Page 17 of All My Love

They stroll off, and when I look over at Dolly’s booth, she’s peering down at one of her birthday cards with one of the seniors in the community, smiling as she points to the little red balloon painted on the back, above her logo. The old woman smiles, nodding, and I watch as she slips the card into a paper sack, handing it to the woman.

Bear is inside Dolly’s booth, sitting at a table in the back, his little legs swinging like wild beneath. His tongue is curled over his top lip, brow furrowed as he focuses on the tiny canvas in front of him. Near his elbow is a palette of paint, and in his fist is a brush.

Something about him always trying new things with her, being so comfortable with her, and the way she glances back to check on him every few minutes, despite the fact she’s inundated with customers, it'snice.

“You know,” Everly says, popping up again out ofnowhere like a goddamn jack-in-the-box. “You could’ve been nicer to Tiffani.”

“I need to put a bell on you. That way I can hear you coming.”

After rolling her eyes, she folds her arms over her chest. “Why weren’t you more friendly?”

I press a hand to my chest. “I was friendly. What was I gonna do? Hug her goodbye?” Goddamn, I can’t stop looking up at Dolly, and I don’t know why. Everly snaps, collecting my attention offensively.

“Ask her out, Hudson. She likes you. She’s new to town. She could use…a friend.” And when I tell you that my stomach actually goes upside down as my baby sister wiggles her eyebrows at me, implying that I should not just take Tiffani out but have sex with her, I am not lying.

“Don’t be vulgar, it’s gross,” I tell her, towing the line ofwhat happens in a bedroom, stays in a bedroom. I want to teach my son that talking about what you do with your partner is tacky and small, therefore, I give the same lesson to Ev.

She’s never given a shit about my lessons, though. From the time she was four, and I told her taking her training wheels off her bike too soon would result in an accident that made her too scared to try again.

She still doesn’t ride a bike.

“Hud, I’m just saying, it’s been four years since…”

Since my wife fucked my best friend and ran off with him, leaving me with our infant son, undeveloped property, and a dream I only partially shared. “Iknowhow long it’s been,” I respond gruffly.

Ignoring sexual urges and needs, at first, was a challenge. But I’m a professional now, ignoring theachy hardness I wake with, denying the weighty steel that begs for me in the evening when the world is quiet. I’m not saying I’m a saint or a priest, but as a whole, I’ve learned to live without love and orgasms.

“I’m fine and I don’t need to be hooked up,” I tell her, meeting and holding her gaze to impart the‘do not fucking do that ever again’ sentiment.

“Just… think about it. For me?” She touches my arm again and I shake it.

“Don’t get allLittle House on the Prairiejust because you reconnected with some college friend,” I warn her, suddenly very grouchy.

The fact that Ev continues to smirk at me is also annoying. “I’ll play the card if I have to.”

I narrow my gaze on her. “Don’t.”

Her smirk widens to a full-on grin. “I help you with Bear so much, the least you could do for me is take Tiffani out once or twice.”

She’s warned me teasingly in the past that her helping me with Bear is only because she wants to have a card to play against me later in life. She loves Bear like he’s her own, but right now, I’m wishing that I could rip that card to shreds.

“First it’s take her out, now it’s once or twice?” I shake my head, scratching at the back of my neck as uneasiness swims through me. I don’t typically feel uneasy, either. “I don’t know, Ev. She really didn’t seem like…my type.”

Her hands go to her hips, and I know I’m in trouble. “Oh really?” Her tone is biting. Yep, I’m in trouble. “And how would you know anything about her and whether or not she’sthe great Hudson Gray’s type? Hmm?” She pushes herfinger into my chest, scolding me, and my eyes veer off, hunting for Deuce, but that shithead is eating fudge with a WWII veteran.

“Deuce agrees,” she says, clearly reading my mind. “He thinks you need a woman.”

“I don’t care if Deuce agrees,” I tell her, though in truth, Ev and Deuce are my family. I do care what they think, even if I say I don’t. I don’t want them living their lives with good old Hudson needing help all the time because he was too brokenhearted to move on.

That isn’t even true.

My heart healed a long time ago.

But I’m a father. And a ranch owner. A business owner. I have commitments that matter, and come first, and there’s not a lot of room to find love in that equation.

But that’s bullshit too because I would make time for it. If I had it.

“Go out with her,” she says, slapping a piece of paper into my palm. I look down to see Tiffani’s name scrawled across a torn piece of paper, along with her phone number and two hearts. I look up at my sister.

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