Page 47 of Whiskey Weather
Suddenly, the lights overhead feel a little too bright. My neck feels red, and I know I need to wrap this up. The enormity of this recognition feels more lonely than it did just moments ago. I swore I wouldn’t, but I let my thoughts drift to the pictures from my weekend in Wyoming. They can’t compare to the real thing, but their images flash through my mind one by one as I try to articulate the feeling.
Why now? I scold my heart.This is the last thing I should be thinking about right now.
“Photography led me to that, and it’s given me so much more too. There are more places to see, and I can’t even begin to tell you how?—”
The disbelief is tangible in each of the next three quick breaths I take. My hand hovers over my brow, trying desperately to block the blinding light that is surely making me see things. It’s merely an outline that I spot near the side exit of the auditorium, but I’d know it anywhere.
He’s leaning against the wall. The cowboy hat. The long legs and broad chest . . . all impossible to mistake for anyone else.
“I’ve got to go,” I rush out without taking my eyes off of him. There are a few confused mutterings from the crowd, but I tune them out. As quickly as I can in heels, I shuffle away from the podium, only to turn right back around and lean forward, taking the slim microphone in my hands. “Oh, and thank you, Mom and Dad! I love you! Goodnight!”
It’s anything but elegant, the way I rush off the stage. I recognize a friend behind the curtain, and without stopping or saying a word, I place my award in her hands.
The lights have dimmed, and the next category winner is already being introduced, but I focus on not falling flat on my face as I skip the bottom of the steps that lead from the stage to the audience.
I get a few curious looks as I fly by the rows of people. My dress is bunched into both fists, and I lift it off the floor, picking up speed the closer I get. When I reach the spot that I thought I saw him in, there’s nothing there.
Panting, I spin around, thinking maybe he found a seat and didn’t realize I’d be coming down here. Stopping my gaze on the exit door, I walk forward, deciding to push it open, and immediately see him climbing the stairs to the lobby.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The door closes softly behind me, and he freezes in his tracks. When he turns around, I don’t waste time—lifting the skirt of my dress again and rushing toward him.
He removes his hat in that slow and steady way that’s so uniquely him. His mouth tips up in that familiar crooked grin, but it quickly softens into something deeper as our eyes lock.
My heels clatter against the slick, polished floor, and with every step, my heart cracks open a little more. With a few feet to go, he closes the final length of distance with two large steps. He bends at the knees, and I jump off both feet.
I don’t care how dramatic it might be. I fucking missed him, and I’ll jump into his stupidly strong arms if I damn well please.
I can’t exactly wrap my legs around him like I want to, but our chests press together, and he buries his face in my hair while I smile at the ceiling. He doesn’t stumble back, and I love that I can feel the familiar rock-steady weight of his body against mine again.
He smells exactly like I remember.
“I needed some fresh air and was getting antsy in there, seeing you and not being able to touch you or talk to you yet.”
Tears burn in my eyes, and I pull back just enough to look at him. But seeing and feeling him isn’t enough. I thread my hands through the hair at the base of his neck, pulling him toward me and letting him know how happy I am that he’s here with a kiss.
Every ache from being away from him for a month dissipates as our bodies melt into one another. I part my lips against his, inviting him in. His tongue dances with mine as my chest fully deflates in relief to be in this exact position again.
I’ve been clinging to the hope that our story wasn’t over before it ever had a chance to begin. And the way his arms wrap tighter around me with every passing second tells me that we’ve been on the same page this whole time, each too fearful of the potential fallout if we voiced it out loud.
I can’t help myself, pulling away for just a moment to practice my newfound confidence in asking him exactly what I want to know. “What are you thinking?”
“That this is how I was hoping this would go,” he chuckles between heavy breaths.
“It is?”
He nods, then rests his forehead against mine.
“Did you have doubts or something?” I giggle, lifting my chin for another quick kiss between words.
“Well, we’ve been playing phone tag for a few days,” he says in a low whisper, like it’s been bothering him. “I was already on my way to you when I got your voicemail.”
“You flew halfway across the country.”
“I did.” He searches my eyes and runs his thumb back and forth along the small of my back. “And I’d do it again. A hundred times.”
The apples of my cheeks tickle, and I realize a tear has slipped from the outer corner of my eye and is trailing down my face. New York City is a long way from Wyoming. A trip here couldn’t have been cheap or convenient for him, but I get the feeling those little bumps in the road didn’t cross his mind when he decided to make the trip.
