Chapter 5
Christine
“So pretty,” Tagger’s mom, Mary, says, taking my hands in hers as soon as we walk into the house. “You look so much like your mom.”
Being told I remind everyone of my mom usually feels like a burden since I didn’t want to carry the torch of her life alone. I wanted her to be here with me, and a part of me hasn’t reconciled she’s gone.
If I could have her braid my hair once more, to cradle my face in her hands as she tells me I’m more than she could have wished for, or even just to catch a glimpse of her watching me run my horse in that cloverleaf pattern around the barrels at the rodeo and to feel her comforting arms around me when I made a mistake that lost me the competition.
She was my loudest cheerleader and my broken heart’s confidant. No, it’s not fair she’s gone, and I’m left with features that remind everyone of not only her life but also that she’s gone too young.
“Thank you,” I reply, accepting the compliment. It might still hurt to hear, but I’m glad I have some of her features.
I always saw Mary as someone’s mom, but there’s no pretense or vibe of hierarchy standing with her now. At some point, the kids grow up, and maybe it’s because I have, but I see her as the woman she is as well.
She and Tagger share their grassier green eyes, and her smile is kind, her voice softer spoken, which makes me feel at home in her kitchen.
The chill of Mary’s hands after wiping them on a dish towel is in opposition to the warm welcome that lies in her eyes and greeting.
Reminds me of my mom when she’d be cooking, washing her hands, and moving to the next task before they could warm up again.
“It’s so wonderful to spend time with you again, Christine. ”
Her words pull my mind out of the past and into the present.
“It’s wonderful to see you again. It’s been a while.
Was it the church potluck or . . .?” My memory might not be serving me well.
I thought I saw Mary around sometimes, but now I’m not sure, which makes me feel bad for not checking in on them or even inquiring.
We may be a small town at heart, spread out over the county, but I’m usually better at knowing these things. “Last year’s Peach Festival?”
“I think it was the farmers’ market last fall.”
“Oh, that’s right. I don’t work the Greene Farms stand often, but I covered last November when we were short-staffed.”
Spying pots on the stove that appear to need attention, I ask, “Can I help you with dinner?”
“Actually,” she starts with a grin that reminds me of Beck’s when he’s about to get into a little good trouble.
“We’re going to let Tag and Justin take over from here.
” She goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine.
“His dad will be out in a minute, and I’m confident my son can manage it until then.
As for us, I thought we could catch up out on the porch.
That sunset looks to be a beauty tonight.
” Looking at Tagger, she asks, “You can handle it, right?”
“Like a pro.” Not a second of hesitation came with his response.
As soon as his mom shuffles Beck out the door with the bribe of a hopscotch, Tag says, “Hey, Pris?”
His eyes haven’t left mine since he mentioned being a pro in the kitchen . . . leading my mind to wonder about the bedroom. The “Pris” doesn’t even sidetrack my wicked thoughts. But then he says, “Come here.”
My heart starts beating out of my chest from the dulcet tone of the request. I go without question, stopping just shy from the front of my leather sandal from touching his shoe.
“Yes?” I reply all breathy, making it obvious that I don’t get out of the house enough these days, and I’ve forgotten how to behave around men I find irredeemably attractive.
“The glasses are in the cabinet closest to the fridge.”
Embarrassment lumps in my throat, dulling that vivid heartbeat as it drops to the pit of my stomach. “Right.”
I turn, but the brush of his fingers against mine before he catches my hand has me looking between us at the connection instead of at the cabinet where he indicated. The teasing gives me whiplash, but the electricity between us is enough to light up a stadium.
Will I never grow out of this crush?
I’m starting to think it’s futile to fight it.
I look into his eyes, which are set on mine so steadily that I shift under the intensity.
And gulp, that lump finally clearing, hoping he doesn’t hear it.
I move away, needing to for self-preservation, and open the pale-yellow door to find two mismatched wineglasses inside the cabinet.
The moment gives me a chance to right myself back into my better sensibilities.
It’s dinner with his family, not him. I need to remember that.
Anyway, I’ve known him my whole life. And in the short time he’s been back, I’ve already gathered that Tagger Grange didn’t come home for a good time.
It seems he came home to reckon with his past. His son gave him a reason to reconsider a place that he hightailed away from as if being from here was marred in shame instead of his glory days.
Just another reason that attracts me to him. He left his all-star football days behind him and moved on with his life. He wasn’t stuck in the past like so many guys around here still are, hanging onto their teen years like that was the best time of their lives. It probably was.
Not for Tagger or Baylor, though, not even for my older brother Griffin.
They all went on to bigger and brighter futures while I landed back here to take care of things.
Maybe I’m not any better than those guys from high school that I see hanging out at Whiskey’s when Lauralee and I go out.
Perhaps instead of fighting my fate, it’s time to accept it.
It might make meeting someone a lot easier if the standard isn’t Tagger Grange anymore.
The comparison will always fail to the real thing.
Maybe I need to learn to make lemonade from the slim pickins’ in The Pass.
I never see myself settling for less. I’d rather be alone.
Although he’s moved to lift the lids of the pots on the stove, Tag glances at me. “I didn’t mean to make this awkward.”
“It’s not.” I smile, but I can’t hold it, not even for the sake of politeness.
With a little nudge of his elbow, he asks, “You sure about that?”
“No.” This time, the corners of my mouth lift naturally. “It’s awkward.”
He laughs. “Honesty is always the best policy. Tell me how to turn this around.”
“Wine will help.”
“Speaking of . . .” He glances down at the glasses in my hands. “My mom’s going to be drinking from the bottle if you don’t get her that glass soon.”
The reminder strikes, making me move toward the door, though the rest of me wasn’t quite ready. I reach for the knob, about to pull the door open, when he adds, “It may not have felt like it, but I want you to know that I wasn’t only Baylor’s friend, Pris.”
I don’t look back, but I do nod, taking in the words and the implications of what he’s said.
It’s a feeling more than words that rattle me awake to how our relationship is already evolving from kids to whatever stage this is.
I open the door but feel compelled to look back just to see if the truth is embedded in his expression. I’m not disappointed.
Green eyes with softened lines at the sides and a smile that stays close to restraint but can’t seem to hide an intention has me thinking of crossing some lines I shouldn’t with my brother’s best friend.
Call me wild, but the flat-front pants and white button-up shirt he’s wearing like that’s all he owns isn’t a deterrent.
Images of him in faded jeans and T-shirts that got too tight around his biceps are still emblazoned into my memories.
That he looks good in everything, even dressed like he’s about to audit me, is quite annoying.
I take a big breath and exhale slowly, knowing I need to walk out of here before my thoughts get away from me.
Again. “Glad to hear it, but it would have been nice to know it, too.”
He cuts the fire from the gas stove, but his eyes are quick to find mine. “You were four years younger—”
“And wanted to play with the big kids so badly.”
“You ran around in dresses and boots—”
“Like yesterday,” I volley.
A few long seconds tick by before he chuckles and rubs his hand along his jaw. “Yes, like yesterday.”
“Yet, even dressed like a girl, I could climb a tree faster than most boys.”
“I bet you could.” He takes a deep breath, his chest noticeably filling before he exhales. “I can’t turn back time, Pris, so how can I make it up to you?”
“See me as a whole person instead of only as Baylor’s little sister.”
His eyes dip down but are fast in their retreat to the floor as if he caught himself looking when he knew better.
“I see you,” he replies, his gaze finding mine again.
But as if he can’t help himself, it caresses my face and travels lower.
Again. “I see who you are. I see you’re not that little kid anymore.
” Maybe he shouldn’t, but I can’t lie that it’s nice to have someone look at me like the woman I’ve become.
He checks the roast in the oven before searching for oven mitts.
“I appreciate you spending time with Beck today. He loved it.”
I know it’s best we don’t delve deeper, but I’m still disappointed we’ve abandoned the topic so quickly. I ask, “And you?”
Should I be pushing him to the point of uncomfortable? No.
But do I like to watch him squirm? Yes.
With the roast pan in his hands, he sets it down and faces me.
“I liked spending time with you today, too.” There’s a hint of rebellion in his tone, but his smile is genuine.
Good to know I wasn’t alone in feeling that way.
“And if it matters, it never bothered me when you hung around when we were kids.”