Dottie
Save me a danceβ¦
Why is it that men say things to you, get your hopes up, and then never follow through?
I sigh as I move around my tattoo parlor setting up for my first client of the week. Itβs some guy from out of town who booked me based on the work Iβve posted on Instagram. Weβve messaged back and forth a few times throwing around design ideas, but ultimately, we landed on a forest piece that depicts a wolf howling at a moon thatβs actually a fortune teller holding her crystal ball. Thereβll be some cool additions of crows flying about, and all together, itβs going to look pretty epic.
Iβve been excited about this booking for well over a month because I love working on large, realistic black and gray pieces. But this morning, Iβm not as pumped as I hoped to be.
Save me a danceβ¦
With the entire work area sterilized and covered in plastic and tape, I set out my ink pots and get to distributing the various black inks Iβll be using. A lot of people think that black and gray tattoos use gray as a color, but they donβt. Itβs all just different shades of black with different levels of pigment. Sure, gray inks do exist, we just donβt use them on this style.
I get about halfway through filling my little pots when I glance up and catch sight of myself in the floor to ceiling mirror Iβve set up so clients can inspect my work. With my long, dark, super-straight hair braided down my back, my pale complexion looks rather severe, despite the roundness of my features.
During my thirty-nine years of life, Iβve run the gamut of emotions when it comes to my body and my looks. Iβve been on every diet imaginable, tried out every exercise fad, learned how to βdress appropriately for my shapeβ, and accentuated my features with bronzer and blending. But at the end of the day, I had to accept what I was, and if Iβm honest, Iβm a bit of a ball. Everything about me is round and rather bouncy, and after years and years of hating myself for it, I finally did the most audacious thing in my life.
I learned to love myself just as I am.
Most days I honor the strength in my limbs while I work on renovating the old vineyard I bought a while back. I also honor my mind for the creativity that comes naturally to me whenever I design a tattoo. And if Iβm totally honest with myself, I think I have a pretty bomb personality. Iβm a great family member and friend. When I look in the mirror, I often find myself smiling at my reflection, content in my own peace. Most daysβ¦
But then there are days like today. Days when Iβve just spent the weekend wondering why. Why did the best man at my brotherβs weddingβa man I remember secretly swooning over when we were kidsβact like he wanted to spend time with me at the wedding reception then avoid me all night? The tall man with dark hair and a neat, full beard, stood right in front of me and all my friends, and asked me to save him a dance. I saved him one. Actually, I saved all of them since I didnβt dance with a single other man the entire time. And he didnβt approach me once. Does that mean he sees all the flaws I spent so many years trying to come to terms with, and is turned off by them? Is my round body too much for him, and he only said that to seem kind? Like he βthoughtβ about dancing with the fat girl, but he just couldnβt bring himself to do it. Honestly, Iβd just have preferred it if heβd left me alone. Because now I feel let down and embarrassed for getting my hopes up. And if I never hear another mention about the Whisper Valley Soulwink Society again, itβll be too soon. Soulwinks donβt exist. And right now, I feel Iβm living proof of that.
So what if I can smell those damn candles nowβ¦
This is why I quit dating.
Adding yet another sigh to my morning, I shake the negative self-talk out of my head and get back to work. My client should be here soon, and I still need to power up my computer so I can print off the stencils. Standing here ruminating over a date-that-never-will-be isnβt getting me anywhere. Iβm happily single, and my life is pretty great. I have my work and the vineyard to keep my focus, and besides that, I have my family and friends to keep me company. Itβs about high time I realize that no man is ever going to walk in here and sweep me off my feet. Iβm just fine on my own.
Β
Theo
Β
Lying down on the trolley, I slide myself underneath the red Mustang to perform an oil change. The last time I worked in a garage was probably a solid decade ago when I left the family farm in Cedarwood Valley to try out life in the city. My father was livid, my brother even more so since it meant a lot of my chores would land on him, but my mother and sister understood. I needed to see if the grass really was greener on the other side.
Growing up and working nowhere but on a sheep farm for my entire life meant that the only things I was good at were animal care, herding, sheering, agriculture in general and mechanical service and repair. Itβs a pretty solid list of capabilities if youβre looking for work in a country town. But when you head to the big city where roiling fields are replaced with weed-patched concrete, then you find yourself a little hard up. I was lucky Duke had moved to the city years before me and could pull a few strings to get me a job working alongside him in the garage.
Honestly, it wasn't much different to the work I was doing back on the farm. The only real difference being that I didn't go home smelling like an animal. I smelled like an oil pit instead. At first, I thought that was preferable. But after a while, that homesickness kicked in. I longed to see wide open spaces and sit in a field with nothing but the sound of a herd of sheep bleating in the distance. The city was just⦠too small for me.
Getting the tray in place, I pick up my wrench and with a few quick turns, watch as dirty oil pours out and flows into the waiting receptacle. While I wait on that, Iβm taken back to the first day I returned home. Iβd only been gone six months and called home every week, but from the way my father responded to my return, youβd think Iβd been gone six years without so much as a postcard. It probably took another six for him to utter his first word to me, and even longer than that to forgive me. Thankfully, the rest of my family wasnβt so hurtful. They welcomed me home with open armsβeven if it didnβt feel like that anymore.
With my dad, things between he and I were never the same. And when he eventually passed years later, he left the farm to my younger brother, Josh instead of me. The final punishment for leaving, I guess. But at the end of the day, I get it. My father was a proud man, and my leaving hurt that pride. There wasnβt a thing I could do after making that decision that would change his mind. I was forever the son who didnβt want what I was born into.
The silver lining to that, though, is that even though I didnβt inherit the way the eldest son has for generations of Olivers, I was gifted my freedom.
Over the years, Iβve used that freedom to wander. Iβve visited state after state, and country after country, always returning to the farm in the spring to help with the shearing and spend some time with family. Iβm still yet to find a place that feels like home though. Maybe Iβm just destined to always wander and never put down roots? I doubt Iβll ever stop looking though.
As the flow of oil slows to a dribble, I ready myself to replace the capβsomething I have to do quick, so I donβt get oil all over myself.
βWhat the hell are you doing in here?β a voice asks moments before a foot kicks my boot with a decent amount of force.
βWhat the?β I flinch in the wrong direction, sitting up and hitting my head on the engine. βOw!β The clock to the head precedes my leg kicking out to rebalance myself, and next thing I know, Iβm hitting the oil pan. A slosh of black filth covers me like a wave, and the remnants flowing out of the valve I didnβt get to close up are new dripping on my face. βFuck!β
I dig my heels into the concrete and slide out from under the car, quickly sitting up and assessing the damage. Thank god for coveralls, because if I was wearing my regular clothes theyβd be fucked.
βOh my god. Iβm so sorry,β the voiceβthat I can now see belongs to Dukeβs sister, Dottieβsays. She covers her mouth and steps back, her eyes wide. βI thought you were Duke.β
βHeβs on his honeymoon,β I say, looking around for something to wipe up some of the mess with. She quickly grabs a rag and hands it to me.
βI know. Thatβs why I gave himβwell, youβa kick. I thought he was in here doing work instead of spending quality time with his wife. I really am sorry.β
βItβs fine,β I say, wiping off my face enough that I can lie back again without worrying about oil getting in my eyes. βIβm guessing he didnβt tell you Iβm holding down the fort for the next week.β I wheel myself back under the car and get the valve closed up while I talk.
βNo. He didnβt. Or maybe he did, and I just wasnβt listening. Either one is possible.β
I slide back out and sit on the trolley, looking up at the woman, who in my memory was still a five-year-old girl up until a couple of days ago when I saw her at Dukeβs wedding. Back then, Duke and I were teenagers who thought we were too cool to have a little kid in pigtails following us around. Then his family up and sold their farm and moved to the suburbs. I kept in touch with Duke, but I never spent any time around his family. Duke has always been very protective of his little sister. A fact I was reminded of during his wedding reception when he warned me not to go near her.
βYou grew up good, Dot,β I say, giving her a lazy grin as I stand until Iβm towering over her. She cranes her neck to maintain eye contact. At least that part hasnβt changed. Sheβs always had to look up at me.
She smiles before breaking eye contact. But it was enough that I could see that smile didnβt touch her eyes. And when she angles her chin and sighs, I know immediately that the compliment wasnβt welcome. She shakes her head.
βIβll let you get back to work,β she says, already stepping away. βSorry again for kicking you.β
She flicks her hand dismissively, and before she can get away from me, I quickly wrap my hand around her wrist and hold steady. βDonβt leave yet. I never got a chance to talk to you at the weddinβ.β
Her dark eyes flash as she pulls her wrist from my grip and looks up at me. βI noticed. You never took that dance you asked for.β
The memory of her dancing alone or with friends and relatives returns to my mind. How do I tell her that I was on my way to collect when her big brother stepped in and asked me not to start something that I couldnβt finish with his sister.
So, out of respect for my lifelong friend, I stepped back and put the idea of holding the soft curves of this beautiful woman while we danced out of my head. I stepped back and tried to forget the idea of her long dark hair brushing over my forearm as we swayed side to side, her sweet breath tickling my neck while I held her close. I tried to forget.
But as I stand here, covered in oil and grime while she looks up at me with the faint hint of hurt in her eyes, I canβt forget the things I wanted when I saw her again for the first time in over thirty years. The little Dottie Fox from my memory is all grown up and matured into a gorgeous, self-sufficient, amazing woman. And now that Iβve seen her, I canβt look away.
For the sake of my friendship with her brother, however, I can pretend that I donβt see.
Clearing my throat, I shift my focus to the rag in my hand and wipe at the oil covering my overalls, so I donβt have to look her in the eyes when I say, βIβm really not much of a dancer.β
I can feel her eyes assessing me as she gives me a slow nod then shifts back on her feet. βThen perhaps you shouldnβt ask people then,β she says, already walking away as she shoots over her shoulder, βMake sure you use sawdust on that oil.β
My gaze doesnβt leave her until she disappears through a door in the back of the shop, and I hear another door beyond that open and slam shut. I wince. Then I sigh. I have no interest in hurting Dottie in any way, but it seems that despite keeping my distance like her brother asked, thatβs exactly what Iβve done.
Β
Dottie
Β
βAnd that is it. Linework done,β I say, spraying down my clientβs arm then wiping it clean. He angles his body to try and get a good look. βIf you want to check it out in the mirror first, Iβll wrap it right after.β
βSweet. Thanks.β
He moves over to the full-length mirror and inspects the artwork on this thigh. During the session, he said he wanted this to eventually be a full leg piece with the forest and sky on his thigh merging into a rough seascape on his calf. Iβm not sure if heβs planning on asking me to do the second half, or if he wants to merge two artistβs styles. But either way, itβll be a pretty epic addition to his current tattoo collection.
While I get the wrap and tape ready to cover his tattoo for his journey home, I spot movement in the back of the shop where the break room is. Instantly, my heart kicks up a beat because while Iβm kinda peeved at Theo for standing me up the way he did at the wedding reception, I canβt ignore that fact that my body sings at his mere presence.
Every word that comes out of that manβs mouth is like invisible fingers tracing long lines across my skin. He could be talking about shoveling sheep dung, and Iβd sit there enraptured just to hear him speak. It makes me feel ridiculous since our skipped dance was a clear sign he isnβt interested in me. But a girl canβt help following a lifelong pattern of falling hard and fast for unavailable menβyet another reason I quit dating.
At least heβll only be here for a week.Β
βDo you need something?β I call out to him as he moves from the back of the store to the reception area where I have a wall covered in framed pictures displaying my art, along with several leather-bound portfolios showing off past work. Iβve spent a lifetime cultivating these things, and I normally display them proudly. But something about the way Theo leans in and inspects my drawings has me feeling a little off. Like Iβm somehow exposed.
Theo looks over at me and flashes a smile. βMaybe,β he says, drawing out each syllable like itβs a separate word.
βIβll be with you when Iβm done here,β I say, turning my attention back to my paying client. Itβs a short conversation and half a roll of tape later that weβre standing at the register booking in our next session and paying for this one. All the while, Theo is quietly inspecting my work. Iβm keenly aware of every shift of his body as he goes through my portfolios, page after page after page.
βLong sitting,β Theo says when I let the client out and lock the shop door behind him, flipping the sign over to βclosedβ.
βTen hours,β I sigh, rolling my neck from side to side to work out the kinks that leaning over and concentrating creates.
βYou look like you could use a massage.β
I laugh and lift my chin toward the pile of folios heβs going through. βAnd you look like youβre window shopping for more ink.β
He smiles. βI wouldnβt say no to a Dottie Fox original. Youβve got skills, Spot.β
A burst of amused air leaves my nose. When I was little, I hated being called βSpotβ. It was Dot or Dottie and nothing else as far as I was concerned. And with Theo being a cheeky teenage boy, he loved seeing me stomp my foot whenever I got mad. Spot was the only way heβd refer to me.
βI havenβt heard that nickname in years,β I say, my mouth tilting up at the memory of grumpy little me. βThirty-three to be exact.β
βLong time between visits,β Theo says, closing the portfolio he was looking at and standing.
βDidnβt notice you coming to see me either, Theo,β I scoff, rolling my eyes because I was only six when our parents sold the farm and moved Duke and me to the suburbs. It wasnβt long after that before Duke got an apprenticeship and moved even closer to Sugar City for work, meaning I never really had the opportunity to interact with his friends the way I did back in Cedarwood Valley. That, and Iβm pretty sure Duke purposely kept his friends away from me. For a long time, I thought it was because he was embarrassed of chubby little me. But as time went on, I realized it was just him being a protective older brother. Something Theo confirms for me with his next comment.
βDuke was like the dragon protectinβ your ivory tower, Spot. Never trusted a single guy around you. Still doesnβt, if Iβm honest.β
βThat explains my love life then,β I mutter, fingering the gemstone necklace that hangs around my neck as I turn away to start cleaning up my workstation. Itβs strange because this gemstone feels warm between my fingers, yet cool when I release it and it taps against my skin. The ladies in the Soulwink Societyβa group of Whisper Valley women who swear they experienced a phenomenon where their souls βwinkedβ when they met their husbandsβbelieve that this colorful little stone has magical properties that help to draw two soulmates together. One of their members once put a bunch of these gems inside some candles and sent them out into the world, which is how my new sister-in-law, Ava, came to visit Whisper Valley and meet Duke. Then Ava took those gems and turned them into necklaces. Which is how one came to hang around my neck. Iβm yet to feel confident in its power though, since all Iβve felt is rejection since putting it on before the wedding.
βWhat was that?β
βNothing.β My cheeks heat because I didnβt mean to lament my lack of love so loud. βI just said I need to tidy up.β
βListen, I know itβs pretty late,β Theo says, coming up behind me. βBut if youβre willing, Iβd love for you to add something to one of my sleeves.β When he lifts his arms and turns them side to side, the muscles ripple and flex under his tattooed skin.
βLike what?β I ask, feeling all warm at the thought of putting my hands on this manβs body. He may not want me, but I certainly canβt shake the thought of wanting him. I might not get anywhere here, but a girl can dream, right?
His mouth curves up in a slow grin. βAnythinβ you want.β
I hold off on replying too quickly, not trusting my voice to come out steady when Iβm standing this close to him with my thoughts swimming dangerously close to filthy waters. Itβs strange how a person can exist for so long in your memory, frozen as the boy he was, and then suddenly you meet again and all of that has changed. Heβs a man now, and even though you can see hints of the cheeky boy in the light behind his eyes, something tells you that he doesnβt pull pigtails anymore. Oh no. This man pulls hair. And for the first time ever, I want to get my hair pulled.
βSoβ¦youβre just going to sit there and let me do whatever I want?β I ask when Iβm sure I can speak without squeaking.
βSure. Why not?β He pulls back then narrows his eyes slightly. βYouβre not gonna draw a dick and balls on me though, are you?β
βIβd never stoop so low,β I say, giving him a wicked smirk. βBut why don't you take off your shirt instead? I donβt want to mess with these sleeves, but if youβve got some skin on your back or torso, I could do something there.β Iβm not going to pretend like Iβm not creating an excuse to see this man shirtless either. This request is purely personal under the guise of being professional. And Iβm not even a little bit sorry.
βYou want un-inked skin?β he asks, pulling his shirt off in one swoop. βIβve got plenty of it.β When he drops his shirt to the side, I have to hold my breath to stop from gasping. This man is ripped.
βUm. Yeah, OK,β I say, trying not to linger too long on any one muscle group. The tattoos he currently has are the very definition of sleeves, starting at his shoulders and ending at his wrists. Beside a couple of smallish pieces on his back and chest, itβs pretty much open real estate. And I get to add anything to it I wantβ¦
This opportunity almost feels too good to be true.
I gesture at the now-clean station. βWhy donβt you take a seat and Iβll get my equipment ready,β I say, wracking my brain for something small yet meaningful. Since the only thing I really know about the adult him is that he spends most of his time traveling, I settle on my version of a North Star just under his left collarbone above his heart.
βYou gonna let me see this before you add ink to it?β he asks, trying to angle his head to see what Iβve just freehand sketched onto his skin.
βThat would defeat the purpose of letting me do whatever I want, wouldnβt it?β I say, flashing him a smile as I pop the cap back on my marker.
βCanβt argue with that,β he says, watching intently as I pick up my machine and check the needle.
βLast chance to turn back,β I say, loading it with ink.
βDonβt want to. Do with me what you will,β he says, and I canβt deny that I get a little heat between the thighs at the thought of doing just that. Theo Oliver grew up well.
βI think I owe you an apology,β Theo says when Iβm about halfway through lining the design.
βWhat for?β
βThe weddinβ. I should have danced with you.β
βItβs honestly fine, Theo. Itβs not like I couldnβt have come to ask you myself, right? It is the twenty-first century after all.β
βMaybe. But it was wrong of me to ask and then not collect. And I feel like skipping out on you has caused us to get off on the wrong foot when we should be here having fun reminiscing over old times.β
βIβm not holding a grudge, Theo,β I sigh. βDid it annoy me? Yes. But can I move past it? Of course.β I pause my work so I can look up at him and grin. βBesides, that tray of oil sloshing all over you kind of makes us even.β
βI suppose we can look at it like that.β He chuckles. βYou think we can also maybe start fresh? Iβm not here in Whisper Valley long. But I would like us to be friends while Iβm here. Maybe even keep in touch when Iβm gone.β
His words ring in my ears. βFriends?β I force a smile and try to cover my second bout of disappointment where this man is concerned by inking up my needle. Of course friendship is all he wants. When has a man like him ever been interested in a woman like me?
I wipe away the excess ink on his chest and prepare myself to start shading. βFriends sounds great,β I say, using my focus on my work to keep the conversation to a minimum for the rest of the piece, which thankfully doesnβt take too long.
βWhat do I owe you?β he asks as soon as I announce Iβm done.
βYou might want to look at it before you offer me money,β I say, already packing up.
He moves over to the mirror and looks closely at the series of lines, dots and shading. βIs that the North Star?β he asks, and I canβt tell from the tone of his voice if he likes it or not.
βYeah. Duke mentioned you never stay in one place for long. Figured that maybe having that near your heart might help guide you to somewhere you can call home.β
When he doesnβt say anything, I stop what Iβm doing and find him watching me closely via the reflection in the mirror. βThank you,β he says the moment our eyes lock. βI love it.β
I give him a small smile. βConsider it a gift. Besides tormenting me by calling me βSpotβ, you were probably the only friend of Dukeβs who was kind to me back in the day.β
βYou were a cute kid,β he says quickly.
βNot cute anymore,β I whisper under my breath as I put everything back in its place ready for tomorrow.
βNo. Cute is the wrong word for what you are now, Dottie,β he says, shocking me because I did not think heβd hear that.
I take a deep breath and jut my chin out in challenge. βAnd what am I now?β
A smile takes over his entire face. βIβll let you know before I leave town.β
βSure you will,β I say, rolling my eyes as I put a small covering over his tattoo. The warm smell of his skin mixed with the ink invades my senses, and I quickly step away.Β
βWhereβs a good place to eat out around here?β he asks.
βItβs a small town, so not much.β
He laughs. βYouβre forgetting where I come from, Spot. Cedarwood Valley has a diner and thatβs it, remember?β
βNot really. I was six when we left, so my memories of that place are a little hazy.β
βAs long as Iβm one of them,β he says, smirking as he puts his shirt back onβmuch to my disappointment.
I choose to ignore his comment and stick to the answer to his original question. βLetβs seeβ¦ Thereβs a diner, a coffee shop, a bakeryβexcept that will be closed nowβand a couple of bars and basic restaurants.β
βWhatβs your choice?β
βI donβt really go out much, but the most popular place is Valentines. Their booths are always crowded. But if you just want a quiet drink and some wings, then the bar on the corner of Main St and Mirabella is your best bet.β
βWhat if I wanted a pizza?β
βThen youβd go to the pizza house on Rose Avenue.β
βJoin me?β
βAhhhβ¦ I donβt know. Itβs been a long day.β
βCome on, Dottie. Buying you dinner is the least I can do after you just gave me a tattoo for free.β
βI donβt knowβ¦β I keep my eyes off his face when I speak. If Iβm honest with myself here, Iβd love to go out and have dinner with him. But if Iβm super honest with myself, I know that doing so will only get my hopes up even through heβs already laid all his cards on the table, and they spell out friendship and nothing more. But Iβm a chronic hoper. A romantic deep inside who wishes fairy tales were real, and that one day my version of a prince would come. But since Iβm a thirty-nine-year-old woman without a single serious relationship in my history, I know thatβs just not true. In my story, Iβm not the princess waiting for her prince. Iβm one of the side characters living alone in the woods. And Iβm OK with that. Well, most of the time I am anyway. Itβs only when men like Theo enter my orbit that I get a little foolhardy and hopeful. βI really should head home and get some sleep.β
βOne hour,β he counters. βGive me one more hour of your time and weβll call it a day. We can talk old times and catch up on the last thirty years. I want to know how the little girl who loved animals and barbie dolls turned into a tattoo artist in a small town.β
Biting at the inside of my lip, I lift my eyes and search his face. He seems genuine enough, and his persistence tells me Iβm not getting out of this without a fight. βFine,β I say with a resigned sigh. βOne hour.β
He smiles and claps his hands together in triumph. Then he helps me lock up the shop, and we head out into the night with me wondering if I can get through this night with my heart intact. Because Iβm not going to lie, getting stood up for that dance at the wedding, then having him put me firmly in the friendzone today kinda stung. And I donβt want to come across as bitter and twisted, but always being the friend and never the girlfriend is hard.
Once again, I curse all mention and knowledge of Whisper Valleyβs now-infamous Soulwink. According to Jadeβthe woman who first coined the termβitβs supposed to be your soulβs way of letting you know youβve met your other half. The way she explains it, you see each other and your souls βwinkβ at each other to let you know. Silly me had thought that maybe thatβs what was happening between Theo and me. But since heβs leaving soon and made it clear that he just wants to be my friend, I canβt see how thatβs possible. Reaching up, I tug the necklace from around my neck and drop it into the bushes on my way out. My soul, it seems, is destined to always be alone, and I need to quit being hopeful.
Β
Β
Theo
Β
After a short walk down a picturesque street, we reach the entry to Whisper Valleyβs pizzeria, Slicey.
βCute name,β I say, pointing up to the neon sign.
βEverything about this town is adorable,β Dottie says, the dimples in her cheeks popping as she smiles and looks around. βItβs like living in a story book.β
βIβm liking everything I see so far,β I respond, flirting with her and knowing that Duke is going to kick my ass for it, but also not being able to stop myself.
She gives me a look that reads like she doesnβt believe me. But thatβs OK, I can convince her.
Stepping ahead of her, I reach for the handle on the front door.
βWait, Theo.β
βEvery woman deserves to have a door opened for her, Spot.β
She rolls her eyes. βItβs not that, itβsββ
Thud. The door doesnβt budge.
βIs it stuck?β I ask, jiggling the thing and adding a bit of elbow to it.
βThatβs what I was trying to tell you,β Dottie says, pointing to a sign in the window beside the door. βTheyβre closed Mondays. Looks like someone forgot to turn the lights off though.β
βTheyβre closed Mondays?β I repeat, jiggling the door one last time for sport.
She giggles. βThey are. And if you keep trying to force the door like that, youβre likely to find yourself party to a break and enter.β
βHow do you live here and not know the pizza joint shuts on Mondays?β I ask as I step away from the entrance.
She shrugs. βPizza is more of a Friday food for me.β
βOh yeah? And whatβs a Monday food?β
βI donβt know. I donβt eat specific foods every day. But if I did, probably left-over pizza from Friday?β
I laugh. Sheβs such a no-nonsense person that I bet she eats it cold from the fridge to save time too. βWhere to next then? It has to be somewhere thatβs definitely open since weβre already cutting into my hour here.β
βIn that case, Valentineβs. Theyβre always open. But weβll have to drive there.β
βAnd how long will that take?β
βFifteen, twenty minutes?β
βThat doesnβt give us much time for talkinβ and eating.β
βItβs OK. I promise I wonβt disappear into a puff of smoke the moment one-hour passes,β she says, her hands in her pockets as we head back toward the building that houses both the garage and tattoo shop.
When she breaks away from me to get into her car, I pull open the passenger side of my truck. βIβll drive. No sense takinβ two cars.β
βYouβll bring me back here after dinner to get my car then?β
βSomething like that.β I grin and gesture for her to get her ass over here. Thankfully, she does what is now becoming her patented eye roll and obliges me. I donβt know why, but it pleases me to have this woman in my car. Like itβs my duty to chauffeur her around. Iβve never had a thought like that before.
βSo, why donβt you tell me all about your travels?β Dottie says once weβre on the road. βDuke says youβre only in Cedarwood Valley for shearing season these days? What happened to taking over the farm like you always said you would?β
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. βYou remember that, huh? Well, seems I wasnβt the son for the job in the end. My father left the farm to Josh instead of me.β
βJosh is your brother, right?β I nod. βI donβt think I remember him much.β
βHe didnβt hang much around the rest of us. Too tied to the farm even as a kid. Which, really, is why I think Dad made the right choice leaving it to him. Josh is a great farmer, and Iβm happy to play my role in helping him orchestrate the shear each season. Especially since it means I get to travel in between.β
βWhere have you been?β
βTo all fifty states, and a decent number of countries too.β
βDo you have a favorite place?β
βI love island life. So places like Bali, Greece and Thailand are great destinations.β
βDo you see yourself ever settling down and living somewhere like that?β she asks, and I take a deep breath as I ponder for a moment. People often mistake my desire to travel with a restless soul. But Iβve never seen it that way. I simply enjoy exploring, learning, and experiencing new things. Home for me was always the farm, and I happily return to it over and over again. But as far as settling down and finding a home of my own goes, Iβm yet to find somewhere that gives me that sense of belonging thatβd anchor my feet and keep me from wanting to roam.
βYou know, Iβve never really seen myself settling anywhere,β I say, momentarily taking my eyes off the road ahead to glance at the beautiful lady by my side. Itβs then two words enter my mind without warningβuntil nowβ¦
When I set my eyes back on the road, a furrow creases my brow. Am I really that sure about my attraction to this woman that I can make a claim so bold? From the moment I saw her again, my ability to breathe stalled, and now my mind struggles to think of anything but her. And I know I promised Duke Iβd keep my distance, but what if I can do more than just start something with Dottie? What if I can finish, stay, be with her permanently? Is that something Iβm capable of? Itβs something that could cost me the longest running friendship I have. But at the same time, itβs something I feel the urge to take a chance on. After forty-nine years on this earth, Iβm well aware that feelings like this donβt come along that often. In fact, this is the first time in my entire life that Iβve felt an attraction so intense. I have to have her.
βValentineβs is just up ahead,β Dottie says, pointing to what looks like a brightly lit log cabin in the distance. As I get closer, I can make out the pink neon βValentinesβ positioned at the front of the roof. Thereβs a cocktail glass at the side of it, flashing like itβs a lure and weβre the fish itβs trying to attract. Based on how full the parking lot is when we pull in, Iβm guessing it works.
βWell, helloooo,β a woman I recognize from Duke and Avaβs wedding says as soon as we step inside. βIβm not sure if you remember me, but Iβm Jade. Kellenβs wife.β She points at the burly man behind the bar. βWe met at the wedding on Saturday. Nice to see youβre still in town.β That last part is directed at me, but I donβt miss that Jadeβs eyes go to Dottieβs and widen in silent communication. Dottie seems to shake her head imperceptibly, but it all happens so fast that I canβt figure out whatβs really going on.
βWeβre just here for a friendly dinner,β Dottie says, putting an emphasis on the word βfriendlyβ and giving me a little insight into what went unspoken just now.
Iβll have to fix that. By the end of this meal, sheβll have no doubt that being friends with her is currently the last thing on my mind.
I place my hand on the lower part of her back, a clear signal to every other man in the room that sheβs mine. βIs it OK if we take that empty booth?β I ask Jade, nodding to where a server is bussing and resetting. βIt looks nice and quiet.β Β
βItβs all yours,β she says, a knowing smile taking over her face. βYou two get yourself situated, and Iβll be over with a menu in a few.β
