Page 491 of Love Bites

“That felt weird,” I finally admitted. “Like we just got hitched or something.”

“Would that be so bad?”

My face turned red and I looked down at my shoes. “Depends if you leave the seat up or down.”

Austin wrapped his arm around me and we started walking. “Come on, smartass. Let’s go for a ride.”

* * *

The summer windwas a fragrant perfume on my skin, filled with the aromatic scent of sunshine and freshly cut grass. The sun dipped low in the western sky, casting a radiant gold across my arms and hair. We drove into a rural area and Austin pulled over on a dirt road by an overlook. He reached in the back seat and grabbed a few things I hadn’t noticed before, bundling them under his left arm.

“What are you up to?” I asked, clicking open the door.

“No,” he warned, pointing his finger.

I let go of the handle and watched Austin walk around the front of the car, never removing his eyes from mine. He opened my door like a gentleman and draped his arm over the top of the frame, letting his eyes drag down the length of my body.

“I like that skirt on you,” he said with a suggestive wink. I thought the delivery of his compliment was all off because my skirt didn’t show much leg.

Austin reached in the back and messed around with some things before slamming the door. He casually walked toward a grassy area near the slope of a hill and spread out a quilt in the sun. The car was just a few feet behind us, the engine popping and clicking from the heat.

It felt good to kick off my shoes and sit down. “This is nice.”

“It gets nicer,” he promised, placing an oversized paper bag in the middle.

He reached in and pulled out a bucket of fried chicken.

“Oh my God, Austin Cole. I love you.”

He smirked while taking a seat on the blanket. “Is that all it took? Had I known it was that easy, I would have given you a breast and a thigh a long time ago.”

A large container of coleslaw appeared, along with a cooler full of ice-cold bottles of root beer. Then he slowly pulled out a few cups of chocolate pudding and winked. “This is for later.”

We shared the coleslaw and I picked out the best-looking piece of chicken. Austin laughed at how particular I was.

It was a perfect moment, and a light breeze cooled my back as I finished up the last bit of my meal and sucked down some of the root beer.

“Baby, you treat me so good,” I said, smiling at him warmly.

“You were always too easy to please. I should have brought sushi or something better.”

I didn’t like the apology in his voice, as if it wasn’t good enough.

“This is perfection,” I said, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “I love that you know me, Austin. No one else knows me like you do.”

He picked up his phone and sent a text message while I put our trash in the paper bag.

“Why don’t you go grab the bottle of wine I left in the car before the sun goes all the way down? It’s in the driver’s seat,” he said.

I carried the trash back to the car and set it by the tire. When I opened the driver’s side door and looked inside, I saw a bottle of wine in the passenger seat. I got in and leaned over for a closer look. Attached to the neck of the bottle with a string was a note.

I carefully unrolled the paper and read the following:

Lexi,

Wes was all I ever knew in a best friend, and I feel honored to have known him. His life was cut too short and I regret that I won’t see him grow old and have a family of his own. Wes loved you, and I don’t know if he ever told you that, but he did. Nothing in life is certain. I guess that’s why I’m writing you this note, because I don’t want the same thing to happen again.

All these years I’ve been lost, wondering if Wes’s death was that void in my life. He was a brother, and I have so many stories to tell you about him that you’ve never heard. I’ve only cried twice in my adult life. The first time was the night the trooper showed up at your house, breaking the news when they found his body. Your mother’s scream still haunts me to this day. The second time was when you ran after my car outside Dairy Queen, leaving who I thought was your daughter sitting at the table. Now that I’m home, I know what I’ve been missing for the last seven years.

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