4. Harrison
Chapter 4
Harrison
I t’s been about a week since I’ve had my dating profile up. The matches have seemed to be on point online, but in person, the two dates I’ve had were flops. The compatibilities for both of them were greater than 86 percent.
It’s exhausting trying to meet new people. I’ll give Cassidy credit; I do feel like I’m increasing my chances and getting to meet more people by using the app.
It’s cooler today, and everyone around here seems ready for fall. I’m riding for the first time in a while since the cattle are farther out in the pastures. They get comfortable wandering once the temps drop a little. The sound of trees rustling in the wind and the occasional clop of hooves is meditative. I feel at ease out here.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, but I don’t want to give it any attention right now. If it’s an emergency from my brother or parents, they’ll continue to bug me until I answer.
I ride out to the southwest lot and see the line of trees that hold precious memories from my childhood. Running out here with my brother with our first set of airsoft guns, tying up targets to shoot with our BB guns and archery sets. Being here with our friends, playing tag at dusk when our dad would drive us out here on the bed of his truck. Nothing like cops and robbers in the safety of a family-owned forest.
Pulling out my phone, I take a picture, but not before I see the message I missed.
97% match! Jenna wants to message you!
Ninety-seven, that’s pretty good. It can’t be as bad as the others. That’s damn near perfect. I open her profile to find a lovely blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl with a small but charming gap between her two front teeth. She has a wide smile full on display and a light tan cowgirl hat atop her head. Our compatibility is through the roof; I don’t see how our match isn’t one hundred.
Jenna: Howdy! Looks like luck might be on my side if you’re real ;)
Already charming, I like it.
Me: I’m as real as they come. Got yourself a true country gentleman over here. How’s your day been, darlin’?
I pocket my phone and ride at a gallop most of the way to the stable. Once I have my mare squared away, I head into the trailer to rinse off. It’s a great space, and it has served me so well. It gave me my own home on the land where I grew up. It gave me the freedom I felt I needed knowing I didn’t want to leave our property or town.
Some people itch to get out of the town they grew up in. That couldn’t be further from the truth for Hunter and me. We love it here; this land is embedded in us, and we want to stay until we grow old with children of our own.
Before hopping into the shower, I look over Jenna’s profile one more time. She has a generous body, soft curves, full lips, and thick thighs. I prefer a curvy woman. I like someone who is proud of and enjoys the body they’ve been gifted. A confident, shapely woman can bring me to my knees, especially if she has a sense of humor.
After rinsing off, I make my way to the kitchen to reheat some leftovers. Meatloaf, vegetables, and cheesy potato casserole steam on a plate in front of me, and I scarf the whole thing down. I dream of sharing my meals with someone. To be able to eat at a leisurely pace while talking and laughing. To eat in the comfortable silence of companionship instead of the silence of being alone.
Me: Maybe I should get a dog?
Cassidy: First of all—yes. Second of all—why?
Me: Women love puppies, and we haven’t had a dog on the farm since our parents took their hound with them.
Cassidy: I vote yes but get the dog before you talk to your brother.
Me: You’re an accomplice to this crime now, you know that, right?
Cassidy: You have the wrong number.
Cassidy: Are you coming for dinner any day this week?
Me: I’ll let you know.
Cassidy: Hunter will cook -___-
Me: I’ll let you know.
Late nights by myself can be lonely; a dog would be great until I found the right girl. A companion and buddy.
After cleaning my plate, I walk through my small home to the living room. A soft cream couch lines one wall, and a TV framed by built-in bookshelves filled with books, movies, trinkets, and art supplies lines the other. In between is a plain wood coffee table I found on the side of the road. It’s not pretty; it’s scuffed up, worn at the corners, and has four thick, round legs that curve like question marks.
I pick up my sketch pad and travel pencil case. Plopping down on the couch, I grab a pillow and toss it in my lap before laying the sketch pad down and opening to a fresh page. My phone holds the picture of that slice of land, and I do a rough sketch of the property lines I would want to make if I built there.
I think about my childhood home—the things I loved about it, and the things I wish I could have changed. My hand starts moving on instinct as I make out the harsh, simple lines of what could be. There comes a point where I start needing some reference photos, but that’s nothing a quick search on my phone can’t fix.
Time is lost; I’ve gone through a beer and drawn a decent picture that envisions the next property on the Hill Farm. The tree line sits close to the back of the house: a two-story farmhouse with a black metal roof, black-framed windows, and a deep wraparound porch with thick, ebony-stained beams holding the awning. The front doors are French with big glass insets that look like two opposing sides of a crescent moon. They are natural wood, which pops against the black frame and the cream tone of the house.
I want to plant a tree in front of the house for a tire swing. I guess it could be in the back, but there would be something special about pulling up to my home with my girl pushing a little on that swing.
I look it over and imagine the little details I could add, each of them resembling the mark of what a family would look like. A set of rockers on the porch, planters lining the edge, a bike lying in the grass. My desire for this dream to be real seems desperate.
A sense of loss washes over me. I’ve always wanted a family, and have had multiple girlfriends, all lasting more than a year, but each time, the relationship ended. Mostly due to my partner’s desire to leave this small town. They wanted more, but they didn’t realize if they stayed with me here, they’d have the world at their fingertips. Having a woman to worship and care for would be everything.
I flip the page and start sketching the general lines of a woman’s bust, long hair, delicate shoulders, and a strong jaw with a gentle curve. Each line I put on the paper makes me feel lonely until I stop. I drop the materials onto the table and grab my keys.
I drive into town and stop by The Draft, our local watering hole, to have a drink with some company. I pull open the door and see the comfort of the old bank-turned-bar.
Silas is the owner and my best friend. He kept a lot of the charm, leaving the original floors which are a marble-like tile. He used the old teller counter as the main bar and had the drafts built in. He kept some of the old leather chairs for seating around the pool table but added his own personal charm, too .
He adorned the wall with family pictures and even some locals’ pictures that were shared. He has a bulletin board for military and public service badges. The old barbershop owned by his uncle closed a few years ago, and he took the chairs and installed them in the corner around a high-top table. There is a sense of community in this bar. It’s well-loved by the locals and visitors.
“What brings you in on a Tuesday?” Silas quirks a brow. He has long, curly brown hair tossed into a thick bun. He’s built like a hockey player, broad and wide, and wears his signature band shirt with a worn-in flannel. A leather string with his late parents’ rings is tied around his neck and hangs low onto his chest.
“Got lost in the sketch pad for a while and needed to get out for a minute.” I tap my fingers against the bar.
“Not a broken heart, at least.”
I shoot him a look, but he just shrugs me off. He opens an unlabeled bottle from his personal brews and slides it over to me. A long pull reveals a rich flavor with a hint of spice. I take a second drink.
“Damn, this is good,” I offer.
“Thinking of a few changes I need to make, but I’ll likely make it the fall special.”
Having Silas as my best friend since grade school has had its perks. I’ve always had an ally in my corner, and he has always been the realist to my, what he calls, overzealous imagination. He is also a better judge of character. If I liked someone and thought she was the one , he was quick to point out how she wasn’t. I live for the day he’s finally wrong. I’ll find my dream girl and shove it in his realist face.
My night feels as though it’s grown less lonely, and I decide to have dinner with my brother and his family this weekend.