Chapter Fifteen
Lottie
A firework explodes over my head, but I don’t blink as Felicity releases an awe-filled squeal beside me. All I can think about is Anthony.
He kissed me. And now he’s leaving.
Is this what I get for my “questionable ethics,” as Easton calls it? He says I should be putting aside John’s child support for Felicity’s future, not funneling it into farm finances. I happen to disagree. Strongly enough that I’m willing to give up any possible future with a man.
Anthony is not an option, anyway. He made it clear from day one his stay in Iowa would be short-term. I’m here for the long haul. Why, then, did he kiss me?
I almost jump off the ground when the people around me in Red Rock Place Community Park burst into applause and whistles, gathering up their blankets and lawn chairs. Did I miss the entire grand finale? That’s my favorite part.
Stupid Anthony.
“You seem a mile away, Lots,” Amelia says as we slog our way through the crowds toward her car. Since she was still at my house helping clean the birthday disaster when it was time to head to the middle of town for the yearly firework extravaganza, Felicity and I rode with her. “Depressed about getting older?”
I snort-laugh. “I’m twenty-nine. A regular old fossil, I tell you.”
We climb into her four-year-old convertible-top Camaro. At thirty-three, Amelia is convinced she’ll be single forever, so she decided to splurge on a luxury ride for her one-point-five-mile commute to the daycare where she works. It’s decidedly the fanciest car in town, and she knows it.
“Hold onto your hats, ladies.” She lowers the top and flashes a grin into the backseat at Felicity. Engine revving, she pulls onto the road with a flourish. Maybe she’s Anthony’s soulmate, not me.
I choke on the thought and reach for my water bottle.
“Want to talk about it?” she yells as the wind rushes into our hair, our locks flying.
I shake my head and discreetly point behind me. “Small ears.”
At home, I hustle Felicity off to bed. It’s been a busy day, and her eyes close, her breathing evening out mere seconds after her head hits the pillow.
How will she react to the news in the morning that Anthony is leaving?
I sink onto the couch beside my big sister and ease my head onto the cushion behind me.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess your angst has something to do with the hunky grump who’s been living next door.”
“He’s not a grump.” My defense comes too fast, and Amelia’s lips slide sideways in that knowing way she’s always had. A hand rakes her long brown waves out of her face.
“Tell me more.”
“He kissed me today.”
She doesn’t bat an eye. “And?”
I launch into an animated retelling of the story, frosting friction and all. Amelia howls with laughter before falling sober again.
“Is he your first kiss since John?”
I roll my lips between my teeth. “Yeah.” My voice sounds scratchy, like Velcro ripped apart.
“How did it feel?”
“Like heaven on earth.”
Her eyes are round. “You really like him.”
Much more than I care to examine.
“What are you going to do next?”
Pain pulses in my heart. “Nothing. He’s returning to Atlanta tomorrow, I told you.”
“But he’ll be back.”
I shrug. “We’d never work out, Ames.” He has his reasons. I have plenty of my own. “But I’ll tell you this, that man can kiss!”
Her eyes dance, even if there’s concern lurking at the corners. “I guess this birthday will go down in the books as one you’ll always remember.”
That’s for sure.
The week stretches long. Felicity is pouty and withdrawn, and I can’t blame her. I feel the same. It’s Anthony I blame.
I take to visiting Camila every lunch break. She’s talking more each day. She asks if I’ve been in touch with Anthony. I pick at lint on my shirt and mumble some unintelligible reply.
Anthony has my number. He’s been gone three days, and I haven’t heard from him once. His kiss left an indelible impression on me, but apparently, it didn’t do the same to him.
Camila pats my hand as if I’m the invalid in the bed who needs comforting. “He’ll come back.”
Why does everyone think I care?
Oh. Because, idiot that I am, I do. And, also idiot that I am, I expect him to come back a lot faster than he does. When I ask Doris the next week, I get a one-word reply:
“Friday.”
Great. I have five more days until I face him again. Five more days until I face the hurt head-on.
I know, I know. I have no right to feel hurt when I’m the one who is completely unavailable. My ex put a condition on the generous support he agreed to pay. It all ends the day I remarry. I was the idiot who signed in agreement, just to be over with the divorce. I liked those dollar signs, too. So, I had no business letting Anthony kiss me when I am committed to staying single for the sake of the support money. But tell that to my aching heart.
It would help if I felt a stronger connection to God. No matter what I do—and I do a lot for Him—I don’t hear His voice the way I used to. The way I did when I was younger. When I was broken. When I found out about John’s betrayal, my reliance on God is what got me through. But as life evened out after a time and I didn’t feel so weak, I stopped relying on the Lord as much. Somewhere along the way, I lost the connection that had been so dear.
Now I’m on my own, in every feeling, every thought. Every decision.
Am I making the right decisions with my money?
On Friday, I dawdle at work after closing. Is Anthony back? Is it safe to go home? Maybe he has a late flight.
My heart in my throat, I drive toward home, going slower the closer I get. By the time my house is in sight, I’m creeping down the road like a midnight burglar with his lights out. Relief and an unfairly strong bout of disappointment stream through me when I see no Mustang in the driveway. Just a small Volkswagen Jetta. Doris must have other company.
I pull my truck into my garage, happy to see Amelia waiting on the porch with Felicity. She gets off work early on Fridays and takes Felicity for some auntie fun once a month.
“Hi, Mom!” Felicity launches off the porch before I’m out of the garage. She’s bouncing higher than a basketball. “Mr. Anthony’s back! Mr. Anthony’s back!”
My stomach drops to my sneakers, and I cast a furtive look over my shoulder, as if he’s peering at me through Doris’s broken blinds. “How…nice.”
Amelia raises her eyebrows loftily. “Felicity was telling me that Anthony asked her about you.”
Can I trust whatever my eight-year-old had to say?
“I told him you’ve been moody and mad ever since he left,” she offers, her face as innocent as an angel’s.
Have. Mercy. “Whyever would you say that?” I hiss as the sound of Doris’s front door slapping shut punctuates the windy air.
Felicity looks bewildered. “Because it’s true. You said honesty’s the best policy.”
Amelia can’t contain her laughter, and I brace myself and turn around as Anthony steps into my driveway.
“Welcome back,” I say, sounding like a stranger to my own ears.
Anthony’s gaze is tentative on me. “Thanks.”
Silence rests between us. I shift on my feet. “When did you get back?”
“This morning,” he says quickly.
“I see.”
We stare at each other. Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. A muscle tenses in his jaw. My palms are slick.
“So!” Amelia bursts into the conversation, sounding on the verge of hyperventilation. “Good to have you back, Lottie’s neighbor.”
Wow, way to make it awkward. Anthony’s lips twitch with humor, but his eyes never waver from mine. Felicity slips her hand into mine and gives a tug.
“Uncle Easton just called Auntie Amelia and needs our help.”
If anything can divert my attention from Anthony, it’s this. The farm. “What’s wrong?”
Amelia lets out a bedraggled sigh. Her enthusiasm for the farm ended when she was about twelve years old. “A fence is down, five cows got out, yada yada.”
Chasing cows isn’t my favorite thing ever, but it’s not something we can ignore. “I guess we better get a move on,” I say, casting another look at Anthony. “Good to see you again.”
His brows lower. “Wait, where are you going?”
I give him the look I give my daughter when I catch her stealing cookies. “You see any cow pastures in my backyard?”
He blinks behind those thick-framed glasses.
“We’re going to my brother’s farm.”
“Can I come?”
The question hits me in the back while I’m pulling open my front door. I have to change. Catching loose cows is messy business. Slowly I rotate and look Anthony up and down, from the black tie to the equally black and much shinier dress shoes. In between is the usual ensemble of dress slacks and pressed button-down, this time a pristine white.
“Sure,” I drawl. “Come for the cultural experience if you want. But you’ll want to change first.”
He looks down at himself and pauses. I wait for him to back out as he realizes this is a bad idea. A very bad idea. “I’d like to help,” he says slowly, as if thinking over each word. “But I don’t have anything less formal than this to wear.”
My sigh is long-suffering. “My brother can lend you some boots. But you’ll have to deal with the rest yourself. Those clothes will be ruined.”
He slants a glance at me, and my stomach turns inside out. “They wouldn’t be the first set to get ruined around you.”
My mouth is cotton, and I don’t answer, letting my front door swallow me up. Three minutes later I’m back and find Felicity and Anthony in my truck. Amelia is disappearing down the road in her car.
I start up my truck and follow her dust as we head south. “Hang tight, we’re going gravel.”
Anthony squints over Felicity’s head at me, grappling to hold onto the door as I turn off the paved road and hit a pothole. “Is that an Iowa-ism?”
Felicity giggles. “It means we’re taking back roads that don’t have pavement. There’s lots of those around here.”
“No doubt,” he says, his voice dry.
What’s dry is my mouth as we cross the cattle grid onto my brother’s land. What on earth am I doing bringing Anthony Lucio to my family home?