Colt
I look up at the towering white columns of the Greek Revival, the cornices catching the final, bleeding rays of sunset.
A half-dozen pumpkins dot the front porch steps, and a wreath of burnt-orange leaves hangs from the door.
It looks like a woman planning to stay awhile, but she said her family moved to Shreveport. If they’re there, why is she here?
It feels like I should walk right in. Find my chair at the table.
Flop down on the twin bed Alice’s parents moved into Grant’s room for me.
But it’s been over eight years since I left this place, and suddenly I wonder if the things I longed for while stationed thousands of miles away will still be there.
I take a breath and knock.
When the door swings open, the air in my lungs stills.
Alice stands there, her blue eyes widening in shock.
For a second, she’s frozen. Then, she breaks into a slow, dazzling smile that makes my pulse kick.
She looks every bit the woman she is now—wearing a red dress with well-worn cowboy boots, brunette hair spilling over her shoulders.
"Well, well, look who finally returned home.”
I lean against the doorframe, letting a playful drawl take the edge off my nerves. “The sun is settin’, and I figured a lady shouldn't have to walk alone in the dark. So, I’m volunteering my services as an escort."
She laughs, a bright sound that echoes through the foyer, and steps back to let me in.
"An escort, huh? How chivalrous of you.” Right before I enter, she kicks her boot out, eyes sparking with mischievousness.
“Of course, you could be feigning chivalry only to become a villain once you step inside.”
My mouth quirks upward. I wasn’t sure what to expect tonight. Whether we’d still be awkward around one another, or if we’d quickly move past the reacquainting period. She’s just given me an opening to seize the latter.
I step closer. “I guess you’ll have to trust that you weren’t living with a wolf in sheep’s clothing for three years.”
She laughs, her head falling back. My eyes slide down her throat, the sound of her laughter soothing something inside me. “Oh, I always knew you were a wolf.” She removes her boot and makes way for me again. “I tried to warn my parents.”
“That you did. Smart girl.” I remove my hat and step inside. My smile falters the moment I take in the once-familiar space. The unadorned hallway feels cavernous, and the corner sofa is gone. In fact, about half the furniture has vanished.
"Alice?" I turn back to her with a furrowed brow.
"I’m, uh… I’m selling the place.” She opens her hands and then drops them, a bittersweet glint in her eyes. “I guess we both need a realtor."
The news sends an unexpected pang straight to my heart, but I have no right to feel that way, not when I’m leaving soon too.
My gaze travels toward the grand staircase. I know the layout of this house as well as my own, but the silence upstairs feels different now.
"I’m staying in my parents’ room," she explains, following my line of sight. "Well, I guess it’s not really theirs anymore. It’s mine." She looks back at me. "Do you want to see upstairs? Grant’s old room?” She swallows, and my eyes lock on hers. “Or mine?”
My heart thuds against my ribs. Years ago, Alice was a sweet, daydreaming kid I wanted to protect from the world and, sometimes, even from her own parents. Now, Alice is a woman in a red dress, standing in a half-empty house, and she just invited me to her bedroom.
I clear my throat, wavering between playfulness and something I hardly understand. "Alice.” My voice drops an octave. "You’d invite a wolf upstairs?”
Alice’s smile falters and—I may imagine it—but her eyes seem to drop to my mouth for a beat. But then, just as swiftly, she gives my ribs a nudge. “Oh, please. You’re no wolf. I’ve watched you eat Jell-O pudding cups, Colt.”
Alice grabs her blue jean jacket and makes for the front door.
“Uh, I’ve been to war,” I say.
Alice laughs harder, closing the door behind us. “Yeah, right.”
“I shot a gun. Many times.”
Alice pats my arm as we make our way to the street. “Sure you did.”
I laugh hard. The sound is foreign to my ears, but it feels better than I’m willing to admit. Shaking my head, I look at Alice. “You’re different now.”
She meets my gaze and smiles softly. “You, too.” She narrows her eyes and tilts her head, as if searching for something. “But also, the same.”
I nod to that. “Yeah.”
We walk inside the Hall, and I nod at Dalton as Alice scours the room. When she spots two women she recognizes, she grabs my hand and leads me toward the table. My eyes dart to where her hand disappears inside mine.
She holds it naturally, like this has happened a hundred times before.
I wrap my fingers more fully around hers as a warm, comforting feeling swims through my veins.
I can’t stop staring at our clasped hands, willing the moment to stretch for some unfathomable reason, but the second we reach the table, she lets go.
“This is Maggie.” Alice points to a vaguely familiar redhead. “I think you two were in the same grade in school.”
I offer Maggie a hand, and she shakes it with pursed lips. “Uh, huh,” she mutters.
Okay. So that one hates me.
“And this is June.” Alice nods to another woman, whom I recognize as the town baker.
I bought a cherry pie from her when I was down for my mom’s funeral.
Warren and I ate it on the kitchen table with two forks, forcing ourselves to swap the few pleasant memories of our mother.
We’d lasted ten, maybe fifteen minutes before the reminiscing turned into an argument and Warren hurled his fork across the room.
June and I shake hands, and the four of us sit. Instead of diving into our past and how Alice and I know each other, June carries on chatting as she was, making me feel more at ease and not like a fourth wheel. For that, I vow to buy everything in her shop.
“I was just telling Maggie about this guy who came into my store today,” June explains.
Maggie brings a glass of white wine to her lips, glaring at me over the rim.
“He buys a cake from me,” June continues. “German chocolate.”
Alice moans, her head falling back, and my cock twitches at the sound.
Fucking hell.
“And then, not an hour later, he brings it back, a quarter of the cake missing, and asks if he can exchange it for a different one. Said it was… dry.” June closes her eyes on the last word, as if this part of the story is too painful to bear.
“He did not,” Alice gasps.
“Bastard,” Maggie tuts.
Alice leans forward and grabs June’s hands. “You have never made a dry pastry in your entire life.”
June nods quickly, pouting. “Except for my shortbread cookies.”
“Except for those,” Alice agrees.
“I’ve had your pie,” I offer.
Three heads swing in my direction, and I really, really wish I hadn’t spoken. Clearing my throat, I add, “It was incredible. I’ve never eaten anything that good. I still, uh…”
Stop talking, Colt.
“Still what?” June’s eyes are wide and eager.
“Think about it. I still think about it.”
June’s face scrunches, and at first I think I’ve freaked her out. But then she and Alice are going, “Aww,” and June is saying, “I like him. Alice, I like him.”
“He’s easy to like.” Alice shrugs, and my eyes shoot to her.
Maggie, I note, is not so easily won over.
“Someone order a hangover?” Dalton approaches, setting down beer bottles before slapping me on the back. “On the house.”
I reach for my wallet, but Dalton stops me. “What did I just say?” Dalton points at me, while looking at the women. “I don’t see you three trying to pay me. Look at Mr. Manners over here. Be more like him. Learn from him. Adopt his ways.”
Alice twists off the cap and brings the bottle to her lips. Right before she drinks, she says, “Colt? No… Colt’s a wolf.”
I tip my head, a playful warning in my eyes, enjoying her teasing far too much.
She smiles around the bottle as she drinks.
“I believe it,” Maggie deadpans.
Alice is about to respond when a man approaches the table, his eyes fixed on June. Removing his cowboy hat, he says, “I mean no disrespect, but if you’re not spoken for, ma’am, would you care to dance?”
June looks taken aback, but quickly recovers. “Sure. I’d love to.”
She rises, and I glance at Dalton to ask if he wants to sit, but he’s watching every step June takes like the two of them are about to torch the Hall.
“You know him?” I keep my voice low.
Dalton shakes his head, his eyes still on June.
“Are you and her—?”
Alice catches my eye and shakes her head vigorously.
Dalton glances down, suddenly remembering our existence. “No,” he says with a face that implies the question is ludicrous. “She’s my friend though. I’m just keeping an eye…” He trails off. “Why aren’t y’all drinking?” he booms. “Want me to take them back?”
Everyone snatches their bottle.
When I set the beer back down, I realize I have two choices—sit here under Maggie’s scrutinizing glare, or find a method—a very appealing method—to escape the situation.
I stand, summoning the courage to offer Alice my hand.
Her face opens with surprise, but she swiftly rises to her feet and slips her small hand into mine.
Back where it belongs, my mind adds. I lead her to the floor, shaking off the thought, as Blake Shelton blares from the speakers.
Glancing around, I see that even Dalton hasn’t escaped the fall madness.
The wooden beams overhead are wrapped with faux maple leaves, and strings of Edison bulbs glow like embers. Atop the scuffed whiskey-barrel cocktail tables, small pumpkins and tea candles sit atop burlap.
Though the manufactured cheer grates like sandpaper against my skin, I understand the financial appeal to local businesses. But for some people, like Alice, it’s simply about the enjoyment that comes from celebrating and decorating.
I guide Alice’s hand to my shoulder before wrapping my arm around her waist. Pulling her a little closer than necessary, we begin two-stepping across the floor.