Chapter 20 – Paloma
It's tradition for the residents of Lonestar Junction to gather at Rex's Rodeo House Bar the night before Thanksgiving.
College students return from their time away, and family members who’ve moved to other cities and states come back to celebrate in a grand display of community, filled with revelry and alcohol.
Growing up, it was always the place I’d meet up with my siblings or friends after being away recording in LA or on tour.
Between the bar and the town’s famous rodeo, there weren’t many other places to hang out.
I’m here on a short break before heading back to Los Angeles to wrap up recording my latest album, one full of angst, bad ass rifts and lyrics I’m proud to have written, and to kick off the winter leg of my West Coast tour.
Although cooler weather has arrived, Lonestar Junction is still pleasantly warm.
Being back here for the holidays at my family’s ranch always stirs up a peculiar nostalgia.
It’s the only thing I knew for the first nineteen years of my life and though it’s not a town I want to return to permanently, I enjoy the simplicity of the small, rural town and its easy way of living.
Dallas and I step out through the front doors of the bar and walk slowly toward the cleared cornfield that’s been turned into a parking lot for Rex’s.
There’s nowhere for us to sit and talk, but discussing anything inside of the bar is impossible with the loud music and prying eyes of the town watching.
“You warm enough?” he asks, looking over what I’m wearing carefully.
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
He nods, and I take a deep breath, exhaling forcefully before glancing back up at him, arms now crossed over my chest as I stand taller. I’ve always felt like I was on even ground with most men, but damn, Dallas is big and handsome.
“I’m so confused,” I say, just as he murmurs, “I’m sorry,” at the same time.
I nod, smiling slightly as he chuckles. I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for, but there’s a list starting with not revealing who he was in the elevator.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I moved here.”
“So, you really live here? In Lonestar Junction?”
He nods.
“Why? When? How?”
“A few months ago. Got out of the Marines and went back to my parent’s home in Los Angeles. It didn’t feel right living there anymore, and I needed a change.”
“And you picked Lonestar Junction?” I sound like a broken record, but I still haven’t gotten it. The jump from California to Texas doesn’t make sense. I’m fairly confident in the history of this town, I’ve never met anyone who moved here after living in LA.
The corner of his lip lifts slightly into a half smile, and my fingers itch to reach up and touch his full lips, to see what a real smile from Dallas looks like. I bet it’d be good.
“A young girl once told me it was quiet, peaceful, and felt like home,” he shrugs, “That sounded good to me after a decade spent in war.”
I nod repeatedly, trying to process his words.
Sure, that makes sense. That makes sense.
No, it doesn’t. So, he moved here because of me, but not for me?
“There are plenty of peaceful places in the United States, hell the world, you know?”
He fights a smile again, “So I’ve heard.”
“You weren’t coming because you thought I still lived here?”
He shrugs.
Ok…
“So… did you ever try to look me up?” I blurt out.
He nods, “Sort of. Typed in ‘Paloma’ and found the photo of you in your soccer uniform from high school. Didn’t go further because it felt like a breach of your trust. Had no idea you were a rock star now.
” He smiles for the first time since we started talking, and I take in just how handsomely he wears it.
The pull of his lips over his straight teeth, the single dimple on his right cheek.
I blink a few times, trying to release myself from his gaze.
I’ve never been starstruck before, typically leaving that for the fans when they meet me, but damn, I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity for the first time.
If I’d known what he looked like as a kid, I might have printed off his picture, put it on poster board and hung it in my room right alongside my other idol cut outs of Shane West, Gwen Stefani, Beyonce, and User.
“I’m proud of you, if I’m allowed to say that.”
I laugh, feeling the familiar warmth of the friendship that we’d shared in our letters years ago before he stopped responding. Then I remember—this is the same guy I spent hours with today, trapped in an elevator.
I take a large step backward. “Wait a minute, what the hell, Dallas? Why didn’t you tell me who you were in the elevator? Feels a little unfair that you knew and didn’t say anything.”
He nods, “I’m sorry about that, and I get why it was wrong.
I didn’t know it was you at first, but I had a feeling.
I was also scared you’d try to bust the door down if you thought I’d purposely locked us in there so that I could meet you.
Selfishly, I enjoyed hearing your voice without you knowing who I was. ”
I nod slowly—it sort of makes sense. But the power dynamic still feels off. I try to recall everything he shared and what I revealed.
“You really didn’t plan that?”
He throws his head back, a deep rumbling noise fills his chest as he laughs heartily. I smile at him because it’s a ridiculous question. Who would plan to be trapped in an elevator.
“No, didn’t plan on getting stuck in an elevator with you.”
“Well, you were awfully calm for the whole situation.”
He grins, “Guess all that crisis training I had to go through paid off.”
I nibble on my lip nervously, “So, then you know that I conned you into writing me all those years back to me, huh?”
He smiles, “I could’ve stopped writing. I enjoyed it too.”
“Let me point out that you did stop writing.”
He sighs, “Yea, I guess I did.”
We fall silent for a few moments, just taking each other in, goofy grins spread across our faces, acting like no time has passed and as if this isn’t our very first time meeting face-to-face.
“Things worked out for both of us, I guess. Are you glad you enlisted?”
He nods, “Re-upping my contract felt right. There wasn’t much waiting for me back home in the States.”
I want to shout that I was here, that I could have used his friendship or even a response to my letters when I was graduating high school, trying to navigate things like singing contracts, moving to Los Angeles and feeling out of place while I figured out my identity, but despite his presence missing from my life, I’d done it all, and well.
On my own. Maybe that was what I needed, to go through the struggle without having a guiding hand there to talk me through it.
Now I wondered if he ever got the angry letter I wrote in Croatia and if I should even bring it up.
“So…” I clear my throat, suddenly feeling a strange sense of nervousness. “You wouldn’t have happened to receive a more recent letter from me—say…a few months ago, with some angry words in it?”
His face is unreadable as he assesses me carefully.
“Not if you didn’t want me to.”
Shit.
“I can explain…”
He raises his hand. “You don’t have to, Dove, and honestly, I’d prefer if you didn’t tell me about the guy that you’re in love with.
I get it, and I’m happy for you. I deserved whatever you said.
It wasn’t right for me to leave without giving you an address to write to or a proper goodbye.
I can’t remember exactly what I wrote in my last note, but I’m sure it wasn’t respectful of the friendship we’d built and the way you’d encouraged me.
I was a pretty selfish guy before boot camp and had to learn I wasn’t good at everything—and the meaning of true sacrifice.
I just hope the guy you’re in love with isn’t that tool from when you were a teenager who sucked at kissing. ”
I laugh, remembering my high school boyfriend, Henrik. I might have dated him for a few short months, but I’d known nothing was ever going to amount to it. He’d been too focused on himself, not supportive of my budding singing hobby and nothing like my pen pal Dallas.
“No, it’s not Henrik.”
The reality is, it’s no one, but I keep that to myself for now.
I’m not actually in love or dating for that matter.
I wrote that letter confessing things that weren’t true because after spending that night with the mysterious Marine, I realized my heart had long belonged to a boy named Dallas.
I knew deep down he was no longer a part of my life, and it was time to let go of that friendship—and of him.
And I thought I had.
But seeing him standing in front of me tonight, right here in my hometown, has brought back all those old feelings of friendship and trust. It’s like I know him intimately, and he knows me, yet at the same time, he’s a complete stranger.
I want to fall into easy conversation, bring up old inside jokes and laugh but I don’t really know him. At least, not anymore.
He stretches his arms overhead, twisting side to side, causing the muscles beneath his shirt to ripple, reminding me of how good it felt to have my body pressed against his earlier.
Before I knew he was Dallas...
I shiver remembering the intimacy of the moments we’ve already spent together shrouded by the darkness of the elevator. If I could have gone back, what would I have done differently?
“So,” he says, watching me carefully again.
“So…”
“What do you have planned for Thanksgiving?”
“We typically celebrate with my parents at the ranch. Lay low. It’s nice for me to act like a normal person when I’m home. Though I guess I already told you that today…”
He nods. “I bet it is.”
“What are you doing for the holiday? You said you weren’t heading home to spend it with you parents?”
“I planned to spend it with the Camerons at Ashwood Ranch. I just saw my parents a few months ago, and there’s a lot I need to do on my farm.”
I raise a brow. “You and Wylie are close? What was that about you saving his life?”
He chuckles, “It’s a long story I’ll have to tell you sometime, but yes, after starting off on rocky ground, we’ve become friends.”
“Now that’s a story I want to hear,” I say playfully, slipping back into the feeling of being old buddies with shared inside jokes. And I guess, in a very strange and complicated way, we sort of are.
“I know it wasn’t fair to hide my identity from you in the elevator, but honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing. It gave me the chance to see who you are now, without any pretenses, Dove.”
“I wouldn’t have hidden anything from you…” I bite my lips gently, though I know that might not be entirely true.
I want Dallas to like me for me, but sometimes it’s hard to separate my current, true self from the stage persona of Dove.
Having the anonymity of the elevator brought down my walls, just like the secret pen pal relationship we maintained did years ago.
I’d been real earlier today, and hearing Dallas liked that version of me, well, that’s something I haven’t heard from a man in years.
They typically wanted me to act like my stage presence, not the real Dove that had more depth to her than just being an artist.
There’s still so much I want to ask him. There’s lots to learn about him and things that I want to share about myself—everything he’s missed since he gave me the nickname and stage name I’ve embraced as my own.
He smiles, one of those genuine smiles I feel is reserved just for me. It lights up his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and making the years melt away.
“Meet you at the co-op tomorrow night for that pumpkin pie you gushed about?”
I smile and nod. “That sounds good, Dallas.”