Page 33 of When We Were Younger

Jesus. He's buckling me in.

His forearms brush over the tops of my thighs as he leans over me, securing the belt into the buckle. The hair in his bun tickles at my nose as he tightens the strap and lays it across my chest. Though he's careful not to touch any part of my breasts, that doesn't stop my body from reacting to his nearness. My nipples tighten in to tight, hard points under my shirt, and a warmth starts to pool in my belly.

"There," he says when he gets the strap situated to his liking and looks at me. "Now you're safe and sound."

I take a deep breath to center myself as he shuts my door and rounds the front of his truck.

My body might be safe and sound here in this truck, but my heart is on shaky ground.

17

STEPHEN

The trail at Whispering Ridge is an easy hike. There's not a ton of exposed terrain, nor is there a huge elevation gain. It's a gradual increase up and back down in a 2.4-mile loop. It's the perfect place to get some solitude, or to walk your dog, or to explore things with someone you once thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. Maybe see if she wants to hold your hand.

Totally chill.

After a twenty-minute drive from town, we pull into the dirt lot right at the start of the trail. I let Daisy May out of the backseat and leash her up. She's well-trained enough to go off leash, but I don't trust the other dog owners that might be out here today, so I like to keep her close. I pull the backpack stocked with water and light snacks out of the truck bed and toss it over my shoulder as Dorothea steps down and out of the truck.

"Ready?" she asks as she swings an arm across herchest, stretching. I can't stop the way my eyes down the expanse of her arm down to her hand, where red nails shaped like almonds tip her fingers. Red nails that I'd very much like to leave red marks on my chest, my back, my ass.

I shake off the dirty thoughts and look back to her face, then smile when I notice the bit of pink icing on the corner of her mouth.

"You got a little," I say as I reach out, swiping the icing off with my thumb. She tracks the movement, and her eyes glaze over. I smirk, and her lips part as I bring my thumb to my mouth and suck the icing off with a low hum.

"Delicious," I murmur, and her breath hitches. "Let's do this." I hold my hand to her, and to my surprise and delight, she doesn't hesitate before slipping her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together and squeezing gently.

I make a clicking noise with my tongue, and Daisy May takes off, bounding towards the trail that the two of us know so well, hauling Dorothea and I along with her. It's beautifully green out here, even this close to winter. Most of the leaves on trees are various shades of orange, yellow, and brown, but there are plenty of tall pines and oaks that hold on to their hunter-green hues. Even the ground is coated in patchy blankets of mossy beauty. The air smells earthy, like loam mixed with the unmistakable raspberry scent of Dorothea’s hair. The sounds of woodpeckers, blue jays, and cardinals as well as the crunch of fallen leaves under our feet is background music to our stroll.

Neither of us says anything for long minutes, and I go back and forth between watching Daisy May sniffing at the ground and watching Dorothea take in her surroundings. Her eyes are everywhere, on the flora growing up from the ground, on the chipmunks scurrying across the path, on the trees and the sky above us. Her hand is warm in mine, and she squeezes slightly every so often, as if she's reminding me–or herself–that she's still there.

Dorothea looks beautifully lost with her head in the clouds, and I am so stunningly haunted by the sight of her, the feel of her hand in mine that the sound of another's voice nearly makes me jump out of my pants.

"Stephen Hudson, is that you?" comes the cloying, over exaggerated Tennessee accent of Mindy Price.

Mindy graduated a year before us, and we had a brief flirtation six or seven years ago that never amounted to anything due to my own lack of interest. It's a nippy fifty degrees this morning, but Mindy is wearing a parka that goes down to her knees with her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. It's poking through the top of her hat, and I wonder for a moment if she purposefully cut a ponytail hole in the beanie or if she bought it like that.

"Hey Mindy," I say politely, giving her a head nod in lieu of a wave, since one of my hands is occupied by Daisy May's leash and the other is still wrapped up in Dorothea's–over my dead body will I let go before she does.

"Oh my goodness, Dottie Lynn Hart, in the flesh!"Mindy croons, stepping in and wrapping Dorothea in a hug that she seems reluctant to return.

"Mindy, how good to see you!" Dorothea says. Her kind and welcoming tone is a complete contrast to her stiff body language. I know she and Mindy weren't best friends or anything, but they were on the cheer squad together for years, and they were friendly. But, I suppose I would feel a little awkward if an old acquaintance appeared out of the literal woodwork and tried to hug me, so I chalk Dorothea's stand-offishness up to that.

"Dottie Lynn," Mindy repeats, shaking her head, "I never thought I'd see the day. The big California internet star graces us little old Fox Hole folks with a visit. My, my, my.”

I watch as Dorothea's face goes cold. It's a second, a flash where her smiles falters and her eyes darken before the flip switches and she's smiling with her pearly whites.

"Oh, I thought it was time. I couldn't let Stephen here continue to run amuck without me. You remember the two of us were always getting into trouble. It's high time we bring some of that fun back to this sleepy place, don't you think?" She leans into my side and sets her head against my upper arm as I raise a brow at her. Dorothea's accent has been all but gone. I haven't heard it one bit since she's been back, but just now? She sounds like she should be working the bar at a Honky Tonk on Broadway in Nashville.

"Some people need fancy clubs and flashing lights tobe happy. Those of us here in Fox Hole—the lucky ones who stayed, that is—we're happier with a simpler life. Isn't that right, Stephen?" Mindy asks, placing her hand on her chest and tilting her head at Dorothea, the universal sign for 'bless your heart.' I feel the air go icy cold.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," I laugh, trying to defuse the building tension. "I could have a good time anywhere, so long as Dorothea here is by my side." I let go of her hand in favor of putting my hand on her shoulder and tucking her even closer to my side.

"So cute that you call her by her full name, though I can’t say I blame a girl for wanting to go by Dottie instead. Speaking of a good time," Mindy croons. I cringe at the way she speaks about Dorothea like she isn’t standing right her next to me. Mindy leans in and walks two fingers up my sternum. I shiver, but not in a good way. "You should give me a call soon, Stephen. It's been a long time since we've had any fun."

I furrow my brow and take a step back, just out of her reach. I don't know what fun she could be referring to, unless she's talking about the night she tried to take me home from The Dugout and I politely declined her advances.

"Anyway, it waslovelyto see you, Dottie Lynn. I cannot tell you how grateful we all are to have your magnetic presence back in town," Mindy says with all the glacial sarcasm of a Disney villain in disguise. She flips her ponytail as she trots past us, her parka whooshing in the wind as she goes. Neither Dorotheanor I wish Mindy a goodbye, but Daisy May does let out a low growl.

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