CHAPTER NINE #2
“I still can’t believe he thought to get you that and send it over,” Roni grumbles. “You two are divorced, for fuck’s sake. Clark and I are still married, and he never does anything near as thoughtful.”
“I can see why this mug pisses you off so much then.” And I can totally believe it.
It’s so Matti to do something like this.
Because at the end of the day, no matter who we are to each other, he still gets me better than anyone else in the world.
What I can’t believe, is that I totally spaced thanking him for it when I saw him last night.
But I will. First thing, next time I see him, I’ll thank him.
Meanwhile, my sister gives me another snotty look but declines to comment any further.
Which is good, because arguing with her would just be one more thing keeping us from getting out the door and over to the main barn for orientation.
As it is, between me sucking down a cup in a hurry, Tori making her last-minute dash back to the kitchen for her own, Clark nearly forgetting his allergy medication and Anna having to be persuaded to not wear open-toed sandals around livestock, we walk in just as two cowboys, complete with sweat-stained hats, dirty boots, and mud-caked spurs, step up onto a makeshift stage of straw bales and start to introduce themselves.
Thankfully, no one seems to notice us when we sneak in late, and the whole lot of us manages to blend in toward the back by the doors without interrupting our hosts.
“I suddenly feel very inadequate,” Oliver mumbles to me out of the corner of his mouth.
I take in his ensemble of pressed jeans, brand-new cowboy boots I think he may have polished this morning, and a nice, checkered button-up shirt, neatly tucked into his pants and secured with a belt adorned with the tackiest buckle I do believe I have ever seen.
“It does look like maybe you’re trying a little too hard,” I tease under my breath.
“I was going to say the same to you when I saw you sporting the braided pigtails and bandana,” he counters, grinning.
I’m about point out that at least my jeans look like they’ve made friends with dirt before, and that they’ve most certainly never met with starch or an ironing board when the doors open again, and three more people join us.
Unlike our party of eight, these three do not go unnoticed.
But then Knox Marley rarely does.
Especially not when he has his sexy bass player in tow.
And I’m not the only one who refers to him as such. I’ve seen the hashtags.
Of course, it’s only adding fuel to the fire of impending gossip that Knox isn’t alone with Matti. He’s got a gorgeous brunette at his side that he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of. Kenley .
Almost instantly, a wave of whispers moves through the big barn, every one of them echoing the words ‘Knox Marley and Matti Benning’ and ‘The Wilds’.
Meanwhile, the two cowboys up front can’t even see what’s causing the commotion. It’s hard not to feel bad for them as they try to rein in the crowd again with talk of grooming tools and basic horse safety.
“Bold move causing a distraction right when they’re covering the parts you most need to hear,” I mutter when Matti moves in at my side, Knox and his lady right along with him like they’re part of our group.
And like that will somehow help them all blend in.
“I thought you wanted to avoid being kicked a second time.”
He shoots me a dirty look before turning his attention to the front and both cowboys. A second later, he turns back toward me, looking slightly panicked. “Seriously, what did they say? I totally missed it.”
“That’s what you get for making an entrance ,” I whisper, trying not to laugh. “You really think you can just wander in late, have everyone turn around to look and not recognize you two?”
“I’m wearing a hat,” Knox insists, forever thinking a baseball cap will sufficiently disguise him.
“I told them both this would happen,” Kenley informs me, looking distinctly uncomfortable with all the attention they’re getting.
I lean across Matti and Knox to extend my hand. “I’m Nessa, Matti’s ex.”
She smiles. “I figured.” Her hand meets mine. “Kenley. Knox’s last meet and greet.”
“Wow.” He shakes his head at her, displaying intense disappointment. “Do we need to have that boyfriend-girlfriend chat again?”
Her nose crinkles. “No.” She looks over at me. “I just freaking hate that word. Boyfriend . I’m in my forties. I don’t wanna have a stupid boyfriend.”
“You could always call him your lover,” I offer, keeping my amusement to a quiet snicker so I don’t add to the commotion their mere presence has already caused.
“Oh, God.” She pulls back, grimacing with disgust. “That’s even worse.”
“Life partner?” Matti chimes in.
“Y’all need to stop encouraging this craziness,” Knox practically growls at us. He places his hand on Kenley’s lower back. “Come on. Outside. Let’s go.”
She gives him one last glance of disapproval before the scowl practically melts from her face and turns into some sort of gushy smile only a woman head over heels for a guy is capable of.
I know. That used to be my face twenty-four-seven. I have countless photos to prove it.
“They’re not coming back, are they?” I whisper when just Matti remains to my right.
“Highly unlikely.” He smirks. “He forgot his guitar on the bus the night he met her. Went twenty-four hours and didn’t even notice until I told him.”
I glance back toward the door they disappeared through. “Good.” I take his hand and squeeze it. “Knox deserves that.” I lean in a little closer. “I know you worried about him all those years Emmery was screwing around with his head.”
“It’s crazy,” he says, eyes dropping to meet mine, “but I think Kenley had a part of his heart all along, way before he even met her. Like he couldn’t ever give it to Emmery because he only had half to begin with.
And then whatever broken pieces Emmery left in her wake just fluttered off and found Kenley, waiting for him to heal and be ready to feel something again. ”
“I don’t think it’s so crazy.”
He smiles. It’s sweet and sad all at the same time. And a million thoughts pool in his eyes, each of them overlapping before I can make them out. I’m not sure I have to. No need to read the man’s mind when it’s suddenly undeniably clear I can still feel his heart.
Almost like the broken pieces fluttered off and found me all over again. Same as my shattered heart went home to him.
And I can’t help but wonder if this moment proves that we’ve healed what we broke, can’t help wondering if he can feel me again too.
The way that I can feel him.
I can still feel him.
“Would you two zip it?” Roni snaps impatiently. “Some of us are trying to listen to the two men in the cowboy hats who actually look like they have something of value to impart upon us.”
“Also,” Tori adds quietly, “you’re being totally rude to Oliver.”
Oliver, who has been standing silently to my left, and who admittedly, I briefly forgot about, just shrugs. “I’m sorry, but I’m too hung up on the fact Knox Marley just stood two people over from me to be bothered by much of anything.”
“Good grief, Oliver. Who knew you were such a fan girl.”
Apparently, my joke was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Or the patience threshold on Roni. In any event, we’re suddenly all being glared into silence.
Having five kids has given her skills beyond all our capabilities.
The orientation lesson only lasts another twenty minutes or so, but it includes a Q & A portion at the end, and Matti is able to address his concerns about being kicked more thoroughly.
When the cowboys (Will and Frank, I finally caught their names somewhere in the middle) finish their spiel, they direct everyone’s attention toward the coffee and pastry bar along the side of the building where the adjoining tack room is located.
I’m pretty sure they lose most of the crowd by pointing out food, but I listen long enough to learn the rest of the layout.
To the other side of us are two offices, and behind Will and Frank’s makeshift stage of straw, a feed room. The stalls, we’re told, are located beyond this part of the structure.
When they’re done giving the lay of the land, they close by encouraging everyone to fuel up before we take a tour of the whole barn and meet the horses.
With the socialization portion of the morning officially underway, Matti gets clobbered by people.
First, by the rest of my family members who weren’t standing close enough to greet him when he arrived, and then by the thirty or so other guests participating in this morning’s orientation class with us.
Selfies abound, causing me to draw further and further back and out of the limelight.
“Not your scene, huh?” Oliver observes.
“Nope.” I take a seat on some of the bales of straw strewn about precisely for this purpose. “But I’m happy to go take a picture of you with Matti if you like.”
Oliver laughs, lowering himself down beside me. “I think I’ll pass. Gonna try and wait for a group shot that doesn’t look like it’s totally staged. That way it’ll be way more believable when I go home and tell everyone I vacationed with Matti Benning from the Wilds.”
“You do realize we’re not actually here together, right?”
Oliver cocks his head to the side, one brow rising. “Aren’t we though?”
I roll my eyes in lieu of a real response. Then, I chang
e the topic. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to throw a lasso. Think they’ll teach us that here?”
“I hope so. That would be cool.” His eyes light up. “You know what else would be cool? Learning how to crack a bullwhip.”
“I don’t know. That sounds like the sort of thing that would come with a lot of trial and error involving whips to the back of the head. I’m not sure I’d be into that.”
Oliver peers around the room until his eyes land on the coffee and pastry spread. “Into another cup of joe?”
“Always.” Crap. I forgot to thank Matti for the mug again .
He gets up, brushing the straw from his pristine pants. “How do you take it?”
“Two sugars and a dollop of whatever non-dairy cream they’re serving.”
He starts for the coffee, and I add, “Depending on the size of the cup, you may have to adjust. Two and a half sugars. A little more cream. You get it.” I flick my wrist, trying to make light of my high-maintenance coffee needs.
He nods, grinning. “Or one and a half sugars. Little less cream.”
“What?” I grimace, aghast at the suggestion.
“Never bring her a cup of coffee too small for two sugars,” Matti chimes in, walking over, apparently having managed to escape his fandom for the moment. Judging by the two cups of coffee in his hands, he made a detour by the breakfast bar on his way back.
“Good to know,” Oliver says, no longer confused, only amused. So amused, I’m quite sure he’s laughing at me.
Meanwhile, Matti comes to a stop in front of me, takes a sip of coffee, and makes a face. Then hands it over. “Here. It’s perfect.”
“Thanks.” I can feel my face turn hot and realize with a surge of humiliation the man still has the power to make me blush like a teenager talking to her first big crush.