Page 60 of Plunge

CHAPTER FORTY

Thistle

I CONVINCE FLETCHER to fly back to Oak Creek with me after the race in Bahrain. His usual M-O is to crash on a beach somewhere for a few weeks before he heads off to the next race location, so at first he tries to convince me to join him and work remotely in between sex sessions.

But we get a bunch of text updates with pictures of Louie and detailed explanations of the Sunday dinners that Daniel is cooking for the Crawfords back home. And that’s what it feels like to me. Home.

Archer picks us up at the airport with a smug grin. “Fletch, dude. I didn’t know you didn’t know not to listen to me when I haven’t slept.”

Fletcher punches him in the arm and we walk hand-in-hand to his truck, where Fletcher climbs in the back seat next to me. The two of them bicker the whole way home about nonsense, and I can see the corners of Fletcher’s eyes crinkle in a smile. I’m glad he and his family are going to get more time to reconnect.

Archer drops me at my parents’ house and I’m surprised when Fletcher climbs out of the truck with his bags. Archer opens the window to say something, and Fletcher waves. “I have to go inside and talk with my mother-in-law about some stuff,” he says, and Archer backs out of my parents’ driveway, shaking his head and tooting the horn.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Mother in law, huh?” He shrugs and drops an arm around my shoulders. We walk inside together and find Mom in the living room. She stands up when she sees us and starts to make her way over to us at the door.

“Stay put,” I try to tell her, but Fletcher rushes over ahead of me and takes her free hand.

“Teresa, can we chat?” Her eyes widen but she nods and sinks back down. I sit in the arm chair across from them, wondering what I should worry about, but Fletcher plows ahead. “Look,” he says. “I’m a hot head. That’s not going anywhere. I want you to know I think you made a good call.”

None of us has to specify that he’s talking about when I got pregnant. I’m surprised to notice that the tight fist in my chest isn’t as fierce this time the subject comes up, though. Mom reaches up to cup his chin. “You had so much to lose,” she says.

Fletcher nods. “I did. It’s true.” He sighs and nods his head towards me. “Is it ok with you if I date your daughter again?”

She smiles and claps her hands, nodding. I shake my head and walk down the hall to toss my bags in my bedroom. “Come on,” I say, coming back into the living room and nudging his bag with my toe. “Walk me to Archer’s office so I can help him get caught up before the jet lag makes me useless.”

A few weeks later, Fletcher shows up at my parents’ house with an arm full of green beads, green glasses, and shamrock headbands. My mom laughs as he crowns her with glittering shamrocks and asks if we’re ready for the parade.

Oak Creek’s St. Patrick’s Day parade is a bit of a letdown for people used to drunken debauchery, but just the right speed for anyone looking to eat green ice cream, watch the town’s children dance in green costumes, and listen to the high school marching band play a series of Irish pub songs.

Mom wanders off to hang out with Mary Pat at the milkshake stand, and Fletcher tugs me to a good spot for viewing the contortion crew from Ivy’s circus classes. They’re kicking off the festivities today, dangling and bending from green silks strung up on rigging across Main Street.

I wave to at least 30 people I know, 10 of whom I am genuinely happy to see this morning, and I realize I’m really happy with how things are going. Yes, everyone here knows my business. But they also know I’m on the lookout for a rental place and have a surprisingly deep bench of connections I can talk to about international tax consulting.

Fletcher wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tight against his chest. “I’m going to miss you next week,” he whispers, nipping my ear lobe. Fletcher is off to India for a race, but he’s also coming back here straight afterward.

“We can work on our phone sex game,” I say, wiggling my hips against his crotch. He growls and tugs my hair, bending my neck back so he can kiss me. Right here in public, he’s kissing me, and it feels really right.

We’ve been working really hard at opening up, being honest about what we’re looking for. Neither of us wants to stop traveling or working internationally. But neither of us sees any reason we can’t be waiting for each other right here in Oak Creek between projects.

I spend most nights at his place, unless I’m having girls night. For the first time in my life, I have a crew of girlfriends, and we do things like drive to paint night or go outlet shopping, and it’s mundane and perfect. I often feel like I have nothing to add to their conversations about babies, but they talk about their careers and their businesses just as often.

Abigail is even plotting out her next novel, and I love giving her input on her characters when she asks us what we think.

But mostly, I’m enjoying the ten thousand small moments with Fletcher this past month. Like his enthusiasm for new sandwiches at the Insomnia Bakery or his obsession with buying me different styles of underwear and then peeling them off me when we get them home. He works from bed late into the night, yelling into his phone at different contractors in different time zones, and when he hangs up, he gets excited to show me various metrics about his company.

For the first time in my life, I have hobbies outside of driving my car around the countryside, but I’ve got a boyfriend who loves to join me when we take the car out for a spin. He keeps begging me to drive it again, but I told him not to go thinking too highly of himself.

Fletcher and I watch the parade and share a green ice cream cone, despite Hunter protesting that communal dairy is a terrible idea. Most of the Crawfords are getting together for a game night later, and when Asa asks if we’re heading over to his place to join them, Fletcher meets my eye. “I wouldn’t miss it,” I say. Fletcher grins wickedly and turns to his brothers.

“Make it a game involving math,” he says. “Thistle’s gonna kick all your asses.”

They all break out into trash talk and idle threats, and Fletcher pulls me away from the crowd. “I’ve been dying to get you naked all day,” he says, tugging me toward his house.

“Then bringing me to a parade was an odd choice,” I counter.

He unlocks the door and pulls me inside, shoving me against the door as he closes it behind us. “The wait just makes it better,” he says.

As he leans in for a kiss, I know he’s right.

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