Page 44 of His North Star
“I’m in the kitchen.”
His head popped around the corner. “I brought some tea to get our vocal cords in prime condition.”
Did he have memory loss? I shook my head. “Pretty sure I need more than tea to help me. But please, go ahead and brew yourself some.”
“It’s huckleberry herbal tea. There’s no way you can pass that up.” He filled up the copper kettle I kept on my stove.
“I’ll try a sip. Now, do you want to be in charge of the wet or dry ingredients?”
“Which one gives me the whisk, a.k.a. the best microphone ever?”
“Here.” I passed him the wire whisk along with the flour. I pushed play on the Rascal FlattsMe and My Gangalbum. Ty wasted no time singing along.
Even after ten plus years, the words came back effortlessly. And suddenly, we were back in my kitchen as teens. Laughing, cooking, flinging flour at one another. The lyrics resonated with me then and now. More than anything, a tether was created between Ty and me.
Somehow, everything always came back to Ty.
The sugar canister stood open, a measuring cup frozen in my fingers. Here he was, a grin on his lips, shoulders swaying to the beat while he was mixing ingredients. Happy tears pricked my eyes. I was a better version of myself when Ty came around.
Ty turned to look at me, holding his whisk with one hand and motioning with the other for me to sing. I shook my head. He turned the music off, stepping over to me.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” He pointed to my tear-filled face.
I looked up and blinked rapidly to stop the tears from spilling over. “Would you believe me if I said I’m just really happy right now?”
His brow furrowed as he studied my features. “As long as that’s true.”
I nodded. It mostly was. Maybe memories from high school were best left behind. Why had I chosen this album? The onslaught of feelings, as if they were currently real, slammed into my gut.
“Need me to go solo for a bit?”
I nodded again.
He pushed play and sang along to “What Hurts the Most.” The invisible string that connected me to Ty tugged. My tears broke loose.
“Be right back.” I slid past Ty to the bathroom.
He shot me an odd look, but continued as if I weren’t behaving like an emotional baboon.
I closed the bathroom door and slid down the wall until I sat cross-legged on the floor. What if I should’ve gone after Ty in high school? Sophomore year, I’d curl up in bed, hugging my pillow while the words to this song pierced my heart like needles.
Over and over I’d listened to the lyrics. I agonized—should I tell him I wanted him as my boyfriend or not? When I overheard him saying he only saw me as a sister, there was no point.
The blasted song rushed every sleepless night right back to me. For the briefest moment, I was fifteen years old again. After releasing those long-ago feelings through my tears, I wiped my eyes and nose. Standing, I glanced in the mirror. Mascara trailed down my cheeks. Wetting a cotton swab, I cleaned away the black smudges and shoved my feelings for Ty back in the box I locked them in.
Ty’s voice jammed out to a fast-paced song, and suddenly I didn’t want to miss this new memory we were creating. Living in the past helped no one, including me. I shook off my sadness and forced a smile on my face. Because rarely, as an adult, was a man in my kitchen, singing with me while we baked.
I walked back to Ty, determined to not let old memories overwhelm me. Grabbing the spatula, I lost myself in belting out the words with Ty and the band. I was nowhere close to their level of professionalism, but that wasn’t the point. I glanced at Ty. His smile. His voice. His capability in the kitchen. All of it. My heart was like a balloon, expanding with pure joy. This moment right here confirmed I made the right decision all those years ago.
Once the cobbler was in the oven, Ty rinsed off his whisk, ready to begin act two of his performance. I grinned as his head bounced along to the beat.
“What’s so funny?” He asked with a raised brow.
He was like a bobblehead on a dashboard. “You’re a head bopper.”
“Am not.”
Wow. Great four-year-old comeback there. He should be a comedian. I mimicked his movement. “You do that when singing.”
