Page 73 of Darlin'

"Well...we didn't do it last year—" He pauses, stiffening as he swallows. He's unableto look at me as he continues slowly, carefully, uncertain, "My mom headed up all charity initiatives. Last year...we didn't do it last year." He clears his throat, uncomfortable. "Jo really stepped up, though. My mom would lose it if she saw how much we've raised today."

There's a longing in his voice. The way the wordmomslips from his lips. There are fond memories attached to her existence and deep sadness attached to her absence. A highlight reel of my own momma plays in my head, and I don't think I've ever done anything my mother wouldlose itover. Not in a good way, at least. It's a sorrowful thought; to one day look back and have no precious memories to pull from the magician's hat. Act's not over yet, but the hope sure is dwindling.

"Jo told me we almost raised ten grand." I place my hand on Jesse's restless knee, my voice cracking a smidgen. Jesse glances at me, and I lock on his guarded gaze, my own behind bars. "Your momma would be proud of you, Jesse. Real proud." I bite back a rush of potential tears as I force a smile. "Today has turned out perfectly. It really has."

"Nothing's ever perfect, Sav," Jesse muses, his charged gaze bouncing around my melancholy expression. He places his hand on top of mine and gives my fingers a meaningful squeeze. "Once you've accepted that, life becomes much easier to live."

"Have you accepted it?" I ask, nibbling on my bottom lip. "That nothing's perfect?"

"Long time ago," Jesse hums, leaning closer to me as he scoots his chair toward mine. "When I was little, my mom would always drill it into my head that no storyworth telling ever came without a set of hurdles." He chuckles to himself, boyish and innocent. "She'd always say,'Make mistakes, Jesse, or else you'll be forgotten.'"

"That must have been nice," I whisper, stones upon stones of weight stacking up on my shoulders. "I was raised toavoidmistakes. I remember one time my momma made me stay at the gym for likethree daysor something ridiculous like that before a pageant. Couldn't go home until I perfected my routine." I let out an incredulous scoff. "She wouldn't even give me dinner. Almonds and electrolytes.That's all I needed."

"That's cruel." Jesse's face falls. "How old were you?"

I shrug. "Thirteen, I think? I mean, it wasn't that bad, and I ended up winning the pageant, so her umm...styleof coaching paid off in the end, I guess."

"Yeah?" Jesse's brows furrow. "What did you win? Was the prize worth it?"

"Umm...it was a trophy." I swallow, frowning as I attempt to rationalize my answer. "I won a trophy." I pull my hand away from Jesse, my stomach churning and pained. “Just a trophy..."

"Hey," Jesse whispers, reaching for another cookie. He waves it in front of my face as I dig into that damn hat, looking, searching, calling out for one happy memory. Just one. "I know I just said nothing's ever perfect, but these?" He takes a giant bite. "Mmm...these are as close as you can get to perfection."

"Yeah?" I manage to glance over at him, covering my mouth and giggling as tiny little crumbs get caught in his beard. I reach over, dusting them away. "You like 'em?"

"Taste just like mom's," he says as feedback from themicrophone screeches through the speakers. "You did a great job."

"Thanks," I whisper with a grateful smile as we turn our attention to the podium in the center of the abandoned lot as Jo takes the stage.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Jo begins, addressing the converging crowd. "On behalf of The Sons, I want to thank you all for coming out and supporting a cause very near and dear to our hearts. Toys for Tots was started over ten years by our beloved sister Laura Paxton. May she rest in peace. In her memory, we hope to continue this charity and keep her vision of love, care, and selfishness alive." The crowd roars in applause. "Before we announce the final tally, we have a few items here we'd like to auction off, starting with a vintage 1973 Fender Strat donated by our very own Billy Paxton. We'll start the bidding at one hundred dollars."

"One hundred!"

"One fifty!"

"Two fifty!"

"Your dad plays guitar?" I ask Jesse, grabbing his hand and examining his calloused palms. "Do you?"

"Fuck no." He laughs. "My old man gave me about three lessons before we both learned that I've got no business holding a guitar."

"Really?" I ask, tracing my nails along his rough fingers. "You seem like you'd be good at guitar."

"Why?" Jesse smirks at me. "Cause I'm good with my hands?"

My cheeks flush. "No..."

He cocks his head. "No?"

I roll my eyes, sidestepping his attempt to corner me into a compliment. "I've always wanted to learn how to play the guitar."

"Yeah?"

"Yup," I say, chuckling to myself. "I figured if I learned how to play, then my chances of becoming the next Taylor Swift would skyrocket."

"Taylor Swift?" Jesse blinks. "Have you heard yourself sing, princess?"

I glare at him. "I'm aware of my vocal shortcomings, Paxton. No need to rub dirt into my wound."

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