Page 124 of Dove
Breathing was a forgotten concept as she assessed my new cut, eyes flickering over me from top to bottom. Who needed air, anyway? What I really needed was some indication that I hadn’t made a horrible mistake. Her lengthy, assessing gaze formed fire in my lungs, but it wasn’t until a slow smile spread across her face that I drew a breath. I hoped my relieved inhale wasn’t too obvious.
“Nice haircut.Veryhandsome.” Her compliment sounded genuine yet flirty. The clear approval in her voice had the nervescoiled tightly in my stomach loosening. “You didn’t tell me you were going to see Rev,” she accused. She finished wiping her hands as best she could and tucked the rag into her back pocket. “I need a trim bad; I could have gone with you.”
She closed the space between us, allowing her hands to trail from my shoulders up to the nape of my neck, where she petted the newly shorn hair there. The scratch of her nails against my scalp had my eyes fighting to remain open.
“Your hair’s perfect,” I corrected, wrapping my arms around her waist to tug her closer. I always wanted her closer, couldn’t get her closeenough. “And it was kinda spur of the moment.” The lie tasted sour on my tongue, but it was for a greater purpose. I couldn’t exactly tell her why I wasreallyat Reverie’s, not without spoiling my surprise.
“It still needs a trim,” she argued.
She pivoted, taking a few steps back and pulling me along with her until she settled down onto the porch swing in front of me. When I remained standing, she patted the seat beside her. The swing groaned under my added weight as I joined her, and I worried this thing was on its last legs. It’d been here since before I was born, my dad having installed it for my mom when she moved in with him as a belated wedding present.
Dove kept one foot planted on the floor to gently rock us, and the swing creaked annoyingly with the motion. I added it to my list of things to do around here.
“So, why the haircut?” she asked curiously, leaning against my side.
I lifted my arm, wrapping it around her shoulders so she could snuggle into me. So many times we’d sat on this swing together through the years, but never like this.
The view of the farm from this spot wasn’t any different than I’d seen a hundred times before, but in this moment it seemed sweeter. And I could tell you why. Everything with Dovewas better. The sky was bluer, the air was crisper, the sun was brighter, the grass was greener. The farm I’d hated growing up on had become tolerable with her presence, but for the first time in my life I didn’t feel dread when I looked upon it. If anything, I suddenly wanted this life with a ferocity that scared me.
I couldn’t really tell herwhyso I went with, “I wanted to look good when we go into town.”
“For the festival?”
When I nodded, she stiffened under my arm.
“Like a date?” Something in her voice sounded off. I looked down to read her expression, but she was looking away from me.
Worry jammed its way through me like a steel fence post. Even though when I’d asked if she wanted to go she didn’t give me an answer, I just assumed she would because we always had in the past. The three years I’d been gone crept up on me again, reminding me a lot of things had changed since then. Maybe this was one of them.
Not only that, my unhelpful mind supplied a little too late, but she just lost Josie. Maybe she wasn’t ready for the collective fussing of the town, to be the sole subject of everyone’s gaze. We’d endured it for the funeral, but that was a somber, rainy, miserable day, where people’s condolences, while sincere, were rushed at best. I’d stood behind her that whole time like a protective stone gargoyle, watching as the tension grew in her spine with each hour that passed, wishing there was something I could do to ease it. She’d hated it then, but it would be worse now. We both knew more than anyone what parading around Haven would be like. We’d experienced it at Dell’s. I’d experienced it at Rodney’s. They meant well, but the sympathies and pity got old. Sometimes the best thing to do was move on, and we couldn’t do that when the town remained interested in our woes.
It was one of the reasons I’d pulled Eddie aside during the funeral and asked him to spread the word that we wanted privacy in our time of grief. In a town as small as this one, we’d have had people showing up left and right to deliver food and sympathies—ready to talk our ears off about how our parents had touched their lives and would be sorely missed. Something neither Dove nor me needed at the moment.
Especially now that we were—well. I wasn’t entirely suretogetherwas the right word, but I was hoping it was leading down that road for us.
“Yeah, baby,” I answered softly. “Like a date.” When she didn’t say anything, I hastily added, “We don’t have to go.”
“No, I want to.” She relaxed under my arm. “I’m just surprisedyouwant to.”
I frowned. “I always went before.”
She turned her gaze up to look at me and rolled her eyes playfully. “Only because I begged you to.”
“Notonly.”
She grinned as if that answer amused her. “Okay, why else, then?”
“I also went for the pie.”
She laughed, and I couldn’t help but chuckle along with her.
Omen hopped up on the railing in front of us, eying the porch swing warily as it creaked back and forth. This was one of the many spots he loved to sleep in around the farm. Dove called to him, patting her thigh invitingly, and he shifted his paws before pouncing, landing softly in her lap. He settled, curling up into a ball and closing his eyes. She traced her fingers through his black fur, and he purred contently.
“I guess I just didn’t expect us to go...” she hesitated, and the second of doubt that passed clearly over her features killed me, because I’d created it. “Together.” Her eyes remained focused on the dozing cat in her lap.
“What?” Wealwayswent together before.
A cold realization washed over me. Maybe she didn’t want to go withme.She’d asked if Reverie was going, after all. Maybe she preferred to go with her best friend instead of her stepbrother-cum—whatever we were calling us now.Boyfriendandgirlfriendsounded too juvenile for what pounded fiercely in my chest, trapped somewhere behind my ribcage, for Dove, but I’d wear that label proudly if she’d let me.
