Beck
My lungs burn and sweat drips down my face as I run through the sand with Ben and Gus hot on my heels.
I’ve always prided myself on the fact that I’m faster than the two of them, on and off the ice, but my chest is on fire, my calves burn, and I’m damp in places I’d rather not be. My shirt came off thirty minutes into our workout, and I tucked it into the waistband of my athletic shorts so I didn’t lose it in the sand.
My skin is already sticky enough. The last thing I need is sand all over my skin, abrasive and chafing.
Ben and Gus tossed their shirts near our bags because they don’t care, I guess, but I can’t think of anything worse.
It’s been a little over a week since the three of us finally returned home for the first time in two years, and our presence has garnered some attention .
Edith and her friend, Carole, have taken up sitting on one of the public benches with books in their laps, closed and untouched, staring at us as we workout most mornings. They’re sipping coffee from Sugar with empty pastry bags crumpled up beside them.
It’s comical.
Carole makes eyebrows at us occasionally. She’s harmless, I think. She honestly pays more attention to Gus, and I think he likes it more than he cares to admit.
I also started back part-time at Bluebird Ranch for the summer. Something to keep me busy and active. Never thought I’d miss the farm work and manual labor, but I was happy to walk through those barn doors and see familiar faces. I remember being fourteen and dreading everyday I had to go to that ranch.
The Fletchers are good people, don’t get me wrong, and Beth Fletcher takes good care of the help. Her food is out of this fucking world. But it wasn’t worth it at fourteen when I was scooping horse shit all day.
Cole, the Fletchers’ middle child and poster boy for Magnolia Hollow it seems, stopped me in the grocery store yesterday. It was just chitchat, but the guys see me as an equal now. I’m no longer a scrawny kid unable to keep up. Now I’m throwing hay bales and putting up fence posts with the best of them, and it feels good to know they see that.
This is the thing that’s been lacking in my life until recently. The older I get the more I crave respect. I want to earn it, and when I do, there’s no greater feeling to me. With my teammates, they look up to me for guidance and leadership now that I’m a co-captain. Having that achievement under my belt humbles me instead of going to my head the way it would Gus or some of the other guys.
Now, I’ve earned the respect of some of the hardest workers I’ve ever met, and I eat that shit up.
The only person in town that seems indifferent to my return is the one person I can’t seem to stop thinking about; not one text or not-so-spontaneous meet up in the park.
Winnie Carmichael was practically a kid when I left for college.
She was all gangly limbs and braces and sad eyes. The first time I saw her on those swings with a mangled cupcake in her hands, I felt my chest tighten. Since I was a kid, I’ve always hated seeing people upset. It strangles a part of my soul that always cares too much.
Imagine my surprise when I see her in the park again with a pretty smile and long, blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and framing her face. I did a double take when I first laid eyes on her. Her ivory skin is covered in a slew of new freckles. Her legs are long, littered with small bruises that make me think she’s clumsier than my mother, which she proved true when she stumbled after me in the park. On top of that, her pajamas had clung to her body in a way that made me notice her for the first time.
And her voice…
Melodic. Like my new favorite song.
Two years changed so much .
Pushing through my workout with a shake of my head to clear my thoughts, I finish my circuit before Ben and Gus, and I pack up without them. Normally, Sunday would be a rest day for us if we were still in Texas during the season, but I agreed to go to family dinner at the ranch so I could catch up with everyone properly. I planned to come out by myself this morning to burn off my extra energy, but my two shadows tagged along anyway.
“I’m dying,” Gus pants out as he collapses in the sand at my feet. “I need water.”
I grab his water bottle and chuckle. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”
He chugs, his breathing coming in and out in harsh intervals. “Fuck you, ett. If the captain is training, I am, too.”
“I’m not training, yet.”
“Then why the fuck are you working out so hard?”
I shrug. “Too much energy.”
Gus smirks, “You need to get laid, huh?”
“Shut up.”
Two minutes later, Ben falls beside him and steals his bottle before chugging the rest of it. Gus punches him in the arm in retaliation, and I roll my eyes.
“I thought you were dying?” I toss the other water bottle towards them and let them fight over it for a moment.
Gus smiles and shrugs a shoulder as he wins control of the bottle first. “I’m young. I recover quickly.”
Ben slumps against Gus and opens his mouth, and Gus pours water directly into his mouth before lifting the bottle to his own lips.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I kick some sand in Gus’s lap. “Don’t be gross…”
“Are we going to that party tonight or what?” Gus asks, brushing the sand off his lap before he stands and lets it fall instead. “Because Makayla and her little group of friends are going to be there, and I do need to get laid.”
Ben sighs. “Are you planning to follow her around like a puppy all summer?”
Gus tilts his head like he’s genuinely thinking about it. “Maybe.”
“I’m not chasing tail all summer, buddy,” I remind him.
For a year now, I’ve been prioritizing hockey and the draft. My goal has always been going pro, and I’m finally getting attention from different teams within the NHL. I don’t want to screw it up before I really have it . Gus committed to a team in Seattle before we even went to Texas.
Ben isn’t that serious about playing professionally. He always says if it happens he’ll be happy, but he’s majoring in something to do with art, which he seems eighty percent more passionate about. If he’s not at hockey practice, he’s in the studio on campus with his hands on a pottery wheel making a mug or some shit.
Gus points a finger at me with narrowed eyes, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You better not, or you’ll need to pay up, Hale. ”
“I know, I know.”
“So…” Gus starts slowly, pursing his lips. “It’s cool if I move in on neighbor girl?”
My vision blurs.
“Couldn’t believe it was her at first. She was awkward and bony the last time I saw her.” Gus smirks, “Something about the way her mom clearly hated us made me hot and bothered.”
“She’s not bony anymore. Probably still awkward, though.” Ben adds. “I’m not touching the angry mom bullshit. You have kinks that scare me.”
“Don’t be so vanilla.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Not even entertaining you, man.”
“No,” I say firmly, interrupting them, and they both look my way. I repeat, “No.”
I’m reduced to single syllables and scowling after this whole conversation. My anger rises, bubbling under my skin and ready to explode. I don’t particularly enjoy hearing them talk about Winnie in any capacity. They’re not allowed to reduce her down to two adjectives that describe whether or not she’s fuckable to them.
It disgusts me.
The mere idea has me ready to throttle my brother and best friend for the first time in my twenty years of life.
“You’re calling dibs?”
I narrow my eyes at Gus. He’s on thin ice. Thin fucking ice.
“I’m not calling dibs on anyone,” I explain slowly because clearly he’s an idiot. “She’s beautiful. She’s allowed to hang out with whoever she wants.”
Ben cocks his head, searching my face. “But you’re saying she’s off limits?”
“ No .”
“So she’s fair game?” Gus asks, brow furrowed in confusion.
Ben snickers and pats his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”
Shrugging, I lick my lips and take a step away from them toward the truck. “Sure. Go for it if you want me to kill you in the most slow and painful way possible.”
Both of them nod. “Got it.”
“I’ll see you guys later,” I say, walking backwards and saluting them.
Gus blows me a kiss like I didn’t just threaten his life over a girl. “See ya later, snookums.”
Bluebird Ranch sits twenty minutes from my family home on the outskirts of town, and it’s worth every bit of the drive.
Rolling acres of beautiful green countryside greet me as I drive down the bumpy road that runs parallel to the property and admire the new sign that hangs from the welcoming archway. It’s steel, clearly handmade and intricate in design. The sign itself is circular. At the top sits a trio of birds that I know to be the bluebirds that inspired the name for this ranch, and underneath it, in big, block letters, is Bluebird Ranch .
If I had to bet money, I’d say Matt probably made it himself.
He’s a handy bastard.
My red pickup truck jerks and bounces down the dirt driveway, and when the road splits into two paths, I go right toward the farmhouse instead of left towards the barns like I usually would.
The Fletchers built their two-story farmhouse years and years ago when materials and labor were cheaper. They’re genuinely good people, so most of the town wanted to help for no cost at all. Even my dad talks about working for Calvin Fletcher part-time on the ranch like it was the best job he’d ever had. ( “It was hard work, for sure, but Calvin and Beth are the best type of people. We should be grateful they’re here providing the Hollow with so many jobs and farm-to-table food.” )
My dad might be Calvin’s biggest fan.
The wraparound porch with the big swing was a thirtieth wedding anniversary gift from Cole and Matt last year, actually. My parents had sent pictures in our family group chat with demands that we step up our gift giving.
Stella, my older sister, just sent an eye roll emoji. Andy didn’t even respond, but she’s apparently somewhere in Europe living out her dreams with some Italian man that feeds her crepes and strawberries. (I sent back a vomit emoji to that message when it came through.) Ben and I just liked the message and tried not to feeling insulted.
My feet have barely hit the dirt when the screen door slams open.
Beth Fletcher stands on the porch with her hands fisted on her hips. Her dark, graying hair is in a pile on top of her head, and her apron covered in flour and other various stains drapes over her sundress flatteringly. She’s grinning down the steps at me, exuding that maternal air about her that makes me feel like this place is my second home.
“ett Wesley Hale,” she hollers, drawing others from the house to the door behind her. “You get your ass up here and let me look at you!”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I’m on the porch and wrapping her tall frame in a bear hug within seconds. I lift her and give her a twirl just because I enjoy seeing her smile. I knew in the back of my head she’d be happy to see me, but I didn’t realize just how much I truly missed this family.
“My goodness, boy,” she beams when I set her back on her feet. She holds me by the shoulders and looks me over. “You’ve filled out, . What’re they feeding you down there? The whole cow?”
By “down there”, she means the University of Texas, where Ben, Gus, and I were recruited out of high school. It’s been a whirlwind, if I’m honest, and if I hadn’t been able to go with my brother and best friend, I probably would’ve stayed right here in Magnolia Hollow .
Calvin, Beth’s husband and owner of Bluebird Ranch, appears behind her, sporting his own grin. “Damn, kid. Matt said you weren’t a scrawny boy anymore, but I guess I didn’t really believe him.”
“It was a choice between putting on some muscle so I could check some dudes on the ice, or get my scrawny ass handed to me all season.” I shrug and bring my hand up to my hair, a habit of mine, but stop when I remember I threw on a ball cap before I left.
I need a haircut soon.
Beth pats my chest softly. “Well, I’d rather you beat the shit out of someone else, that’s for sure.”
“Mama,” Cole leans against the doorframe, his masculine build taking up an intimidating amount of space, and shoots me a smirk. “Are you out here flirtin’?”
Beth scoffs, turning on her son and smacking him across the arm. He grabs at the spot dramatically, wincing through a laugh. “Weren’t you helping Winnie peel potatoes?”
Cole pouts. “She kicked me out. Said I was just in the way.”
“She’s irritated at you,” Beth says. “Don’t know what possessed you to eat six cupcakes last night. Have some self-control, Cole.”
“We both know that’s not really my strong suit.”
Calvin scoffs. “You’re one of the most disciplined people I know.”
Cole scrunches his nose. “I guess. I still struggle, though. Stop putting me on a pedestal. You know I hate that shit.”
“Oh, so Betty Rigby can worship the ground you walk on, but I can’t?”
“Pretty much.” Cole scoops Beth’s hand up and squeezes it. “You’re supposed to keep me humble, mama.”
“I’ll keep you locked out of the kitchen if you don’t leave Winnie and her cupcakes alone. You hear me?”
“Yes ma’am.”
I clear my throat and frown. “Winnie? Winnie Carmichael?”
What is she doing at the family dinner?
And why the hell hasn’t she texted me once?
Beth lights up. “Yes! You know Winnie?”
Before I can answer, Beth grabs me and guides me inside toward the kitchen with her arm looped through mine.
Cole whispers to his dad, “Better watch that one, Dad. He’s tryin’ to make moves on your woman.”
“He couldn’t handle her,” Calvin replies confidently, dodging the random towel Beth chucks at him.
When we clear the swinging door to the kitchen, Winnie is bent over the counter, concentrating on her cupcakes. She never lifts her head as she pipes perfect icing swirls onto the strawberry cakes, and I take a moment to look her over.
She scrunches her nose up as her hands move slowly in a repetitive circle, and she has flour all over her apron the same way Beth does. Unlike Beth and her collection of sundresses, she’s wearing another version of her work uniform—denim cut-off shorts and a ratty t-shirt. She’s tied her blonde hair up lazily at the nape like she did it in a rush.
Fuck.
She’s beautiful.
Has she always been this beautiful?
“Winnie, baby, those look just wonderful. Cole is very sorry for eating so many last night. Right, Cole?” Beth says as she breezes into the kitchen and looks over her shoulder with a pointed look at her son.
“Right. Absolutely.”
Winnie huffs, still concentrating. “Sure. You’re lucky I’m making more.”
Cole licks his lips and rubs his belly. “For me? How sweet, Win.”
“I don’t know,” Beth interjects, smacking Cole’s arm before wrapping her arm around my shoulders, “if you’ve met yet, Winnie, but he’ll be joining us for dinner.”
As soon as my name leaves Beth’s mouth, Winnie’s head snaps up so fast I’m shocked it doesn’t physically hurt her. Her golden eyes meet mine for only a second before they’re trailing down my body from the top of my worn ball cap to the toes of my scuffed boots, and I warm all over at her perusal.
“We’ve met a few times,” she mumbles, eyes returning to her work .
I can see her swallow as she pipes the frosting again, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my stupid smile at bay as her hands tremble.
Instead, I clear my throat and add, “We’re neighbors, actually.”
Beth seems to love that tidbit of information because she holds a hand over her heart, practically beaming at the two of us. “Small world, huh.”
Cole snorts behind me. “Magnolia Hollow is a small town, Mama.”
“I know that.” She huffs and rounds the island to check whatever she has in the oven. When she grabs a potholder, she threatens her son. “Don’t make me send you out to check cattle with your brother.”
But Cole snorts again, shaking his head as he grabs a cowboy hat from the counter. “I didn’t want to be in the kitchen, anyway. You know I’m better with the cows than I am with a stove.”
“When are you going to get a wife?”
Cole stares at her like she’s grown a second head. “Damn, mama. I guess when a lady comes around that I actually fuckin’ like.”
“You’re so picky.”
“ I’m not picky. No one wants damaged goods.”
Winnie lifts her head, frowning. “Hey, stop that. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”
Cole huffs, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “I’m getting out of here.”
Calvin claps my shoulder and gestures at Cole. “Go on out with him. Matt could use the help if he wants to be done by the time Blake gets back.”
“Sure.” The answer comes out of my mouth before I can consider saying anything else.
What would I say anyway? Sorry, sir, I’d really like to stay in this kitchen and watch Winnie get all cute and flustered by my presence.
Don’t think that would fly.
“Don’t get all filthy,” Beth orders and points a finger at us. “I don’t want the stink of cow shit to overpower my meatloaf and potatoes at the table. Do you hear me?”
All three of us share a look before simultaneously reply, “Yes, ma’am.”
My eyes find Winnie again before I clear the doorway. She’s still leaning over the tray of cupcakes, her hands frozen over the fully frosted cakes. When her eyes flick upward and meet mine one last time, I give her a small, secret grin and push through the swinging door.
I’m washing my hands in the main hallway bathroom with Beth’s special sugar cookie scented hand soap when the door opens and shuts faster behind me than I can blink. Turning around, my eyes widen at the sight of a blonde-haired crazy person crowding me back against the sink, and I raise my dripping wet hands in surrender .
“What are you doing?”
Winnie narrows her eyes, hands on her hips as she leans farther into my space. “Are you stalking me?”
My laugh sounds strangled. “What? What if I’d been in here peeing?”
“I was listening to make sure,” she confesses with little thought, and she has the decency to look embarrassed. “Just running water. You wash your hands for an abnormally long time.”
I show her the front and back of my squeaky clean hands with a cheeky grin on my face. “Gotta get all the shit and mud off, sweetheart.”
She scrunches up her nose and takes a step back.
Winnie has lost her dirty apron and changed out of her ratty t-shirt and shorts. She’s wearing a dress now, short and flowy, and she looks just as uncomfortable as I’m betting she feels in the breezy material. She doesn’t strike me as a dress-up kind of girl. If I had to guess, I would say her closet and dresser are full of leggings and sweatshirts. Probably overflowing with too many t-shirts and lounge pants.
“Is that all?” I smirk, grabbing the hand towel off the hook. “Or would you like to know more about my hygiene habits?”
She looks absolutely disgusted with me, and her lack of ability to mask how she feels in this moment is so adorable it makes me chuckle.
Her long hair is down now, freed from the haphazard ponytail she’d carelessly had it in, and it falls around her face delicately. It’s not straight or curly. Some strands twist while others hang limply, like all she did was brush it and call it a day.
I don’t really think as I reach out and pick up a piece of hair between my fingers.
“It is as soft as it looks,” I whisper.
Her eyes are wide as she stares at me like she’s surprised. Like, not only is it the first time she’s been alone with a boy, but it’s me. Like she didn’t fully realize how tight of a fit it is for both of us to be standing in this bathroom together when she barged in.
She swallows and steps out of my reach. I mourn the loss of her as her hair slips from my fingers.
“Do friends touch each other’s hair?”
“Definitely. Have you met Gus?”
Winnie scrunches her nose, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I don’t know if we should use Gus as a reference for how friends should act towards one another.”
“Why’s that?” I ask softly even though I wholeheartedly agree with her.
“I’ve seen the way he acts with you and Ben…” She chews her lip. “He’s so touchy.”
“I think his love language is physical touch.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, her lips twisting as she ducks her head slightly. “What’s your love language?”
This is dangerous territory. Uncharted land between us. Like something forbidden and left uncovered for reasons beyond me. I should shut her down, honestly. It would be irresponsible and reckless and selfish of me to allow anything to unfurl romantically between Winnie and I right now.
And I’ll tell her that.
Right now.
Except I don’t .
“I like a good balance of all the languages.”
Winnie lifts a brow, and it’s judging me for how selfish I am to want so much. “I thought the point was to pick one?”
Shrugging, I lean back against the counter, resting my butt on the lip of the sink. “I want all of them, though. I’m greedy that way.”
“What love language is vulnerability?” She whispers, taking a step back to rest against the wall opposite of me, mirroring my stance. “I like whatever category vulnerability and truth fall into.”
My voice sounds awestruck and fascinated by her answer, like the idea of such a thing is preposterous because it doesn’t conform to one of the five predisposed boxes you’re given to choose from. “Why?”
“Doesn’t the idea of baring your soul, showing someone all of the best and worst parts of you, give you a sense of freedom?” She questions, crossing her arms over her chest. “To know that someone sees the bad parts of you and chooses to love you regardless?”
Air punches out of me. “What’s the worst part of you, Winnie?”
She blinks, like the question is unexpected, yet it feels so obvious to me in the moment. I want to know every part of her. Just the way she’s describing. I want to know all of the parts of her that she tries to keep secret and love her anyway.
Love. Fuck .
“Why would I tell you?”
I smile, lopsided and shy. “Tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”
Winnie chuckles and pushes off the wall. She shuffles forward until she’s standing in front of me, toe to toe, so close I could count the freckles dotting her face. I’ve never had a girl make me feel so completely upside down and sideways. Just a jumbled mess of limbs and barely thought out sentences. Two years ago, I’d stared at Winnie with pity and sympathy, my heart hurting for the girl who just wanted someone to care about her.
Now I look at her through new eyes, wondering how I missed everything good and warm and wonderful about her two years ago. She’s still lonely, searching for acceptance from everyone she encounters, and she’s still sad. No doubt about that.
But right now, in the Fletchers’ bathroom, there’s a genuine smile on her face. Her words are real and raw and powerful, cutting to the deepest parts of me instantly.
She searches my face for… something .
“You want to know the darkest parts of me, ?”
“I really fucking do, Winnie.”
“No,” she whispers, so close to my face I can feel her breath. “I can’t give you everything. ”
And the way she says it… Like she’s already given me too much, and my thoughts swirl at that confession.
My eyes drop to her lips, and I mourn the loss of her heat when she takes a step away. “One day… One day I’ll know you in ways no one else ever will.”
She swallows, teeth scraping over her bottom lip. “Really?”
“Meet me later?” I ask instead.
Please say yes.
Winnie’s lashes flutter. You’d have thought I just whispered something dirty in her ear by the way she squeezes her eyes shut.
I wait her out. I’m a patient guy, after all.
Finally, she opens her eyes. It feels like an entire year has passed in her silence, but I know it’s only been a couple of seconds.
She surprises the fuck out of me by nodding slowly before saying, “You’ll have to find me first.”
Not only am I patient, but I love a good challenge, too.