her bedroom window. “Remember when I used to sneak into your room after your parents went to bed?”
She stands, cradling her empty glass against her chest. Her eyes meet mine and her voice is barely audible. “Yeah, I remember. ’Night, .”
I start toward the backyard gate, feet dragging because the last thing I want to do is go home. “See you tomorrow, Blair.”
“Maybe.”
“See you tomorrow,” I say over my shoulder.
“We’ll see….”
I turn and walk backward, staring her down with a grin on my face. “See you tomorrow.”
She rolls her eyes from the sliding patio door, corners of her lips slightly upturned, blue dress billowing around her legs. “See you tomorrow.”