Kallie

“Do you still want to go to Peaches?” Nora asks. There’s a forced easiness to her tone, like we just didn’t walk all the way to the car and drive almost the entire way to my mother’s house in silence.

“No.”

Every step we took from the bar had me wanting to look over my shoulder in hopes of catching a glimpse of Cross. Every mile we pull away has me wanting to yell at Nora to turn around.

My head spins with the offer to see him again. My cheek sings with the memory of his touch. My heart aches as it absorbs the instructions from my brain to not forget the bad in favor of the good.

The endless partying with Machlan.

The two times I had to bail him out of jail for reckless driving and disorderly conduct.

Failure to take anything seriously or make a plan for the future.

A chill rips through me despite the warm summer sun.

“I really wanted a margarita,” Nora says, turning toward my mother’s house. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to Peaches?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re not hungry or you’re mad at me? I’m really feeling like ‘I’m not hungry’ is a passive-aggressive and untrue response.”

“I’m not mad at you,” I say finally, watching the bright green grass roll by. “Although I know that was a setup.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Don’t lie to me.” I laugh. “You totally set that up.”

“What can it hurt?” She sighs, turning into the driveway. “I know it’s none of my business, but…”

Her forehead is creased and her knuckles re-grip the steering wheel. Settling into the soft leather seat, I lean my head against the headrest. The adrenaline recedes, leaving me with a sluggish, almost hangover-style feeling in place of the excitement from a few minutes ago.

“He always asks about you,” she says softly. “I never told you that because it felt like it didn’t matter, but he does. Every time I see him, he says hello and then his features fall a little bit and he asks how you’re doing.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “He’s not a bad guy, Kallie.”

“I know he’s not.” I groan, closing my eyes. “He’s not a bad person, he’s just not someone I can be with.” The words land on my own ears and my spirits fall. “And that sucks.”

“Maybe he’s not the guy you remember.”

“Leopards don’t change their spots, Nora,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt and grabbing my purse. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Call me tomorrow. Let’s do lunch or something.” She touches my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Climbing out of the car, I shut the door. Nora honks the horn twice before pulling onto the street.

My mom’s home sits in front of me, a little white square with dark green windows. There’s a carport on one side that offers little protection from the wind in the winter, and my stomach twists that I’ve not been able to get it replaced yet.

“Someday,” I mutter as I climb the stairs to the front door. It opens before I get to the top. “Hey, Mom.”

“I thought I heard a car out here. I’m not used to having visitors.” She smiles, letting me by. “Did you have fun with Nora, honey?”

“Yeah. We walked around town, and I talked to Ruby at the library. I can’t believe she’s still alive.”

“Kallie Rae!” She laughs as she follows me to the kitchen. Pictures of me from various ages line the walls of the hallway. “See anyone else?”

“Machlan.”

“How is he?” she presses.

“Good.”

Pulling out a chair, she drops into the seat. “I saw him a few weeks ago at the post office. Good-looking boy.”

“He’s all right,” I say, shaking my head.

“All right? Sometimes I’m not sure you’re my child.” She chuckles. “If I were your age, I’d have snapped up one of those men in a heartbeat.”

Turning away, I look out the window over the sink. The small back yard is tidy, her trash and recycling cans in a neat line by the gate. My old brown swing set still sits by the fence in the back, and the picnic table where I had dozens of chats with my friends growing up is in need of a good dose of paint.

All of these things are better topics than dating, or Machlan, or the one I know is coming: Cross.

My mother loved him like he was her son. She made sure he had homemade macaroni and cheese when he was over for dinner and always had his favorite soda in the fridge. When we broke up, she supported me, but I know down deep, she wishes things had worked out.

Maybe I wish that too.

Maybe wishes are pointless.

“We could get some paint tomorrow and redo the picnic table,” I say.

“I wouldn’t be able to move for a week.”

The room gets quiet. The quieter it gets, the louder I hear my heartbeat.

“I’m supposed to go to my women’s club meeting this evening with Dina. Do you want to go?” she asks. “Or did you make plans with Nora?”

Glancing at the clock, I see I have an hour until Cross asked me to meet him. My chest rises and falls, my fingers tapping on the counter.

“Well, you’re invited if you want to come.” She groans, getting out of the chair. “I’m leaving in about an hour. Let me know if you want to join, honey.”

Her steps get softer as she pads down the hallway, and I’m left standing in the kitchen with nothing but a decision to be made.

* * *

Kallie

Slipping on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top after my shower, I make my way into the living room. The hardwood floor creaks as I traverse the room and plop unceremoniously onto the plaid sofa. The remote is on the other side of the room and I don’t have the energy to get it. Besides, the quiet is something I kind of love.

Living in the city made me forget what silence really is. There are no tires squealing or sirens blaring, just an occasional dog barking from the house across the street.

The room is filled with mementos of my life that could only be collected by a mother. A frame hangs to the right with every school picture I ever took. An art piece I created in fifth grade is propped up on a bookshelf, and a trinket we bought on a vacation at Lake Michigan sits next to the television. Each one of those things has a memory of Cross tied to it.

My heart sinks as I squirm on the sofa. There’s a hole in my chest that seems to have reopened since I pulled back into Linton, a big, gaping crevice that I was able to fill well enough in Indiana with work and hobbies and remembering things how I chose to remember them, but now? It’s not that easy.

I had to force myself to get into the bath and shave my legs so I wouldn’t run to the gym to see him on a whim. I washed my hair twice and then used a conditioning mask just to kill time. By the time I got out, I knew he would be gone.

A low rumble from the other side of the wall sounds through the air. Swinging my legs to the floor, I sit up and listen. It trails to the front of the house and stops. There’s a long pause, then a squeak, and then it starts again. Jumping up and heading to the front window, I peer out of the curtains.

My breathing halts, my hands shaking as they hold the lace fabric out of the way.

Cross is dragging my mother’s trash can from the back of the house to the street. He lines it up next to another one and brushes his hands off. Without looking up at me, he disappears into the back yard again.

“What the hell?” I whisper, dropping the curtain.

Finding my sandals, I slip them on and scurry to the kitchen door. When I step into the yard, he’s latching a cable through the handles on the doors of the shed in the back corner.

Wearing a pair of grey jogging pants and a red t-shirt, he looks tall and lean and as broad as the shed. A darkened spot between his shoulder blades flexes and pulls as he works the cable. The fabric pulls tight along his muscles, giving me an idea of their definition and making my knees weak.

He turns around abruptly, catching us both off guard.

“Hey,” he says, stopping in his tracks.

“What are you doing here?”

There’s a smile that flashes briefly, but it doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies. “I’m not here to bother you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Cross…” A lump takes root in my throat as I step across the soft grass. Sitting on top of the picnic table, I look at him still standing by the shed, just a few feet away.

So many summers we hung out back here in a swimming pool that’s since been removed. We played badminton when I went through an obsessive stage with that game and watched the fireworks from a big trampoline we sold in a yard sale the summer before I left.

Our first kiss took place back here under the oak tree, and we buried Fluffy, my poodle, together near the back fence.

All of this hits me like a flood as my gaze locks with his, and when he speaks, the tone of his voice makes me think maybe it hit him too.

“I take your mom’s trash to the road every week. While I’m here, I do some odds and ends I see she needs done. It’s not a big deal,” he says softly.

My heart slams against my ribcage, knocking the wind out of me. “You do? Since when?”

“I’ve done this for a long time, Kallie. It’s no big deal.”

“But…why? Why would you do this?”

His shoulders rise and fall. He rocks back on his heels, twisting his lips together. “What does it matter?”

“I had no idea,” I say, forcing a swallow.

“I asked her not to tell you.” He heads toward the gate, taking a curved path so he doesn’t get too close to me. “Believe it or not, I’m not a bad guy.”

“Cross, wait,” I say, jumping off the table. The words are out of my mouth before I even know I’ve said them, and I have no idea what to follow them up with. There are so many things in my brain competing for a chance to roll off my tongue, and I know I better weigh them all carefully before I choose a thought I don’t want shared.

He turns to face me, his brows lifted toward the sky. “What?”

Sucking in a breath, I plead with my brain to use the right filter and go for it. “I know you aren’t a bad guy.”

He averts his jade eyes, settling his gaze somewhere in the distance. I take the opportunity to study him without the usual glare of a computer screen.

His jawline is more defined, the angle visible even under the day-old scruff. His lashes are thicker and darker, outlining the set of eyes that seem to have seen so much and, when they turn back to find mine, it causes me to jump. He tries not to notice, but his sly smile gives it away.

“Sorry,” I grumble, fiddling with a strand of hair.

“Let’s flip the script for a minute and you tell me why you moved back to Linton.”

Clearing my throat, I pause. “Well, my old boss seems to be heading to jail for a while. Skylar moved away so Mom was alone, and it’s easier to start again here than in Indy.”

He doesn’t blink.

“What?” I ask, furrowing a brow at his lack of a reaction.

“Just waiting for you to tell the truth.”

“Um, I did.” On instinct, I tilt my head at him, annoyed.

“Uh, ya didn’t.”

“Whatever,” I huff, walking away from him. I stop at the fence and look over the top at the setting sun, feeling a little peace fall over me. The sky is painted a beautiful mosaic of pinks and purples, like a painting done by a master artist. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

His hand touches the small of my back as he steps beside me. Suddenly, the sky isn’t on my radar anymore. All I can focus on is how his hand feels on me, how every nerve is acutely aware of his presence and the pull of his body on mine.

“It is beautiful out here tonight,” he says softly, “and the sky is pretty too.”

My cheeks flush as I look at him. “You really can turn on that charm, huh?”

“I don’t try it too often, but I’m hoping it works out for me today.”

“Why are you helping my mom, Cross?”

“Well, the way I see it,” he says, leaning on the rail, “she took care of me for a lot of years when I needed it. She hemmed my baseball pants every year, went to bat for me when Mr. Varian suspended me my junior year…and how many nights did she have something hot and ready for me to eat after practice?”

“A lot.” I smile. “How many times did she make corn because you liked it and not green beans because you didn’t? I hated you because green beans are my favorite.”

We exchange a laugh that’s easy and carefree, like two friends on a level most people never ascend to. Once our voices have died down, he pulls away and looks me in the eye. “For the record, I’ve never hated you.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. The searing gaze penetrating mine halts any words from flowing through my lips.

“I want you to know that…” His head dips, his sneaker running back and forth across the lawn. “I take responsibility for everything that happened between us.”

“Cross—”

“No, it’s my fault. I was the shithead who couldn’t get my life together.” He raises his eyes, a glimmer in the jade orbs. “I admire you.”

“Me?” I snort. “Why?”

“You were smart enough to know your worth.” He lays a hand over mine, his palm hot and heavy and swamping mine in size. I can’t look away from them, his tanned skin sitting atop mine. “You taught me a lot, made me who I am, in a roundabout, heartbreaking kind of way.” He chuckles.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” I ask, his words wrapping around my chest and squeezing it so tight I can barely breathe.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Strangely, I believe that.”

He twists around and leans against the fence. “Want to talk? Ask questions? Kiss me?”

“No.” I laugh, taking a step back for my own good. “I just got out of a job that had federal investigators asking me a million questions, and then I packed up my things and moved home. I don’t need any more complications for a minute.”

“Maybe I won’t complicate it.” He shoots me a grin that melts me from the inside out.

Pointing a finger his way, I giggle. “You always do.”

“How’s that?”

“That grin—it complicates everything, every time.”

It stretches across his face, reaching from ear to ear, and it pulls mine right along with it. We stand in the setting sun, grinning at each other like two kids as my mother wanders into the back yard.

“What are you kids doing out here?”

My entire body sags at the interruption as Cross snickers.

“Just taking the garbage to the road, Brenda.”

“Looks to me like you were doing more than that, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Oh, Mom, hush.”

Her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “I just want to say seeing you two together makes this old woman’s heart feel full. Reminds me of old times, my two kids happy and together.”

“That sounds disgusting and illegal,” I say as I laugh.

“Good thing I’m not known for my law-abiding tendencies,” Cross chimes in, looking at me out of the corner of this eye.

Mom and I laugh as I punch him in the arm. He feigns injury, shaking his bicep back and forth.

“Stop it,” I say, shaking my head.

“You have a terrible punch. It’s embarrassing.”

“What? If that’s embarrassing, it’s your fault.”

“How do you figure?” That grin still plays on his lips.

“You’re the one who taught me to punch!”

“Oh, no,” he says, pressing his lips together. “I didn’t teach you that. Don’t blame that crap on me.” He captures my gaze, his eyes sparkling. “If you want me to teach you again, I’m happy to.”

“I don’t really punch people a lot.”

“Never know,” he teases. “You wouldn’t want to rest on those laurels.”

“You’re an ass.”

He pretends to consider this as he circles me and heads to the gate. “Trash is out, Brenda. Fixed the latch on the shed—try not to break it again.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promises. “Want to come in for dinner? I brought home Carlson’s.”

He stops at the gate and looks at me over his shoulder. My heart skips a beat as I watch him make up his mind. I wish I could ask him to stay, wish I could enjoy our banter for a little while longer, but as he looks back at my mother, I know I’m better off if he says no.

“I have a private session in fifteen minutes. I better go, but thanks for the offer.” With a final look at me, he opens the gate. “See ya around, Kallie girl.”

“Good night, Cross.”