Chapter 20
A shiver ran down Chicot’s spine as she stepped out of the RV despite the heat.
She had a brace on her ankle, one with gel inside it that she had stuck in the fridge before putting it on.
It wasn’t the cause of her chill, but it did make it worse as she closed the door behind her.
She stood by it for a moment, listening to Elijah talk to Duchess.
The words weren’t clear, but he was certainly talking to the cat.
After all, who else would he be talking to?
She walked the long way around the trailers toward Monty, Lyza, and Elvis’s RV, her hands trembling slightly.
People looked at her and waved, poking at their fires or carrying instruments from one RV to another so they could sing camp songs together as the world cooled around them.
Chicot waved back, wondering how many of them would be at the next faire they went to or if she would ever see them again.
Nothing was guaranteed in this kind of job, so she thought about this often.
The same as Monty not being with her wherever they went next.
She caught Brewhilda’s eyes briefly as she passed her trailer.
She scowled at Chicot, sweeping up a rug she’d placed under her sunshade and picking up a shelf she’d had plants on.
Brewhilda was packing her trailer to move it, and Chicot found herself apathetic at the thought of Brewhilda losing the rest of her performances.
In fact, she couldn’t help but think so long as Brewhilda wasn’t at her next faire, everything would be fine.
Chicot knocked on Monty’s RV door and folded her hands behind her back, then in front of her, then shoved both into the pockets of her cargo pants instead, all before Monty even opened the door.
When Monty did appear, Chicot didn’t even know what to say.
She was wearing a pretty dress with little peaches all over it, one of the ones that Chicot had helped her pick at the thrift store a few weeks ago.
Over that was a tan apron with frills at the shoulders that cinched the waist of the loose dress in slightly.
“I was about to go over and get you,” Monty said. Chicot blinked at her, mind still blank from whatever this was to say much more than, “Oh,” as she stood there.
“Do you want to come in?” Monty stepped back so she was out of Chicot’s way, and Chicot simply nodded.
She followed Monty inside to find most of the lights low.
There was a lamp on the counter, and the winking fairy lights above the cabinets and kitchen table were on.
It gave everything a nice, warm glow as Monty swished through the kitchen.
She didn’t have shoes or socks on, her hair had a bow clip in it to hold some of her bangs back on each side, and she briefly rounded her shoulders, looking sheepish.
“I knew we’d have some time on our own, so I thought I’d make you dinner,” Monty reasoned. Chicot’s pulse raced and she wet her lips as she tried to remember she was there for a reason, but as Monty smiled at her, what it was simply left her head entirely.
“I missed you.” Chicot walked over to press herself into Monty’s arms. She smelled like lavender and lemongrass, a body spray that Chicot had seen in her room on one of the shelves the last time she was here.
Monty hugged her back, squeezing Chicot tightly as she chuckled. “How was the audition, by the way?”
“I think it went really well,” Chicot said. “The directors laughed at our jokes, and the other performers auditioning even got into it.”
Monty grinned. “I’m so glad.”
She leaned down to kiss Chicot’s cheek, complimenting Chicot and Elijah before she turned to get two glasses and a bottle of wine from the counter.
Chicot melted into her easily, Monty’s soft touches and smiles, her excitement as she explained that she made them some sort of Italian chicken and hadn’t even overdone the pasta.
They sipped wine and talked over dinner, and for a while, Chicot forgot entirely about her new phone in her pocket and the dating profile that had put her so on edge.
They ate gnocchi and chicken breast that had been doused in a salty wine sauce that Chicot couldn’t identify, their glasses filled with the remains of the same bottle. Chicot didn’t know Monty could cook like this, a shy smile growing on Monty’s face as Chicot praised her.
“Thanks, I had to cut the chicken really thin since I didn’t have an oven to finish it in,” Monty said. “But I’m glad it worked.”
Chicot swallowed another bite, her eyes on Monty’s coral lips. “You made it work better than if you had an oven.”
Monty chuckled, the two of them eating and talking about a new band they’d both started listening to.
Chicot found herself completely lost to Monty’s thoughts on the little Seattle punk band, laughing as Monty explained why she liked certain songs or found them relatable.
Things were easy, soft, and Chicot wanted them to stay like this.
“You know, I was a little worried something went wrong with the audition,” Monty revealed. They were both mostly finished with their food, the bottle of wine already at half as Monty added more to both their glasses.
“Why?” Chicot asked. Monty tilted her head, her brow furrowed.
“You were acting a little strange about it,” Monty mumbled. “And then I heard about the fight with Brewhilda. I know how she is, I thought she maybe said something to make you feel less confident.”
Chicot’s shoulders relaxed, her eyes going to the window next to the table. The curtains were drawn.
“Oh, um.” Chicot sipped her wine. “No, she didn’t say anything about the audition.”
Monty blinked. “Really?”
Chicot looked at her, creases forming in Monty’s forehead as her face scrunched with worry. She drummed her fingers on the table, waiting for Chicot to elaborate. She had half a mind to lie, to just let all of this die out.
“Chicot, if something’s changed …” Monty seemed to brace herself.
Chicot twitched, shaking her head quickly because it was true.
That was the worst part: nothing had changed about how she felt about Monty.
She still liked her, still felt fluttery when Monty touched her, still thought about kissing her throat, still wanted her strong hands to catch her.
Chicot wanted all of Monty. She was just terrified that maybe the Monty she knew wasn’t who Chicot thought she was.
“No, it’s not like that.” Chicot pressed a hand over her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Monty’s voice was low, and even without seeing her face, Chicot could tell she was nervous, defensive even. “But please tell me what it is.”
“Why didn’t you tell me we knew each other from a dating app?
” Chicot asked quickly. “And why didn’t you bring it up when I told you I didn’t have a phone?
I just don’t get why I found out while I was on my way home from an audition that apparently you’ve known who I am this whole time, while I didn’t recognize you—”
Monty put her palms up, “Stop, stop. I’m sorry.”
“About which part?” Chicot’s voice cracked. “Did you think it was funny that I couldn’t recognize you?”
“No!” Monty twitched at the sound of her own voice and shook her head. “Well, at first I did.”
“What?” Chicot limbs felt light, like she was filled with helium, ready to float up to the top of the RV and get stuck. Monty shook her head.
“Not like that.” Monty pressed her hands to her face and groaned. “I knew I should have said something. I’m sorry.”
“I think I need to go.” Chicot’s stomach turned as she slid out of the booth. Monty jumped up grabbing her hand as she fumbled over her words. She sounded like an adult from a Peanuts cartoon for a moment, until Chicot’s brain caught up.
“… I am sorry,” Monty said. Chicot stared at her, trying to process whatever she’d said before she apologized again.
“Chicot?” Monty asked. Chicot took a deep breath and carefully pulled her hand from Monty’s.
“I think I need some air,” Chicot said. Monty pressed her lips together, but let Chicot go.
“Will you come back?” Monty asked. “I can explain. I promise. I just … my words are failing me.”
Chicot opened and closed her mouth, then she nodded.
If she changed her mind, she could just text her through the dating app.
So she glided through the kitchen, Monty close on her heels, and stepped down into the grass outside their RV.
As soon as she did, Chicot turned and started for the large field that surrounded the dog park, walking slowly at first and then running as fast as she could with her ankle how it was.