Page 74 of The Cadence
Now he knew how the rest of the world felt about his own oversharing. “I’ve been going back and forth about making a move,” I answered, but I immediately held up my hand. “Wait! Don’t tell me about Kirsten unzipping your jeans. I already know that story.”
“It was pretty hot,” he said, but then he sighed. “I don’t think she’s interested in doing that anymore.”
“I heard that things were cooling off.”
“Holy shit,” he repeated. “She told you?”
“Her grandmother did,” I explained. “Why is that happening?”
“I guess it’s natural that you get sick of someone after a while. You see more of them and maybe what you see isn’t so…” He trailed off and looked unhappy. “Do you know that she snacks on hard-boiled eggs with anchovy paste? I’ve never smelled anything that foul! She’s pissed at me, too. She blew up over the new floor mats I got for my car.”
“Were they expensive? I thought you were saving for your own apartment,” I pointed out, and he scowled.
“That’s what Kirsten was yelling about. You know, I guess we didn’t used to talk very much. We were mostly screwing instead and our mouths were busy with other stuff. She really likes it when I—”
“No, sir! No, thank you!”
“Now we have more time for conversation,” he continued. “I don’t know how it’s going to go.”
I nodded sympathetically, although I didn’t really understand. Personally, the more Will and I talked, the more I liked him. Just yesterday, I’d sat on the counter in his bathroom while he’d shaved so that we could go over some details about the company we were both still working on. We’d discussed what I would do when he went to the hotel with the team, as they did the night before a game. He told me something funny that had happened with one of the wide receivers after practice the day before, and we talked more, and more. He had almost been late and we’d both run out to the garage together, laughing, to keep talking up until the moment that he’d driven away. Then he’d called me from the road.
Cully called my attention to a shopper with a question about the price of our gourds. She explained that she was in a rush because she wanted to make a sculpture out of them, dedicated to the Woodsmen and in honor of their game tonight.
“What were you asking me?” he wondered when that was worked out. “Something about making the first move?”
“The question is, should I make a move on Will? Did you like it when it happened to you?”
“I loved it,” he admitted. “And if Kirsten hadn’t done it, I probably wouldn’t have had the nerve. She’s so pretty and fun, and her last hook-up was the Woodsmen center! I didn’t think that she’d have been interested in someone like me.”
“She is, though.”
“Yeah, and I like her a lot. Even with the anchovy paste,” he told me. “Maybe she could eat that on the porch and then brush her teeth and wash her face. And change her clothes.”
“Maybe you could discuss it,” I suggested. “She could also talk to you about budgeting, because she and her grandma and I have been working on that a lot. Miss Sloane is very savvy.”
Cully went off looking a little happier than when we’d begun our conversation, and he’d definitely given me some food for thought. Because as the days had gone by (and holy Moses, it had gotten much colder), I had been thinking more and more about my decision to keep my heart intact by not admitting my feelings for Will. How long could I pull this off? Could I really go on living with him forever in just this same way, as great friends with a huge secret between us?
And would my heart really stay safe that way? What if he met someone? I wouldn’t be able to sit by and watch him fall in love with another woman—
I clutched my stomach, suddenly feeling like I’d eaten a greasy cheeseburger after too much Tennessee whiskey. No, I wouldn’t be able to watch that happen, and the woman wouldn’t want me hanging around his house, of course. She would probably beable to see straight through me and read my feelings for him just like Annie Whitaker-Gassman had.
That thought reminded me that I needed to talk to Annie’s business partner Remy regarding a new doorbell for the main house and several other issues, too. I also had a job to do, and all that distracted me from the scary idea that Will might find another girlfriend and the equally scary idea of opening my heart to him. “Uh, Calla…I think you’re a sweet girl. I like you a lot, a real lot,” he might say again. But he just didn’t love me. How would I handle that?
I was working an earlier shift than usual, because I had a game to attend. I rushed home from the grocery store and quickly changed into my Bodine jersey, and then I spent more time on my hair. Annie had suggested a salon and, although I’d almost gone into shock when I’d seen their prices, I had to admit that I’d never gotten a better cut. I also took a while to do my makeup, for which I had watched a new tutorial and also gotten some tips from Kirsten the last time I’d seen her at her grandma’s house.
“You have beautiful eyes,” she had told me as she discussed liner, and then she’d carefully scrutinized my face. “You know, you have the funniest features.”
“Kirsten!” Miss Sloane had said severely.
“I mean that you look like an elf,” she’d explained, which made her grandma even madder. “I mean that in a good way! Like she’s not human.”
Miss Sloane had been extremely angry and had sermonized for a while on thinking before you spoke, but I had understoodwhat Kirsten meant. They’d both assured me that I was very pretty, but I accepted that I did look a little like I’d wandered out from behind a tree in the forest. I’d always thought so. My hazel eyes were big and I definitely had a pointed chin—less so now, since I wasn’t underweight anymore. I remembered my grandma looking at my angular face and my towering height, so completely opposite to her round cheeks and tiny stature. Then her gaze had gone to my red hair, and she’d hugged me.
“That color is so special!” she’d said. “It reminds me a little of a ladybug and I love them. They’re good luck. It’s my good luck that you’re here, Calla.”
Will was working hard with his therapist but he still needed to do things to ease his anxiety, which he never called anxiety. One of those was sending me a schedule for game days so that I got safely into my seat at the stadium. Now, I ran out of the house so that I could follow the chronology he’d typed up (he was ok with texting rather than printing it, and I called that progress). I made it there right on schedule and also right on schedule, he came through the tunnel and onto the field with a roar from the Woodsmen fans who were assembling in the orange rows.
“Hello, Calla,” he said as I ran down to lean over the railing. He reached up and took my hands, and he grinned at me.
