Chapter 13 Birdie
Birdie
We’re standing outside of the winery waiting for Dawsen to lock the doors.
Crawford is talking to me about some movie he just watched that he thinks I’d love—“It’s about this old man who tells these wildly outrageous stories, and you never really know if he’s telling the truth, or what his deal is, and his son gets really tired of it, and there’s a giant man, a field of wildflowers and also this weird town where the people don’t wear shoes? ”
He’s going on and on, listing all these half details he remembers. I can’t help but smile while I’m watching him try to recall more of the movie.
“Big Fish.” I hear Dawsen interject with his back towards us as he locks up the store.
I wish I could hear him speak without my pulse quickening.
“It’s one of her favorite movies. Top five.” He adds.
I’m too stunned to speak. My brain feels like it’s short circuiting for a moment as I try to figure out how in the hell Dawsen knows how much I love Big Fish, while I also try to remain composed and unbothered by him knowing this seemingly insignificant detail about me.
I’m just standing there like an idiot with no words coming out of my mouth, but I think my lips are moving.
“Yes! That’s it. I knew it was something about a fish.” Crawford says excitedly. “So you’ve seen it before?” He asks me with such a pure, loving curiosity. Words, please come.
“I have—Dawsen’s right. It’s one of my favorites. Top five.” I say, almost in a hushed tone.
We begin walking up the sidewalk, and I retreat behind Dawsen and Crawford for a beat, letting them lead the way to Dawsen’s truck.
They’re chatting about some repair his truck needs and when he can take it to the shop.
It’s all background noise to me right now as my brain sears that moment into my frontal lobe.
Top five.
I see Dawsen’s black Ford F-100 up the road, in what I can only imagine is the farthest parking spot from the winery that he could possibly find.
I’m slightly annoyed and wondering why he parked so damn far when he lives upstairs, and because I am wearing heeled boots which are probably the most uncomfortable pair of shoes I own, and I feel a blister forming and my pace slowing.
The bottle of wine I consumed is probably not helping either.
“You okay back there, hon?” Crawford pauses to let me catch up to him a bit. “My boots are really cute, but they aren’t made for walking, I’ll tell ya that.” I say with a little laugh and continue walking while looking down at them, because they are really cute.
Next thing I know I’m met with a very firm chest, as I walk directly into Dawsen. He doesn’t say anything, just turns his back to me, standing mere inches apart and looks over his shoulder—
“Hop on.” I just stand there in slight shock.
“What?” Very clever, Birdie.
“I’ll give you a lift. Just hop on. Don’t make it a thing.” Dawsen says flatly.
I roll my eyes because I don’t like people telling me what to do. Even if it is a 6’4” man that smells like spiced vanilla and wears the hell out of a henley. But, I do what he tells me, because I’m realizing that maybe I don’t mind so much when he’s the one telling me what to do.
I give my best wine induced hop I can muster, and wrap my arms around his shoulders, and my legs around his waist as he hoists me up like I weigh nothing at all. I make a mental note to calm the fuck down so that my heart doesn’t beat out of my chest.
“Why the hell did you park all the way down here? You live upstairs.” I say, as I realize how dangerously close my mouth is to his ear.
“Don’t you know that if you’re an employee or a business owner, it’s polite to park in the spots furthest from the business so that your patrons can be closer?”
I can hear how his voice shifted into that way it does when he teases me.
“No, I didn’t know that. But if I ever am fortunate enough to land a job some day, I’ll be sure to implement this bit of wisdom.
I will think of you every day on my walk to and from my car and I will say, “WWDD. What Would Dawsen Do.” I say, trying to poke some fun at him while also being a little self deprecating, like any good comic knows to do.
I can feel his body vibrate and his laugh come out a little bit husky. “You’re such a smart ass, ya know that?” He prods.
“Yes, Yes, I do. It actually happens to be one of my favorite things about me.” I say proudly.
“Mine too.” He says it like he’s never been so sure of anything.
I can’t find words again.
Top Five. Mine Too.
Four meaningless words that are holding a lot of meaning for me right now. Tucking those away for safe keeping.
We approach the truck and Dawsen lowers me down near the passenger side.
Crawford is already there, and he swings open the door and motions for me to hop in first. I step up into the cab and slide myself across the bench seat so I’m positioned right in the center.
Crawford climbs in on my right, as Dawsen climbs in on my left.
I am now the contents of a Jones men sandwich.
There have been worse places to be.
Dawsen reaches in front of me and turns the dial on the radio to 102.5, our local country station. I love that no matter how long you’re away from home, you seem to always remember your local stations.
We ride in companionable silence most the way. Crawford and Dawsen have a couple exchanges about going fishing next week some time, and how Dawsen will just need to take care of a few scheduling things, but he’ll call him in a couple days.
We pull into their driveway and Dawsen shifts the truck into park. “See ya, dad!” Dawsen raises his hand to his dad. Crawford just nods and gives him a smile.
“I look forward to being graced with your presence again soon, Miss Birdie Banks.” Crawford says as he takes my hand in both of his and places a kiss on it. He turns and closes the door, and jogs up to the house.
Their beautiful blue cottage. I’ve always loved it here.
“I love your dad.” I say, while staring at the porch. Dawsen glances at me, I can feel it— “He loves you too.” He says, while he puts the truck in reverse.
“I have always loved this house. There’s something so cozy about it.
It just looks like something someone would do an oil painting of or something.
” He kind of gives me a questionable glance, “Yeah, it looks like what a home should feel like.” He says, like he knows exactly what I’m trying to say.
I just smile at him and give him a nod in agreeance.
I’m suddenly very aware that I am alone with Dawsen Jones in his black truck, on a bench seat with our thighs touching. I didn’t slide over when Crawford got out because I didn’t know if that would be weird, but now I’m wondering if it’s weirder that I didn’t.
My mouth is dry and the cab is quiet, except for the faint hum of 90s country playing through the speakers. Silence makes me extremely nervous, and I think my nerves right now might be higher than usual because of the touching that’s happening. I decide that I’ll do what I do best—talk.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, because everyone loves getting asked if you can ask them a question. Brilliant start, Bird. *Hand, meet face.*
“Anything.” He offers up, eyes stayed on the road.
“How did you know Big Fish was one of my favorite movies?”
I decided back at the house that I cannot live without knowing the answer to this, so if I wanted to see tomorrow, I had to find out.
Dawsen brings his hand to the stubble on his face and shifts a bit in his seat.
“Ahh, I remember being over at your house. You, me, Riv, all watched it together in your basement. Riv hated it, and you tried to convince him not to, and you said ‘That movie is easily in my top five.’” There’s hesitation in his voice as he recalls the memory.
“You get annoyed when people don’t like what you like, so it turned into you trying to get him to change his mind about it for the rest of the night. ” He adds.
He’s right. I can’t help but feel a warmth rising up in my belly any time Dawsen recounts stories of us like this. I’m feeling altogether too vulnerable in this moment suddenly. Like at any point I may say too much, taking advantage of the softness existing in this moment.
I force out a chuckle, hoping to steer this conversation elsewhere, “That was a fun night. Remember you burnt your mouth on those pizza bites that River was obsessed with? Then he got you a glass of milk because he thought that would help.”
“Yeah, we had to tell him that trick only works for spicy food.” We are both laughing, and I lose my balance a bit and I bump into him a little harder as we turn into my neighborhood. I stiffen quickly and put some space between us, “Shit, sorry.” Is all I can say.
There’s a few brief moments of silence, the kind that comes naturally after a moment like this. Not awkward or tense, just a moment to breathe.
“I thought you were trying to cuss less.” He says with a sly smirk on his face, as he nudges my shoulder with his. I just give him a tight lipped smile and give his arm a punch, loving how it feels to be teased by him again.
We pull up to my house, and I unfasten the seat belt and slide across the seat away from Dawsen and open the passenger side door. Before I jump down I look across the cab, “Thanks for the ride. I appreciated it. The ride—and the walk down memory lane.”
I turn and hop out and before I can shut the door, Dawsen says, “Is You’ve Got Mail still your favorite?”
“Always.” I smile at him and shut the door.