Levi
Three
Don’t be a stranger.
Am I fucking serious? Did I really say that to easily the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen in this little town? Honestly, if I could punch myself in the face for that comment, I would.
If Justin had even tried to say anything remotely like that, I would have thrown him across the asphalt before the words could leave his mouth. As it was, it took all of my willpower not to knock him down a few pegs. It’s unlike him. His momma raised him better than that.
I groan at the thought of Justin and turn to see him standing exactly where I left him, a shit-eating grin taking up the entirety of his face.
I stalk back over to him, mostly because I’m not about to be caught standing in the middle of the road drooling at the taillight of a fucking Toyota Camry.
Isaac is already on his way over to demand we get our asses moving.
Justin’s grin widens as I draw closer, and it only serves to piss me off and deepen the scowl on my face.
“Not a fucking word,” I warn, pushing past him to head back towards the rest of the guys who are in the midst of cleaning up for the day.
His raucous laugh follows me, but I ignore it as I stoop to pick up my hard hat from where I’d dropped it.
I brush a bit of dirt off the side before securing it back on my head.
Justin jogs up beside me, his self-satisfied grin telling me he has no plans of dropping the topic. Rolling my eyes to the heavens, I send up a silent prayer to whoever is up there to “grant me the serenity” or whatever.
“She was gorgeous, wasn’t she, Levi? No wonder you shoved me out of the way. Eager to sink your teeth into something after all this time?”
My molars grind together, the noise in my skull from the motion grating to my own ears, while Justin grates on every last one of my nerves.
Justin’s my best friend and the closest thing to a brother I have. Like me, he was born and raised here in North Creek, and for the most part, really has the whole “honest country boy” thing down pat.
We were inseparable as boys to begin with, and then when shit hit the fan at home, he and his family welcomed me in with open arms. Sure, there’s a soft spot in my heart for the guy, but he could be downright annoying sometimes.
Though honestly, my reaction to him talking with the woman in the car says more about my piss-poor mood than it does about him as a person.
Something about seeing him leaning through the window of that car, towards the woman who was so blatantly uncomfortable, didn’t sit right with me. There was no way I was going to stand by and let him turn on the charm in another attempt to bring home the shiny new toy.
Justin’s harmless, I know that, but she doesn’t, and the last thing we need is him running her out of town. It’s not often that we get newcomers in our quaint mountainside town, so when we do, it usually means they’re either on the run from the law or something else.
Something tells me it’s the latter with her.
If I’m being honest, something tells me that if anyone stands a chance against Justin once he turns on the charm, it’s this girl.
There was a wariness about her, like she keeps herself guarded behind tall cement walls that she refuses to lower for anyone.
I don’t know how I know it, but something in me screams that it’s the truth.
Or maybe I’m an idiot who got too lost in those blue-gray eyes, that I made up a story about the nameless girl with the golden blonde hair.
But it was the haunted look in her eyes that truly captivated me, and I can’t help but be curious about who she is and what brought her to our tiny mountain town.
“Do you even realize how creepy you sound right now?” I mutter and pick up my pace, wanting to get back to the guys so I can cut the conversation short.
“What?” He throws both arms out to the side to emphasize how clearly ridiculous he finds my observation to be.
Pushing past him, I continue towards the group of guys standing around watching Isaac work the backhoe.
“Oh, come on! You know as well as I do how hot she was. Just cause you aren’t getting laid doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t shoot our shot.”
I whirl to face him, breathing deep to quench the frustration threatening to boil to the surface.
“First, it’s none of your damn business if or when I get laid. Second, a little respect goes a long way. You might want to try it sometime.”
“Geez, man. Lighten up. I’m just joking around.” Justin rolls his eyes, throwing his hands in the air again, clearly not pleased at being called out on his bullshit, but he doesn’t push me on it.
Usually, I can control my temper and my tongue, so maybe I’m taking things too far by voicing my clear annoyance with him today. There’s something about the way he’s speaking about the woman that rubs me the wrong way.
Hits a nerve.
It reminds me of the condescending tone my father used to take with my mother, his words a vicious promise wrapped in a seductive lilt.
I know from experience how quickly that charm can turn into something venomous, the words poised and ready to strike like a rattlesnake hiding in the bushes waiting for an unsuspecting mouse to come along.
Even if, deep down, I know Justin doesn’t mean half of the shit that comes out of his mouth and would never pull the shit my father did. I know from growing up right alongside him that his mother would wash his mouth out with soap the first chance she got if she ever caught him talking like that.
Mine too, come to think of it.
I rub the bridge of my nose between my pointer and thumb, willing the building tension to dissipate before I say or do something I’ll regret and really get myself in trouble.
From the outside looking in, our conversation is nothing out of the ordinary, just two guys shooting the shit, but I still find myself unreasonably irritated.
Maybe Justin has a point about my dry spell.
About an hour later, our foreman, Isaac, blows the whistle, signaling the end of the day, and I sigh in relief as I allow my mind to wander back to the woman in the car.
The way her body sat taught in her car, her fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
The way she absently tucked her hair behind her ear before dropping her head towards her lap and letting the piece fall in front of her face again, like a barrier against the outside world.
I longed to reach out and tuck it back myself.
I wonder if her blonde locks are as silky soft as they looked.
But what sucked me in right from the start were those eyes. They didn’t hold the carefree and open expression of one who was just in town to visit and sightsee.
There was something hidden beyond them, a hint that she might be running from her past. Yet there was also a quiet curiosity peeking through the cracks in her walls.
The way her eyes seemed to take in the green shine of my own.
Or the way they dropped to my mouth as I spoke before darting away again, as if something had spooked her.
Where is she from? Is she only passing through? Maybe visiting a relative or a friend? Or is she here to stay?
I’ve always loved puzzles ever since I was a little boy. There’s something soothing about the rhythmic way my mind works when trying to fit the pieces together—each failure bringing me closer and closer to the satisfaction I know will come when I finally slide the correct piece into place.
She’s a puzzle. That much is clear. I’ve never met a puzzle I couldn’t solve. But she might be the first one to make me work for it.
A small part of me hopes I’ll see her again, if only so I can catch another glimpse of those striking blue-gray eyes.
As I climb into the passenger seat of the work truck, three guys file into the backseat behind me, and together we take off down the road in the direction of the shop.
Harold has kept up the storefront and office since his parents started the company nearly sixty years ago.
His father ran the small crew, which mostly consisted of various siblings and cousins, while his mother ran the office and managed the day-to-day secretarial work.
Together, they worked tirelessly to get the business off the ground, and their hard work has paid off.
Today, our crew consists of a couple of locals and some contracted men from out of town.
I grew up with most of them, and our friendships naturally carried into our adult lives.
It’s hard in a town this small for it to be any other way, but I’m grateful for them.
They’re good guys with even better families who all played a part in why I ultimately turned out the way I did.
I didn’t have the best home life growing up, and when you grow up in a town of less than six hundred people, everyone is bound to know your business one way or another.
They could have turned their backs and shunned us, but instead, they tried everything they could to make sure I knew I had somewhere to go if and when things went south at home.
The only problem was that I was never going to leave my little sister alone in that house.
But the offers still stood, and I appreciated them more than I ever truly let on.
I blow out a breath as the truck bumps and jostles along the uneven road, rolling my tight shoulders to ease the mounting tension from another day of hard manual labor.
“You coming out to the bar tonight?” Brandon asks, clapping a rough hand on my shoulder from behind me.
“Nah, didn’t get much sleep last night. Just going to go home and crash.
” It’s mostly true. I didn’t sleep well last night.
Or the night before that. Or the night before that.
I could probably count on one hand the amount of times over the course of my thirty-four years that I had actually gotten a good night’s sleep.
I’m used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean that the exhaustion doesn’t weigh on me still.
Brandon mumbles something about never coming out with them anymore, but I pretend I don’t hear him, and he thankfully doesn’t push the issue.
Brandon is another one of my closest friends, and he knows more about the demons I wrestle than any of the other guys in the group besides Justin. He knows not to push me.
As we approach the shop, Isaac pulls the truck around back, and my mind shifts back to the woman from earlier. Did she get to her appointment on time? Of course, I know with the detour she probably hadn’t, but I still hope she found her way alright.
I follow the line of guys inside and open my locker in the back room.
Shrugging out of my vest, I throw a worn flannel over my dirty white T-shirt and change out of my work boots and into my cowboy boots.
Leaving my work clothes in the locker before closing it, I spin the dial and turn for the door.
Once outside, I inhale, breathing in the fresh summer air and relishing the cool rush of dusk in my lungs.
Summer in the mountains is one of my favorite times of the year.
Hot as the pits of hell itself during the day with the sun blazing high over the mountaintops, but cool as a fall evening when that sun finally sinks down behind the horizon.
I climb into my truck and turn the key. The singular leather keychain, so worn with time that the words aren’t even decipherable anymore, brushes across my jean-clad knee as I listen to the engine turn over and purr to life.
I don’t need to read the words to know what they say, though. I know them by heart.
The mountains are calling and I must go.
A John Muir quote in a mountain town? Cliche, I know, but true nonetheless.
You would think after spending my entire life living in the shadow of these mountains, they’d eventually lose their appeal, but that can’t be further from the truth.
In fact, my appreciation of them has only grown over time.
I love this truck. My first real adult purchase. I bought it secondhand from my neighbor Wendy after her husband passed away, and it’s served me well so far.
Peeling out of the gravel lot, my tires squeal on the stone beneath them as I take off down the road in the direction of home.
I scan through the spotty radio stations as I drive, until I land on an old country station that still plays songs from the early two-thousands, rather than that pop country shit that’s so popular with the college kids these days.
I’m not sure when exactly I turned into such a grumpy old man, but hey, I like what I like and I hate what I don't. There are worse things to be picky over.
When I approach the stoplight near the construction site and wait for the light to turn green, I think back on the conversation with the woman from earlier. Why can’t I get her out of my mind?
The light turns, and as it does, I make a split-second decision, and instead of turning left, which would take me straight home, I turn right.
Not ready to go home yet, knowing what thoughts are waiting to torment me in the silence, I roll down the windows and revel in the feel of the wind rushing over my skin.
My fingers drum in time with the music as I cruise down the road, making a turn here and there and driving down the backroads that inspired so many of my favorite country songs. It feels good to drive, the vibration of the truck beneath me calming my restlessness and bringing me a sense of peace.
With the last rays of sunlight sinking behind the silhouette of the mountains, I flick on the headlights for better visibility. All sorts of animals run wild and free within these mountains, and the last thing I need is to take out a deer. Or worse, a bear.
It’s a good thing I flipped on the headlights when I did, otherwise I might have missed the black Toyota Camry with out-of-state plates sitting dark and stagnant on the side of the road.