Page 36 of Up in Smoke

I finally closed my computer when I couldn’t stand trying to work while listening to the sound of Tripp mowing my damn lawn again. I told him I liked it long, which is a lie, but he won’t stop fucking doing it.

There’s a cool shift in the air—the kind you’re thankful for as the last days of spring linger before summer hits. I love the green, earthy smell, but the chill makes my arms tingle with goosebumps. I bite my lip and refuse to shiver as Tripp eyes me skeptically.

“You could have at least put shoes on,” he suggests.

My toes wiggle, and I roll my eyes. “What for? Hand me that string of lights. I’ll loop it around this branch.”

Reluctantly, Tripp extends his arm until I’m able to grasp it from him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the solar fairy lights strung along the garden fence flick on. I smile and lean forward to loop the cord in my hands around the sturdy limb hanging right over my Blackfoot Daisies.

The metal buttons of my overalls brush against the trunk of the tree as I carefully wrap the lights. When I’m satisfied that they’ll stay put, I lean back, but the bandana in my hair catches on a sharp twig and I wobble.

“That’s it,” Tripp shouts. “I’m getting a ladder right now.”

I laugh as I regain my balance. He’s walking toward the shed as I climb down effortlessly and land with a thump on the ground. His head turns, and I swipe my hands on my thighs with a smile.

“See? Told you it’d be easy.”

The crickets have already started their nightly rhythm by the time I jog to the vegetable garden and close the gate that’s framed by climbing roses. It’s nights like these I wish I had a porch swing. Not many evenings in West Texas are crisp and sweet like this one.

After I plug the new lights in and admire our handiwork, Tripp follows me inside with a sigh. I don’t miss the small smile curving up the corner of his lips, despite how perturbed he’s trying to act right now. He leaves the solid back door open but closes the screened one behind him.

“If you ever call me from the emergency room with a broken arm, I’m putting a hot fence around the tree.”

“Sure,” I say sarcastically. “How’d you get that massive bruise on your ribs, hmm?”

I point at his bare abdomen. The first few times I saw Tripp without a shirt, it took every bit of self-control not to drool.I think I have every tattoo on his sleeve memorized just from staring at it so long. Now, I’m not entirely used to it, but at least I’ve come to expect it and can prepare myself ahead of time.

He lifts an arm and looks down at the now-purple splotch covering his side with a guilty grin. I know Heston took a sharp turn while Tripp was sitting on the side of the four-wheeler to get him back for hooking the horn to the brakes on his truck. Entirely his own fault, and reckless. As usual.

Tripp shrugs. “Worth it. Top tier prank.”

I laugh and shake my head while walking to the bathroom. “Uh huh. Don’t lecture me about climbing trees when you have no room to talk.”

I throw my hair up, take a quick shower, and slip on a clean t-shirt and shorts. Tripp is sprawled out on my couch and stifling a yawn when I come back out to the living room—a sight I’ve grown used to since our horseback ride two weeks ago.

Spending more time together started awkwardly because we had to plan it out. That went to hell on the Wednesday I randomly came to the bunkhouse with ingredients for a taco bar. Now it feels natural, and we drop in on each other without a formal invitation. As much as we’ve been hanging out, I’d worry that something was wrong if he hadn’t shown up at my place for more than a day or two.

I like that we can talk about things that interest both of us. It’s nice to have a distraction from my work at the end of the day, and no matter what crazy idea I have in my head for the night, I know Tripp is going to thrive on the adventure. He never turns his nose up, even if I’m climbing giant trees after dark.

Seeing him yawn again makes me do the same.

“What time did you wake up today?” I ask, grabbing the TV remote and plopping down next to him.

“About five.”

“Same,” I admit with a sigh. We’re in a constant state of exhaustion somehow. “Did you already eat?”

He nods and steals the remote out of my hand, well aware of my habit. I’ll look for something to watch for an hour until it’s too late to start something, then fall asleep.

A classic rock song plays over the beginning credits of whatever random movie he picked, and I curl my legs onto the couch and pull a blanket over my body. Tripp takes the blanket that’s laid over the arm of the couch on his side and does the same.

“Still wanna go for another ride tomorrow?”

I yawn and snuggle deeper into the cushions with a nod. “Yes, I need more practice.”

He chuckles, but it’s sleepy and light. Silence stretches as we absentmindedly watch the fast-paced action scene. I don’t know what it is about these types of movies that relax him, but I’m starting to like them, too. They make me feel like my life may not be as chaotic as it seems.

“I eat a bowl of cereal when I can’t sleep,” he confesses.

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