Page 18 of That Moment
When the plates are cleared and Mom hums her way into the kitchen to make some tea, I slip out to the porch. The night air is cool against my skin, the stars stretched wide above the pasture. I always come home when I feel untethered, but now, it’s home that’s making me feel that way. Like I’m itching for something I can’t yet put my finger on.
The porch swing creaks as I sink into it. Inside, I hear my parents laughing. I close my eyes, letting my head lull back to rest against the seat. The crickets chirp around me, the same steady rhythm they always have. But nothing in me feels steady.
I sit back up and press my forehead against the chain of the swing, whispering to the quiet, “What are you doing, Adrienne?”
No answer comes. Just the ache in my chest and the echo of a shrug from a man who won’t give me more thanmaybe.
My phone buzzes, startling me out of my thoughts with a message from Brooklyn.
Brooklyn:Did you look over the sponsorship clause for the fall fest yet? Trent’s convinced we’re going to end up with a tractor supply logo on the banners.
I tap back a quick reply, happy to have an excuse to call her and get these thoughts out before I do something stupid like tell Scotty how I’m feeling.
Me:I’ll look tonight. I’ll call you later.
I step back inside to tell my parents goodnight before heading over to my house on the ranch. Home, a glass of wine, and Brooklyn’s voice of reason. That’s the plan. Anything to drown out the echo ofmaybe.
By the time I get home, the house feels too quiet. My keys clink loudly against the bowl I toss them in by the door, the sound echoing in a way that makes me ache for noise, for anything to pull me out of the loop Scotty left me stuck in.
I toe off my boots by the door and head straight for the kitchen. The bottle of red sitting on the counter has been calling my name since I picked it up from our newest acquisition, Blanc Wineries, last week. I pour a generous glass, swirl it once, then carry it with me into the living room.
The couch sags comfortably when I sink into it. I curl one leg under me, tug the throw blanket over my lap, and take a long swallow of wine. The warmth spreads through me, but it doesn’t take the edge off.
I should be working. Well, first, I should have showered, but I can’t even be bothered with that at the moment. My laptop sits on the coffee table staring at me. The sponsorshipclause Brooklyn texted about is flagged in my inbox. I should care. I should crack it open and bury myself in definitions and stipulations until my mind shuts up.
But I don’t. Not tonight
Instead, I stare at the ceiling and replay the afternoon on a maddening loop. The way his hand brushed mine when he gave me the wrench. The way he finally smiled—just a crack, just enough to let me know he wasn’t immune. The smile disappeared the second I pushed too hard.
Maybe.
I groan and press the rim of the glass against my forehead. “You’re ridiculous.”
The phone buzzes again on the cushion beside me. Brooklyn’s name flashes across the screen this time, not a text but a call. I hesitate. For half a second, I consider letting it go to voicemail. But I told her I’d call. And if there’s anyone who won’t let me drown in my own head, it’s Brooklyn.
I swipe to answer. “Please tell me you’re not still fighting with Ken from Midas Media on this?”
Her laugh filters through the line, warm and weary. “Don’t worry, I hung up on him hours ago. He’s probably crying into a spreadsheet somewhere trying to figure out how to save his job and tell his boss he made the fuck up of the century on this deal.”
“That’s comforting.” I take another sip of wine. “So what’s up?”
“The clause,” she says immediately, like we both knew this was coming. “Did you look at it?”
I roll my eyes, setting the glass down. “You texted me about it twenty minutes ago.”
“Which was twenty minutes too long for you not to have read it.”
“Brook.” My voice softens. “I will look at it tomorrow. Tonight, I need… not that.”
She pauses, and in that pause, I know she’s reading between the lines. She always does. “Dinner at your parents’?”
“Yep.”
“Axel?”
I blow out a breath. “Yep.”
Her sigh is pure sympathy. “What’d he say this time?”
