24. Lottie
twenty-four
Lottie
From the porch, I study Maddie’s camper parked next to the barn.
It arrived a couple of days ago, but I haven’t had a chance to visit with her yet.
According to Ham, she needs a ride to the hockey games.
I was going to drop by and say hello and confirm the time, but she doesn’t seem to be around.
I turn on my heel to head back inside just as Tyson’s rental car putts up the driveway, kicking up dust in the late afternoon light.
My heart rate increases as he climbs out with that hesitant confidence, and I find myself scanning everything else because I can’t bear to meet his eyes.
This is so different for us.
Although we are both naturally shy, we’ve never been quiet around each other. Here I am, checking the camper again, then the barn, even the fence line, searching for anything that isn’t Tyson Lane.
He seems to notice me scanning everything, and he does the same, taking in the place from every angle. A slow grin tugs at his mouth. “Is Ham around?”
“Well,” I say after a beat, “he stayed late with my mom for some meeting. They should be back shortly. It’s just me right now.
” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. Saying we’re alone out loud feels like stepping into a giant spotlight.
I rush to change the subject, “So, uh, your game yesterday was amazing.”
“No, it wasn’t.” One eyebrow cuts up. “We lost.”
“You guys all played well though.” I hesitate, then continue, “Isn’t it more about how you play?”
“No, it’s about winning.” He shoots a clipped nod at me before lowering his voice into a grumble, “Taz and I have played with and against each other for years. It’s almost a bad thing—he knows me so well he’s always one step ahead.”
“I wish we didn’t live so far from each other, because I could get used to coming to your games.” I hold his gaze and wait to see if he picks up on the subtle hint. I know it’s subtle—maybe too subtle—but I’m not good at this.
Deep down, my overreactive digestive system kicks in again, loud and insistent. “Even though I’m not good at this, I’m tired of this. Stop dancing around the issue.” Yes, it actually said all those words. I know, because I speak colon.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he clears his throat. “So, uh, how was Bodan?”
“Well, he’s Bodan.” I tug on the hem of my shirt as I study the perfect straight seam like it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve seen all day. “I think he had fun. He’s one of those people who does well wherever he is, and he’s not shy. He likes the attention.”
“That sounds promising.” Tyson’s voice is dry, as if he can barely force the words out.
“He’s not a bad guy,” I say honestly, even though neither of us wants to talk about him.
He’s basically my coworker at this point.
With only a few minutes—or maybe an hour tops—before Ham and my mom come back, I’m struggling to steer the conversation to where I need it to go.
Shoot, my dad might even pop in sooner. I so desperately want to talk about all the things Ty and I need to talk about.
But how? After a pause, I swallow, mustering up all my courage, close my eyes, and drop a hint bomb.
“Yeah, Bodan is fine to hang out with, but I don’t think he’s the one for me. ”
Just like that, the air thickens.
Like, so thick.
How did that happen in a single second?
Someone cranked the oven dial to a hundred and ninety.
I open my eyes right as Ty tosses a look over his shoulder, scanning the property as if he expects my mom to materialize.
When he turns back, he scratches the back of his head, like he’s solving the hardest math problem ever.
“So, just to be clear. No one’s here? We’re not having a family dinner. You just invited me to hang out?”
“Like I said, if you’re already bored, Ham is on his way, but honestly, I was hoping we could talk.
” I take a tiny step closer, careful not to touch him.
I’m not brave enough for that yet. Sure, I’ve accidentally touched him plenty of times over the years, even shared friendly hugs, but the tension is now suffocating—I can’t move another inch.
“Talk?” His voice pitches up and squeaks, causing me to stifle a giggle. He evens it out and adds, “Sure. We can talk.”
I hate having to initiate this. I’ve never done this kind of thing before, but I get why he’s not saying anything—because one, I have a fake boyfriend, and two, my mom made it clear we can’t date.
The air is muggy as it should be in July, but it layers sweat on my lower back that’s distracting.
Needing my head to clear, I nod toward the front door.
“Why don’t we go inside, where the air-conditioning’s on? ”
“Sure.” I wait for him to say more than a single word, but after he tacks on a cheesy grin, I realize this is weird for him too.
Why is this so weird?
It’s Ty!
I don’t doubt that once we get over this weird initial step, everything will be perfect—but neither one of us has ever been much of a talker.
I lead him inside, where my plan to sit down and relax completely backfires.
Somehow, it’s worse here. It might have to do with the formality of our living room, with its high-back chairs and giant portrait of my mom above the fireplace.
We sit on opposite ends of the couch like we’re waiting for a mediator.
“So,” he says, his eyes glued on the portrait of my mom, “your mom wasn’t upset about you going to the game?”
“No, her approval rating went up another point.” I deflate a little. This is way too awkward. He won’t open up like this. I stand abruptly and say the first thing that comes to mind, “Do you want to walk the goats?”
A teasing grin spreads across his features. “Should I be scared?”
“Nah, they always behave perfectly.” I’m already grinning wider, eager to get somewhere that feels more natural.
Clearly, he likes the idea, at least better than this, because he’s on his feet.
I think we’re both grateful to have something to focus on, and we quickly scramble outside, grab leashes, and wrangle three very opinionated goats.
Even with the struggle to get them all leashed, we’re interacting more naturally.
Crunch butts Ty’s leg and tries to nip at his sleeve.
Ty’s quick to jerk his arm away, and we laugh.
Our chemistry clicks into place again as our eyes meet, and we hold a long, unbroken gaze.
This is how we work.
Not sitting and staring at each other.
We steer the goats out of the pen, letting them roam the pasture. The silence is no longer awkward. My stomach relaxes, and I find a way to ease into conversation, “I’m sorry about Bodan being at the game.”
Even though he’s not looking directly at me, I can tell he rolls his eyes. “Why are you apologizing?”
Wincing, I struggle not to apologize for apologizing and settle on a one shoulder shrug. “I guess that’s what I do.”
His bottom lip rolls under his top, as if he’s fighting not to say something. When his lips finally purse, he says, “You know you say sorry too much.”
I smile faintly. “You’ve told me that before.”
“Still true.” We pause near the barn, letting the goats snoop around, and he nudges a rock with his shoe, like he’s not ready to stop moving. “You care too much about making everyone else happy. Hence, you got sucked into this whole fake-boyfriend thing.”
“I won’t argue with you there. I do that a lot.
” Biting the inside of my cheek, I give my shirt a nice tug again.
My poor shirt will have loose threads when I’m done with it.
“I guess I was hoping, if I did this for her, she’d finally see me a little differently.
Like, not just an extension of her, but me for me.
You know, I just always feel like she sees me as a tool or a resource but the rest of me is invisible. ”
“You’re not invisible.” His gaze snaps over, and his voice lowers when he asks, “What about your happiness?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” I wave him off. “Bodan is a gentleman. A perfect fake date. My mom is happy.” I swallow, the words I refuse to say stick somewhere behind my growing lump.
“I didn’t ask about your mom’s happiness.” His jaw twitches. “And why don’t I believe you when you say you’re fine?”
My gut reacts, plummeting lower. “Well,” I start, then stop. Why is this so hard? I know he likes me—I heard him say it—but I can’t tell him that. It’s too direct, and we don’t have that kind of boldness going on. “I don’t know … maybe, I’m confused.”
“Confused about what?”
Exhaling, I check on the goats, who have found a patch of wild grass to devour.
I’m glad they aren’t after my mom’s flowers.
It means I can focus on Ty. My stomach is looping, but it’s seriously now or never.
His question is the perfect prompt, and it won’t get easier.
I look him dead in the eyes, but my tongue ties.
As if to take the pressure off me, Ty dips his head toward me and softens his voice.
“Lottie, be honest. I talked to Ham. Did you hear what I said to Ham when I butt-dialed you?” The sun catches the side of his face, lighting up his eyes, and the familiar—but now somehow terrifying—pull to him comes roaring back.
He’s giving me the bait to shift this conversation exactly where it needs to go.
I pray that admitting I heard him is the right thing to do.
Once the words are out, I can’t take anything back.
I’m terrified of making a mistake. My face heats under the pressure of the cracking silence.
“I heard it. Ham and I chatted about it the other day, and he confirmed what I heard was true.”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “Well, I guess Ham’s officially banned from secrets now.” His voice softens even more. “But since we’re being honest, I’m relieved you heard it.”