Page 26 of Missile Tow
Once again, he used a made-up word, shortening the true spelling of chicken. I realized it sounded charming coming from someone authentically from a small town like Missile. This man was country.
The thought hit me hard and fast.Oh my God! He’s country personified.
“You look like you just saw a ghost,” he quipped. “You okay?”
I gazed at him for too long. To the point he glanced down at his clothing, like maybe he had mud or something on it. After a quick check of his clothes, he turned to look behind him in case someone was there.
“I’m sorry. You know, for staring so much.”
“And I’m sorry I look like this,” he confessed, touching various spots on his body. “You look all nice and stylish like, and I… well… I don’t.”
“You look nice like that,” I stammered, losing my voice to the bullets of nerves shooting holes in my heart. “I mean, I think you’re cute.”
“I’ll take cute,” he quipped, not acting surprised or judging my use of a silly word likecuteas a descriptor.
I moved closer to him. “Are you sure you want me to stay overnight? I mean, maybe the lady influenced you to volunteer a bed?”
“She did influence me, but only because I wasn’t recognizin’ someone in need.”
I can’t say exactly why his words caused me to tear up, but the waterworks always showed up at inopportune times for me. His act of kindness reminded me of earlier, when I was going through my laundry list of imagined qualities I liked about country boys. I’d conjured up a stereotypical appraisal of how country folks lived, and here he was living the typecast.
“Iamin need,” I admitted. “Stupid too. I shouldn’t have just shown up like this. Now you feel obliged because of pressure to help me.”
And then he did something unexpected. He reached out and grabbed my hand. “I’m glad you showed up, Van.”
We locked eyes, and I felt a key in my chest turning. The lock I had secured around my heart had been jiggled loose, and my resulting emotions played with my common sense.
“Do you ever wonder about chance meetings?” I blurted out, regretting the question almost immediately.
“All the time,” he whispered, surprising me, and still holding my hand. We both looked down at our interlocked fingers.
“My ex used to say I had a weird sorta sixth sense about situations and people,” I continued. “I don’t think he truly believed I was anything but crazy.”
“My ex also told me I was nuts when I spoke like this,” Chip agreed. “That guy in the picture in your rig, is he your ex?” he asked, jacking his thumb over his shoulder. I nodded. “He’s handsome,” he added. “But he must be a fool.”
Our eyes lifted from our hands and locked on each other’s again. “Why do you say that?” I whispered.
“Because if someone like you were ever mine, I’d never let you go.”
He’d lit a fire under my skin. I felt the embarrassing flames spread across my pale skin, and then I felt his thumb running along the top of my hand. I doubted he realized he was doing it.
“I bet you say that to all the guys.”
His eyes narrowed, and his lower lip trembled. “Not true,” he mumbled, finally disconnecting his eyes. After a moment, he continued. “If you knew me, you’d understand who I really am. I don’t normally say shit like I just said.”
“Do you believe in fate?” I asked, daring him to open up.
“I’ve dreamed about fate,” he stated. “But truthfully, no one like you has ever shown up in this town. I was just speaking to someone about that yesterday.”
“That is odd,” I agreed. “And I’ve been dreaming about Missile for two days.”
Chip tilted his head. I’d obviously piqued his curiosity. “Nobody dreams about this town.”
“I’m not lying to you,” I argued. “I didn’t know about Missile until two days ago.”
“No way,” he insisted. “Isn’t that odd? I mean…” He shook his head like he had to clear it. “I was just wishing an attractive guy would stop by the mercantile because a friend was pushing me to open my heart again.”
“A wise friend?” I asked.
