34. Brant
Brant
After spending the afternoon with Mom, the night is ours.
My hands find my jeans pockets when we station behind a group of friends. “Thought you would’ve brought my hat with you,” I tease when I rotate to Callie.
She pops a leg out, wiggling her toe. “It’ll go flying when I’m dancing in these.”
I grin, my stare lingering on the embellished, pink cowboy boots. They cover the length of her calves, and she’s a real sight in that white mini dress and denim jacket. Looking every bit of the country girl she is at heart.
Her chestnut waves are tousled carelessly. The ends meet the underswell of her breasts, and I force myself to look away.
If I don’t, I’m going to take her back to the bed of my truck we rode here in.
I absently swipe a palm down my scruffy jaw when we move forward. The expanding crowd grows in volume as chatter threads through the crisp air.
A sea of cowboy hats floods the space before us. I might not be wearing the hat, but I tucked my solid flannel in my Wranglers. Not to mention, Callie convinced me to accessorize with my worn western boots.
Good enough, I suppose.
We inch closer along the large bales of hay. The open barn doors hint at a wide dance floor, and my attention returns to Callie.
Her grin is already reflecting my own.
The ambient lighting pokes at us from inside. Casting on the two teenagers who wished for a moment like this.
Her sage-green eyes sparkle with glee, and even though I know it’s because we’ve finally jumped these hills, she always harbored that twinkle.
She’s a one-of-a-kind spirit, setting my heart ablaze for the rest of my life.
The match to my fire.
We eventually reach the staff, entering the rustic structure that exudes charm and history. Our palms connect, but when our boots land on the aged floor, our heads peek behind us.
It’s not planned, but we do.
My eyes catch the silhouette of the hill on the other side of the dirt road. I know Callie’s gaze is bolted to the same vision.
Flashes of worn, brown boots and dancing scurry in front of me. Like I’m watching a movie of those teenagers falling in love under the dusted sky.
“But then I think if I wasn’t ever given this life, I never would have been given you. And I think that would be an even bigger hell for me, Dove.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, eyes skating back and forth between mine.
“There’s not one thing I wouldn’t do to make sure you get to the other side.
And we’re gonna get there.” His arm extends away from him, index finger pointing to the scene opposite us.
“We’re gonna be dancing and laughing in a barn just like that one day. You and me. Understand?”
I nod before his long arms curl around me. His fresh fragrance infiltrates my veins as I snuggle into his cotton t-shirt, and his firm torso denies me of falling any farther.
A smirk is planted on our faces when we lock eyes again. She’s totally thinking about that first kiss we shared. Looking back, I kick myself for not injecting more romance into the moment. It was hot and horny more than anything.
Then again, we didn’t even know what falling in love felt like. We had no idea what was going on, and I think that’s what makes me smile the most.
Young love doesn’t come by everyone—the kind of love that’s pure from contamination. With that kind of love, you feel butterflies. You see goddamn unicorns and fucking rainbows all the time. You believe in magic.
We were some of the lucky ones.
String lights drape from the weathered beams of the high ceiling, adding a touch of sparkle to the space. Rustic tables line the edges of the room, offering places to sit and sip cold beer between dances.
The air instantly rushes with energy. The loud hum of lively music rings from an acoustic guitar and fiddle. Callie spins under the warm lights, the flowy hem of her dress whirling with her.
She backpedals between the dancing crowd. The steady drum kick to Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl” beats against the wood, and she crooks a finger at me.
I nip my bottom lip, my gaze sinking to the flashing rhinestones of her pink boots. My heart pounds with a thrill—a sensation I’ve waited way too damn long for.
My hand reaches for hers, lightly grasping it before I spin her round and round. Her boots glide effortlessly over the floor, her pearly whites shining through every maneuver.
She absorbs the melody with every twirl. My free arm wraps around her lower back, pasting her chest to mine as her hair flails around me.
I lean down to brush the tip of my nose over hers, and her smile beams.
I connect our lips in a soft kiss, only to spring us into action again.
Our hands are lightly cradled when she steps back on her right foot. Then I’m spinning her backside into me.
I unravel her from my embrace, her giggles popping in and out against the rhythm. I twirl her so that she’s facing the opposite direction at my side. Our feet side-step a bit, and then I ravel her to our original position.
My arm snakes behind her, her body dipping over my knee. She pops a leg out, and her head tips back. Her berry lips part through her laughter, my nose running along the slope of her throat.
When her gaze returns to mine, I carefully lift us to stand. The dim lighting weaves through her whisked locks, sprinkling joy in her eyes.
And that’s all it takes.
Time rewinds back to that night we sat across the way. When I dipped her over my knee to Rascal Flatts’ “Life is a Highway” under that fateful canopy of stars.
As she spins around me, her hair shortens as her clothes morph into a tank top and denim shorts. Her cowboy boots were on their last breath of life, but she still danced like she owned the night.
Another giggle pours from her as her hair whips around. I hear her. The girl who dreamed of a better life than the one she was given.
The girl who never stopped dreaming.
After all this time, she still wishes for something more. Something better than what she gained on the other side.
I hear it right now.
I swear I do.
And the only thing I hope for is that it’s me. That I was what she wished for when she left Willowhart. That even though she finally reached the other side, there was still something missing.
This place was never meant to be our end.
But it was our beginning. Without it, we don’t exist.
Damn.
I guess there was some charm to this godforsaken place after all.