“But you just got here. Plus, my mom brought some of Andrew’s wine. I figured you’d want some.”
“I do, but you need to rest. We’ll have wine another night.”
Her shoulders slump. “I’m sorry I’m so lame, but sleep sounds amazing right now. Especially since, right before you got here, I don’t know how, but Jacob had a tick on his arm.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “And of course, you threw up trying to get it out like you did when I went hunting, and my mom had to pull one off me. I couldn’t get the vomit smell out of my memory, and I never hunted again.”
“Ah, who knew throwing up could save lives?” She shakes her head, a lazy grin on her lips. “And I did throw up. Just be glad you didn’t get here five minutes earlier.”
I study her, noticing the missing color in her cheeks. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s just been a long couple of days.”
“Let me take a look at you.” I gesture for her to sit on the couch.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Please? It’ll make me feel better.”
Sighing with resignation, she sits, and I kneel in front of her.
I gently tilt her head up toward the light to get a better look. “Your eyes are a little red.” Placing my fingers on her throat to feel her glands, I try my best to focus. To try to find symptoms and not notice the way her lips naturally part.
Her breaths come out evenly.
Her eyes search mine.
Time stops for me in this innocent moment.
I clear my throat and find my voice. “Your lymph nodes aren’t swollen, so that’s good,” I manage.
“I told you it’s just exhaustion.”
I drop my hands and sit back on my heels, then peer at the boxes in the corner. “Get some sleep tonight. Don’t worry about unpacking the rest of your things. I’ll help the next chance I get.”
Her eyes glisten with what appear to be tears, and my heart sinks.
She’s grieving.
Overwhelmed.
She’s transitioning not only to a different town, but to a new chapter in her life.
Leaning forward, she wraps her arms around my neck, then whispers in my ear, “Thank you.”
Two simple words.
Normal for a friend to say to another friend who offered his help.
But her hot breath on my neck, her delicate arms around me, her breasts pressed to my chest—it’s too much.
It’s just a hug, I tell myself. She’s your friend.
Clara’s my oldest friend. We’ve known each other since we were six, and right now? That’s who she needs. So, that’s what I’ll be.
For both our sakes.
Four
Clara
“Now would you look at that.” Cathy Clementine tips her sunglasses down dramatically.
In my periphery, I can’t tell where her attention is, but even so, I don’t think I want to know. I haven’t been back to town much since I left and don’t know many people anymore, but one thing I know—Cathy’s the town gossip.
And I don’t need any drama in my life.
I step forward in line to get corn dogs.
Another woman hums in appreciation at whatever Cathy is talking about, and I fight the urge to look as though we’re back on the playground daring each other to do this and that.
“My, my.”
“A man like him smiling like that… Lord.”
Their comments get the best of me, and I follow their gazes.
Dax.
They’re watching him as he uses a Popsicle stick to see inside a young child’s mouth.
“He volunteered to work the first-aid tent on his day off. What a man.” Cathy fans herself as we take another step closer to the front of the line.
As if he knows he has an audience, Dax looks up at us. His smile widens, and he lifts a hand in a small wave. It’s exactly what he used to do when I was cheering, and he sat in the stands with our other friends. Sheepish. Totally adorable.
My face heats as I wave back, and Cathy and her friend gape at me.
Recognition replaces Cathy’s obvious envy. “Clara Morgan, my God. It’s been ages.” She pulls me in for a hug and squeezes me.
“Hi, Cathy. I hope you ladies are enjoying yourselves.”
The dark-haired woman with her hums again and openly gawks at Dax. “With a view like this, of course we’re enjoying ourselves.”
“Now, Clara, you and Dax were really close, if I remember correctly?” Cathy asks.
“Yes. We’re still good friends.”
“Only friends?” Cathy quirks an eyebrow.
I flip my hair over my shoulder and laugh softly, remembering how many times in high school people asked the same question. They’d have the same doubtful expressions on their faces as Cathy does now when I’d confirm we were only friends.
Dax and I have lived on separate sides of the country for over ten years. It’s been a while since I’ve had to answer this question.
It’s nostalgic.
The Harvest Festival.
This town.
Dax.
The boy I used to ride bikes with, to the guy who took shots with me in college, to the man standing before me in a white coat.
My mind flashes to him shirtless at the barbecue last weekend.
He’s definitely a man now. Strong square jaw and all.
Instead of answering Cathy as I used to, I blurt, “We kissed once.” Blinking rapidly, I wonder why on earth I said that out loud. “It was fifteen years ago, though, so it doesn’t really count,” I add quickly, waving them off.
Thankfully, it’s my turn to order, so I don’t have to field their questions.
My cheeks are flushed as I carry the two corn dogs toward the first-aid tent for Dax and me. Our kiss is not something I often recall. Where did that even come from?
As I approach, Dax removes his gloves, then tosses them in a bin in the corner. He washes his hands as best he can with a water bottle and then uses an extra-large heaping of hand sanitizer.
“Hi.” His eyes are especially bright today, but he has dark circles under each one.
I nod to Staci and Brooks, who both
