Chapter 14
Tate hasn’t shown up.
The tiles in my laundry have set, the walls I painted have dried, my washer and dryer are still in my kitchen, and he’s nowhere to be found.
Well, this is only halfway true.
If I really want to see him, I know exactly where I can find him and the Celestial High School football program almost every morning.
I write out twelve different texts all oscillating between profusely apologizing for whatever I did and calling him a jerk for running out and keeping me waiting. I never send them.
I can’t stop trying to figure out what caused him to freak out the other night.
My coffee turns cold as I examine every word I said to him and try to pinpoint what I could’ve said to have offended him so much.
I try to convince myself that he wasn’t lying and he really did forget he had something to do, but not even my best efforts will allow me to believe that.
His number taunts me from my phone, and my finger hovers over his contact. All it would take is one little tap, a quick conversation to clear everything up, but instead of doing what a mature person would do, I call Gabby and leave her a voicemail telling her everything I’m not saying to Tate.
Direct and thoughtful communication? Not in this farmhouse.
Luckily for me, my experience at avoidance is vaster than the land I live on.
I’ve already organized my bookshelves and set aside a stack for Millie to come pick up—you can take the bookseller out of the bookstore, but you can’t take the bookseller out of the girl—and strung twinkle lights around the shed, but as soon as I spot the two gallons of unopened paint, I know exactly how I’m going to distract myself this afternoon.
When I consulted the internet, it warned me not to paint outside when it’s too hot, but considering the forecast isn’t calling for the temperature to drop below triple digits in the next two weeks, I take my chances.
I load the fresh roller brush with the newest shade of pastel pink I brought back from town and roll it down the splintered wood holding the chicken coop together.
The brightness of the paint makes my problems seem dull.
Every coat of paint takes me further and further away from my thoughts until the only thing I can think about is how great Little Chix and Kelly Cluckson are going to look strutting around their new home.
The tree keeping the chicken coop in the shade doesn’t do much to protect me from the sun’s ruthless rays.
My hair is coiled tight at my nape, and my damp shirt clings to every curve I have.
I drop the roller into the paint tray and drag my paint-speckled arm across my face, but it’s too late.
Sweat falls down my forehead, pulling the sunscreen I liberally applied with it as it sneaks behind my sunglasses and feels like acid flowing into my eyes.
“Fuck,” I hiss and clench my eyes shut.
I drop down to my haunches, trying not to rub my eyes as I feel around for the water bottle I, of course, can’t find. My eyes crack open just enough for more sunscreen to leak in until I finally spot the sticker-covered water bottle and snatch it off the ground.
My luck isn’t plentiful, but for once it’s on my side and the water bottle is still full when I pick it up.
Cool water splashes over the rim as I twist off the lid with frantic hands.
I don’t hesitate before pouring it over my face.
There is a short reprieve from the heat as the water flows down the rest of my body.
I blink the sunscreen out of my eyes, carefully dabbing the delicate skin around them with the fabric of my now-translucent shirt.
The stinging begins to fade and relief sets in.
Just in time for the burn of embarrassment to take over.
“You alright over there?” a voice calls from the distance, and I don’t need to look to know it’s Silas.
I spin around so my back is to the fence and he doesn’t get a face full of boobs…or a longer view of them depending on how long he’s been standing there.
“Um, yeah,” I shout over my shoulder. “Sunscreen got in my eyes. I was just trying to rinse it out.”
I pull my shirt away from my body and shake it in the hot air, but no matter how fast I go, my nipples are still clearly visible.
I always rolled my eyes and mumbled something about the patriarchy when my mom told me not to leave the house without a bra on, but it looks like on this one, very specific occasion, she was not wrong.
If I listen close enough, I can almost hear her saying “I told you so” from the great beyond, the echoes of her laughter rustling the leaves overhead.
“Okay, skin care!” an unfamiliar female voice says. “I know they say Black don’t crack, but anything is possible if you stand in this Texas sun for long enough.”
I can hear Silas’s sigh from all the way over here. “And skin cancer.”
“Well, duh, that’s a given,” she says. “It’s hard to have one without the other, and everyone knows that eternal youth lives where health, happiness, and little treats intersect.”
I have no idea who this philosopher queen is, but I already love her.
Little treats are not only my biggest joy, but my most utilized motivator in life.
There’s not a situation I’ve ever encountered where a little treat isn’t the answer.
Meet a deadline? Little treat. Go to bed early?
Little treat. Clear out your life possessions, sell your childhood home, and move to a different state? Little treat.
Works every time.
“What are you even talking about?” Silas asks. “Nobody needs—”
“She’s right,” I cut him off. “Putting on sunscreen was for my health, painting the coop pink was for my happiness, and I have ice cream in the freezer that’s my little treat when I finish.”
“See,” she says. “I don’t know why you still doubt me when I always end up being right.”
I’m not looking, but I can almost guarantee that she’s sticking out her tongue…and that this magical woman is his sister.
They bicker behind me until my curiosity beats out my modesty. I fold my arms in front of my chest, grateful once more that I don’t have much to hide, and turn to face the duo.
After seeing Silas and Tate, one could assume anyone sharing their genetics would be easy on the eyes.
Not even a world as terrible as this would be so cruel as to let their sister grow up beside them and not at least be pretty.
But even knowing what I know and guessing what I guessed, nothing could’ve prepared me for the reality of coming face-to-face with the Jacobs sister.
Even from a distance, it’s easy to see that sitting astride a horse in a pair of light-wash jeans and a simple white tee with brown leather cowboy boots tucked into stirrups, the third Jacobs sibling is more stunning than I could have ever imagined.
Her skin is a few shades darker than mine and glistens as if she’s been dipped in gold.
Strong, lean arms hold tight to the reins, and long braids flow over her shoulders and down her back.
And rudely, the closer I get, the more beautiful she becomes.
The strong yet delicate lines of her bone structure accentuate every feature on her perfect face.
Lashes so dark and thick they shouldn’t be real frame the honey eyes she shares with Silas, and although she’s not wearing a spec of makeup, not a pimple nor a wrinkle mars her flawless skin.
A deep Cupid’s bow cuts into full, pouty lips, and I wouldn’t be surprised if plastic surgeons hang her photo on the wall as inspiration for all who enter.
The vibes are immaculate, and I honestly can’t tell if I want to be her, want to be her best friend, or want to sleep with her. But no matter which I choose, one thing holds true: I am fully obsessed with her.
“You’re like Cowgirl Barbie in real life and I’m a little intimidated by your overall”—I gesture wildly with one hand, trying my hardest to keep my chest covered with the other—“amazingness.”
“Oh god.” Silas groans from atop his horse. “Do not blow up her head any more than it already is. We won’t survive it.”
“Ignore him.” She waves him off with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “Tell me more. What, exactly, do you find so amazing? Because I just got my hair done the other day and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.”
“Here we go,” Silas mumbles beneath his breath, but we both ignore him.
“Definitely the braids,” I say. “You look like a mermaid who morphed into a magical, sparkly goddess who rides horses and slays men.”
Wonder Woman who?
“Well, that’s it. It’s official.” She leans back into the saddle and throws her hands in the air. “Someone alert the Celestial Whisper Network, Ciara Jacobs has a new favorite person in town and her name is…” She pauses and looks at me. “Wait, what’s your name?”
“Luna Starr,” I say and note the flash of skepticism that crosses her face. “My mom was kind of a nut. She was really into astrology, and when I found a town named Celestial, I thought it might be the perfect fit.”
“Shut the fuck up. I love that,” she says before resuming her earlier monologue. “Someone alert the Celestial Whisper Network that Luna Starr is my new favorite person in town!”
“I’m so sorry, Luna,” Silas says to me. “She just moved back from Austin and insisted on coming out with me. I wish I could say she’s never like this, but I wouldn’t want to lie to you.”
“Oh, whatever.” Ciara rolls her eyes. “He’s just mad because he probably wanted to impress you and I showed him up with my natural charm and charisma. I’ve been out here stealing my brother’s girls since ’96.”
I can’t tell if her saying Silas wanted to impress me is true or one more example of a little sister giving her big brother a hard time. Both are endearing, but my ego really hopes it’s the former.
“Again, I’m sorry,” he says. “To make up for my obnoxious sister, would you want to go on a ride with us? You’ve been over here for a while and you still haven’t seen Starlight Ridge or met our horses.”
Quiet hope and maybe even nerves replace the usual bravado in his confident voice. It’s so sweet and I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to…which I don’t.
“I’d really like that,” I say. “I just need to change fast, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” His bright smile turns megawatt and even Ciara looks giddy. “Take your time. Just make sure you wear long pants and closed-toe shoes.”
“Jeans and boots.” I mentally scan my closet for horse-friendly clothes. I won’t look as cool and sexy as Ciara, but at least I have options. “Got it.”
Excitement races through my veins like a bottle of shaken-up soda as I think of a day spent exploring Starlight Ridge Ranch.
I turn around and skip past the half-painted chicken coop and up to my back door.
I run up my stairs two at a time, peeling off my wet clothes and throwing them across the room without bothering to see where they land.
I glance into my bathroom, and the unfinished floor spurs thoughts of Tate back into my mind.
Silas is literally sitting outside my house, on top of a horse, like the romance hero of my dreams. The last person I should be thinking of is Tate.
The last thing I should want is to ride on the back of Tate’s horse.
It’s like he’s the hot, moody, asshole version of the annoying pop song stuck in your head.
The more I try to forget about Tate, the deeper his tune burrows into my brain, his song playing on repeat in my mind.
If I had any sense whatsoever, I would shut this down right now.
Tate clearly isn’t interested and I shouldn’t be either.
If I was smart, I would take the hints he’s not so subtly sending me and run straight into Silas’s arms and never look back.
It’s just too bad emotions don’t listen to logic.