Page 87 of Every Move You Make

The Front Porch has been around since the mid-seventies. Like everything else in Kentucky, it’s decorated with whiskey barrels, college basketball posters, and Derby memorabilia while bluegrass music plays over the sound system. On Saturday nights they usually have local live bands. It’s almost a guarantee I can run into at least one old friend from school when I’m back here.

But my eyes aren’t searching for anyone I used to know as we take a seat under the large covered porch with beers in hand. Because how can I focus on anything other than Isaiah’s shy little smile he’s had plastered to his face since we landed? That grumpy bastard persona may have intrigued me to pry him open and see how he operates, but it’s this softer side of Isaiah Johanssen, the side that smiles and stands close by me when we’re talking to people, that has me falling head over heels.

And as much as I want to dive right in for the first time in a long time, I have to remember we are not a thing yet. We might never be. Maybe I could be with just him? But where would that leave his obvious obsession with Robyn? Let’s be honest, where would that leave my own obsession with her? And Zay and I being together without her? That would break her heart. We’d all be broken.

“I can’t believe Robyn’s gonna be the face of Adidas,” Isaiah says wistfully. “Cheers to her.” Clink.

I lift my eyebrows. “It certainly doesn't make our decisionany easier.”

He catches my meaning and sighs, “I know.”

“So Isaiah,” my cousin says, taking a seat next to him. “Did I ever tell you about the time Dell got kicked out of the Scouts for setting fire to the whole camp?”

“Considering I’ve only known you for a few hours, no, you have not told me that story. Proceed.”

I roll my eyes. “No one died.”

My cousin goes on to tell him how it was all my fault, even though he was my accomplice. When he starts on the second story about how we used to sell used horseshoes claiming they were from unicorns and therefore had magical powers, I take my opportunity to bow out. “I’m gonna go see a man about horse and then bring back a pitcher.” I catch Isaiah’s gaze. “Y’alright for a few minutes?”

When he looks up at me with that winsome smile, a momentary paralysis takes over. There’s something about him listening to my crazy cousin with rapt attention, chuckling along with the stories, that has me seeing a future. I can see him at family gatherings with my cousins holding his shoulder so they can lean in to tell him something stupid. I can see our Thanksgiving football game turning into touch rugby as Isaiah and Robyn teach everyone the rules.

I see him—them—fitting into my family like a puzzle piece I never knew was missing. I thought the picture was complete. My career, my brand, my family: it was enough. But now that I have them in my life, I can see the gaping hole right in the middle that I’ve been overlooking for years. But I can’t anymore.

How could I ignore the feeling I get when Isaiah’s dark blue eyes shine for me?

“Yeah,” Isaiah says, unaware of my pounding heartbeat. “I’ll be alright.”

Walking1back through the neon-lit bar, I’m vaguely aware of a couple hands waving my way as my head floats with bewitching thoughts of Isaiah. When I get to the small empty bathroom and take my spot at one of the two urinals, I relax more into the thought of him.

Lost in my own mind, I don’t pay attention to the door opening, but when I hear the sound of it locking, the hairs on the back of my neck stand erect.

“Hi, Delly.”

Fuck.

I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know that’s the voice of my ex almost-fiance. “Hi, Travis.”

Travis Howard. The red-bearded man who once fiercely held my heart but could never hold his liquor, nor his temper.

My sweet thoughts of Isaiah are replaced by our memories. Good ones. Like driving down old country roads and hollering our favorite lyrics. Like playing poker with our friends. Like swimming naked in the creek in the middle of night.

I zip up my pants and turn to find his green eyes, and the bad memories show up louder. Like him kissing another man. Like glassy eyes and incoherent jealousy. Like truck windows being smashed and revenge porn.

“So you’re just gonna show up here and not tell me,” he says with a cheshire cat grin that once allured me, but now scratches my heart like nails on a chalkboard.

“Yeah, Travis. That’s kinda how this works when we’re from the same hometown. I’m gon’ show up every now an’ again.”

“Why’d you block me?”

My brows pinch together because is he serious right now? “‘Cuz you’re a piece of shit, and I don’t want to hear from you.”

All at once there’s hands punching at the bathroom door. “Travis unlock the fuckin’ door!” Steven bellows from the other side.

“I just wanna talk.”

“No, you don’t. You wanna start shit.”

My brother-in-law hammers at the door, and when I try to step around Travis to unlock it, he blocks me. With only an inch separating us, I step back and blink. “Move,” I growl.

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