Page 13 of The Art of Dying

“Let me run home and get dressed.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll walk you.”

She watched me make sure the fire was out. “You’re gonna stand out in the cold? Because you can walk me, but you’re not coming in.”

“That’s fine as long as you’re not walking around in the dark by yourself.”

“What do you think I did before you?”

“Gambled with your life.”

“In Quincy,” she said, unimpressed.

“Chances are zero if I walk you.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She stood up. “You comin’?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, following her across the yard and the street to slip between two houses to her backyard.

I waited outside until she was ready, rubbing my hands together and stepping from side to side for warmth right up to the second her back door unlocked.

She strolled over to me in a tight pair of low-rise Wranglers, a thick brown belt with a rhinestone-covered buckle, and a denim button-up shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show the tight white tank top underneath. She didn’t try to hide her grin, blatantly entertained by my reaction.

She looked down, feigning innocence. “What? Do I look all right?”

“Good Lord, woman, I nearly swallowed my tongue.”

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat and followed me back.

I sighed. “I should’ve just drove you over there.”

“I’m a half block away.”

“Yeah, but then the truck would’ve been warmed up for you by now,” I said, opening the passenger door.

She was staring at me, still wearing the adorable grin.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re just… a nice guy, Kitsch.”

I shrugged. “To be honest with you, Mack, I don’t have a clue how anyone could do anything but be good to you.”

She was still smiling when I closed the door, and I looked away, trying to hide the smirk on my face. For the first time, I felt like I might just have a chance. I slid into the driver’s seat and reached to the dashboard for my hat, placing it securely on my head, looking to her for approval. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. The way her eyes lit up said it all.

It only took twenty minutes to get out to Remington’s and find a parking spot in the gravel lot. On top of green lights and light traffic the whole way there, the line had already thinned, and we were inside almost immediately.

“Luck is on our side tonight,” I said.

“What?” Mack yelled over the music.

I leaned into her ear. “Luck is on our side!”

She nodded, then stopped at the first empty table, laying her coat over a stool.

She was right, Remington’s was dusty, crowded, and you had to walk through a cloud of cigarette smoke, but my God was it a good time. Sully’s older sister was a George Straight fanatic and taught us to two-step in middle school. Sully never quite got the hang of it, but I could spin ’em, twist ’em, twirl ’em, and flip ’em—all while keeping the beat. As it turned out, being able to dance made me suddenly very popular with the girls at school. But Mack… Mack was tough to impress.

I stood next to the entrance of the dance floor and held out my hand.

---