TWENTY-SIX. #2
“When can I see you again?” He asks. I laugh softly at the formality of it. We both know we’ll see each other tomorrow morning whether we plan it or not.
He reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his thumb lingering along my jaw.
“See you tomorrow?” I ask.
“Mhm,” he murmurs.
His eyes darken as they hold mine. His fingers tighten on my waist, and his body sways forward like he’s fighting the pull. So I press my palms flat to his chest and step back, creating just enough space.
“See you tomorrow then,” I say.
His hands fall away from me reluctantly, but he doesn’t move otherwise. Doesn’t shift his weight, doesn’t even seem to breathe. I turn to unlock the door, step inside, and glance back once before closing it behind me.
Even with the wood between us I can feel him standing there on the porch. I picture him debating whether to knock again, whether to push the door open and follow me inside. The thought sends a fresh wave of warmth through me, but I push myself forward anyway.
I walk through the house to my bedroom and sit on the edge of the mattress. A minute later I hear his truck engine turn over, then the low rumble as he pulls away down the road. I stay where I am, smiling to myself in the quiet. Then I let myself fall back onto the bed, arms spread wide.
I close my eyes and let the night replay itself—every word he said, every brush of his hand, every look that felt like it saw straight through me. The more I think about it, the more certain I become. I might be in love with him.
Static crackles through the silence and my eyes snap open. The walkie-talkie on my nightstand glows green for a second, then the light dies. I scramble across the bed and grab it, clutching it to my chest like it’s something precious.
I hold it close to my mouth and smile to myself as I push the button down. “I know you’re there,” I say softly, then chuckle to myself as I lower it again.
Static crackles for a second before his voice comes through. “I’m starting to think I should have come in when you asked me to.”
My body sinks deeper into the mattress. A rush of giddy warmth spreads through me, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.
“You definitely should have,” I tease. The longer he stays quiet, the more convinced I am that he’s already turning his truck around. “It’s kind of sweet you didn’t, though.”
“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“Maybe,” I admit, laughing quietly to myself. There are so many sides of him I like—the steady worker, the protective one, the quiet listener—but teasing him like this, laughing with him late into the night, might be my favorite.
“I hope you know,” he says, “I’m standing on my porch right now, ready to hop back in my truck.”
I bite my lip. As much as I want him to drive over, to feel his hands on me, I know it wouldn’t be right tonight.
“You were so sure of yourself when you were standing here,” I tease further. “What happened?”
I can almost hear him groan through the speaker.
“I’m coming over.”
“Do not come back over,” I say quickly. I sit up straight and stare toward the window, even though I know I can’t see his place from here. A long silence follows.
“You don’t want me to?” His voice sounds hesitant now, unsure.
“I’ll always want you, Tobias,” I tell him gently. I chew my lip for a second. “But I can tell tonight meant something to you. I don’t want you to regret it later.”
“I would never regret being with you,” he says. I know he means it, but that isn’t the point. “You’re probably right,” he concedes after a moment. “I just hate being away from you.”
My heart squeezes tight in my chest.
“Well, I am your girlfriend now.” Saying the word out loud sends a fresh wave of happiness through me. “We’re going to be together a lot from here on out.”
“You have no idea how happy it just made me to hear you say that.”
I flop back onto the bed and throw my arm over my face. God. I am completely gone for him. How am I supposed to tell him to stay away when he says things like that?
“Are you reconsidering wanting me to stay away?” he asks when I don’t speak right away. I can only laugh. Even across the distance, through a radio, he still reads me perfectly.
“This is impossible,” I mutter, shaking my head to myself. No matter what, I’m going to end up staring at this thing, waiting for his voice again. He has me completely weak.
“See you tomorrow?” he asks.
I pull in a slow breath and let it out. “See you tomorrow.”
I move my arm away from my face and stare up at the ceiling. I wait, listening for another crackle, half expecting him to ring again or show up at my door anyway. But the radio stays quiet.
Instead of giving in to the urge to call him back, I pull my phone from my back pocket and tap Marissa’s name. There’s so much to tell her—everything about the date, the rodeo, Robby—but right now only one thing feels urgent enough to say out loud.
She picks up after two rings.
“Tell me everything,” she says immediately. I open my mouth to let it all out, but all I can do is sigh deeply. “Oh no,” she says, her voice laced with real concern. “Was it bad? What happened?”
“It wasn’t bad. He’s…” I trail off. I mean to say he’s my boyfriend now, but even that word feels too small for what’s happening inside me.
“Oh no…” Her tone shifts to playful mock horror. “Please do not tell me you’re in love with him.” I groan. “Ever!” she squeals. “You little minx. I knew this was going to happen.”
“I can’t help it,” I say in defense. “He’s just so…”
“Worship-worthy? Strong? Handsome? Chiseled? Perfect?”
“Something like that.” I laugh despite myself. “He also asked me to be his girlfriend.”
“For the love of all things holy, please tell me you said yes.”
“I did,” I tell her quickly.
She lets out a delighted squeal. I cover my face again, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. This is what I needed—someone to laugh with, someone who gets how ridiculous and wonderful this feels.
“Tell me everything that happened,” she says. “I’ve been dying to know.”
I kick off my shoes, slide out of my jeans, and climb under the sheets.
I set the walkie next to me on the bed, then start from the beginning: him showing up with the bouquet of wildflowers, the easy drive to the rodeo, the way he held my hand the entire time and refused to let go.
I settle deeper into the pillows, letting the memory carry me through every detail while Marissa listens, interrupting only to gasp or laugh or demand more.