Page 9 of Almost Perfect
From eight on, I’d grown up without a father. He died, and my world tilted on its axis, perpetually rotating a little farther from the sun.
As I grew, I became the caretaker for my brothers, and even my mother. Grandma Tilda moved in, and we became this cozy intergenerational household that’d patched up its holes as best we could.
I knew from as young as I could remember that I wanted that closeness for myself when I got old enough. Even entering college, I told myself I’d get my degree, get the training I needed, and come back to Silverton full time so I could build a life. Thatlifehad always included the vision of me with a wife and kids on this very land where I grew up.
I hadn’t been a monk. I’d dated some nice girls, and I’d dated Leo Morrison—a misguided pairing, which I knew deep down before we ever started, but I couldn’t blame myself for trying. The woman was ridiculously beautiful and all fire, plus she’d grown up here and had this land in her blood, like me. Now she and her husband Jonas were my good friends, and her brothers hadn’t given me too much grief for giving it a shot with her.
But there it was. Like every other local woman I’d dated, she’d married, and I still sat here, single. Most of my peers from Silverton High, who’d either stayed in town or left and come back, were married. People tended to marry younger in Utah, but even if they didn’t, I was fast nearing an age where starting a family could be difficult. Or I’d be so much older than my children, I’d be in danger of not seeing them graduate high school.
Fine. Dramatic and untrue, but still. Somehow, I’d held the vision of me and my wife, a brood of kids cantering around our heels, while also working myself into the ground and leaving very little room to actually find that person.
That said, I had tried. I’d been dating on and off for years, especially after Leo and I were such a dud. She’d stood out. Almost everyone else was just… nice. And they all had more to them, yet no spark, nothing with me. Samantha didn’t have the spark, but she’d been perfect on paper. Local, hardworking, interested in a family, and more than mildly interested in me, or so I’d thought.
In the months since we’d called it off, I felt only regret over the time wasted with her, which confirmed the suspicion that we weren’t meant to be. So I’d get back on the horse yet again.
In fact, I had a date lined up for this weekend, another first full of awkward introductions and attempting to replicate some semblance of the cheery banter we’d found on the dating app, which would inevitably not translate to real life.
But I’d keep trying.Shewas out there—somewhere. If it felt a little pathetic to be so far from something meaningful, I couldn’t complain. I’d made my choices, but I’d made changes in the last year. I’d made space.
Now it was time to findher.
I blew out a long breath, then pushed open the door. The sun had just started to lighten the sky in the east. Soon, it’d look like the whole earth was lit up in a glow. The clear sky would turn bright blue, and thanks to being high enough, we were above the inversion that would settle over almost everything lower than Silverton. It was the only real drawback to Utah winters, and fortunately, I didn’t have to face it.
I shut the door, then made the low whistle to call—
I swallowed the ache in my throat.To call Charlie.My dog had died six months ago, and I still expected to see him. I hadn’t been able to face getting a new one, though I missed the companionship. I missed everything about having a dog, really, except maybe hauling giant bags of dog food out of the truck. He’d been a faithful fellow for fifteen years. A graduation gift from Grandma Tilda. Some of the grief I felt when thinking of Charlie intermixed with that for Grandma, and then I felt generally pathetic.
I pushed into the house, annoyed at the reminiscing andfeelingsI’d been stuck in this morning. I’d woken irritated and hadn’t been able to shake the frustration, which then had turned into some kind of sad, weird memory-lane stroll.
Boots shucked in the mudroom. Jacket hung on the hook, then hat. Gloves in the basket. Wallet and keys too. House shoes on because the wood floors were freezing this time of year. Into the kitchen, where I washed my hands, grabbed a mug, and filled it with steaming coffee. God bless the programming function because I needed this simple pleasure immediately.
Grabbing a fluffy blanket and wrapping it around me, I shuffled to the sliding glass door that led to the deck. I slipped the door shut behind me, not sure why I always tried to be quiet when no one was here to be wakened. War had spent the night here, but lately, he’d lived like a nomad between here and the downtown part of Silverton, and he slept like a rock, so even if I banged around, he wouldn’t be disturbed.
Inhaling slowly, I cleared my mind of all the nonsense crowding in. I’d been working on this—taking control of my thoughts and refocusing on the positives. Grandma Tilda had been into meditation and gratitude, and ever since she passed, I’d tried to take a little of that with me. In the beginning, I mostly hated the meditation part. But today, miraculously, it worked. The dry bones of my wasteland chest didn’t seem so raw and bare after a moment of just breathing and calming my mind.
It didn’t always happen like that.
A sip of coffee warmed a trail from my mouth into my stomach. The frigid January morning lightened by degrees, beams of sunlight peeking above the crest of the horizon. In front of me stretched fields upon fields, all mine and hauntingly empty this time of year since we moved the cattle to land at a lower elevation during the coldest winter months.
A small sound drew my attention to the right. The tenant, Callaway, stood in an almost identical pose on the small deck War had built for the guesthouse this past fall. She held a steaming mug in front of her face, and a cream-colored blanket wrapped around her. That was a soft blanket—Warrick had made me feel it when he’d brought it home to wash before setting up over there.
Damn, but she was pretty. I couldn’t see her features perfectly from here, but that long, dark braid drew my eyes. I loved long hair on a woman.
I didn’t realize how hard I must’ve been staring until she turned, and I startled, sloshing coffee over the rim of my mug and down onto the deck.Smooth. Our eyes locked, and I swallowed hard as something inside me leapt, then shifted. Recognition of a quiet moment, a peace, shared?
Raising my coffee in silent toast, I dipped my chin just a touch. She did the same. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought maybe she smiled, too. Then she turned and left.
I slumped into one of two plastic deck chairs I kept out all year. They held up better than wood or metal in the snow, strangely enough. Now that I wasn’t working so much, I started every day I could with a moment of calm out here.
What would it be like to share it with someone? Not just a nod and a mutual acknowledgement butshareit. Breathe it in together. Wrap my arms around a woman and inhale the scent of her at her neck. Hold on to her instead of a steaming mug. Kiss her to start the day. Watch the sun climb into the sky and bathe the valley in buttery warmth while our kids slept in the house behind us.
The thought skipped through my head, but I caught it before it ran off.
What if it’s her?
I straightened in the chair, wishing it was a more comfortable seat, then abandoning it to think on my feet.What if it’s her?Was I truly wondering if this random woman in the guesthouse was meant for me? Only a pathetic, desperate man would assume something like that.
Wouldn’t he?
