Page 54 of A False Start
More because I can imagine her up here. With me.
She leans back against a tree, wearing a pair of my earmuffs, sipping a pineapple flavored sparkling water, looking completely amused as her brother explains to Mira how to hold the gun.
Nadia isn’t as prissy as she appears. I don’t know what I expected her and Mira to do all day, but getting into the few flower beds around my place and pruning the hedges wasn’t it. I watched her on her knees, digging through the soil with her bare hands. Marveled at the way she propped them on her hips as she scanned the area, not caring at all about the mud it smeared on her clothes.
From where I was repairing a spot on the roof, I watched her let herself into the back field, the one full of wildflowers. Pinks, yellows, purples, every shade of green imaginable. I watched her prop a hand over her brow and scan the horizon.
Fucking wildflowers as far as the eye can see.
I swear I forgot how to breathe for a few minutes as I watched her, all long limbs and flowing golden hair.
For years, I’ve stared at that field and tried to figure out a way to get rid of the flowers that run rampant in the alpine valley. I can’t let the horses out to graze back there, but I’m not wild about blanketing the field in herbicide. The alternative is stripping the top layer of the plants and soil, and well, that’s a big job I haven’t gotten around to yet. I bought this place in the winter, in desperate need of the isolation it offered. I didn’t ask or care about what was in the field.
But now, every spring, more flowers crop up, their seeds spreading in the wind, their roots lacing themselves down into the soil. Hardy as all get out, and almost impossible to get rid of.
So instead of dealing with the issue, that fucking field has sat there for years, taunting me.
Just like Nadia.
“Okay, now gently squeeze the trigger.” Stefan is standing behind Mira when she pulls the trigger on the rifle she chose.
Bang.
I can hear Tripod going postal in the house. Yappy little motherfucker. I roll my eyes but can’t stop the small smile. That little dog has been my constant companion over the past month. Follows me everywhere. Sleeps in my bed even though I swore I wouldn’t let him. I’m not even sure what he’s barking at right now. The sound of the gunshot, or that I locked him away, and he’s miffed about it.
Bang.
She tries again. And misses. Again. And again. But she doesn’t care. She and Stefan are laughing. The city boy and his bookish wife giggle over shooting a rifle for the first time, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little bit adorable.
“You wanna try, Nadia?” Mira turns to her, asking a little more loudly than necessary over the plugs in her ears.
Nadia holds up the can in her hand, ankle crossed over her shin where she leans casually against the trunk of a tree. “I’m good, thanks.” She smiles, but it’s strained. I glance back to see if the other two notice the discomfort seeping into her previously relaxed expression.
“Try it, Nadia. It’s fun. Even if you don’t come close to hitting a can. Right, Kitten?” Stefan winks at his wife, who rolls her eyes and playfully nudges him in the ribs.
“Griff can show you how. He’s a pro. Right, Griff?”
My friend juts his chin out at me, and my eyes dart over to his little sister. I try so hard not to stare at her, to let my eyes rove over every hill and valley of her body, but it’s goddamn impossible. The girl is temptation personified without even trying. And maybe that’s why I’m such a goner.
She doesn’t care about impressing me. She’s still got mud smudged on her hips, wavy hair up in a high ponytail, the skin stretched across the rounded tops of her breasts light pink from too many hours in the sun today.
She’s not even trying, and I’m driving myself crazy. What would happen if she said it out loud, gave life to this enormous question mark between us?
I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. That’s what.
“Only if you want to.” I shrug, wanting to hear her say yes. Wanting to know what this discomfort I’m picking up on is.
She sighs heavily, giving me a slightly wide-eyed look that I just can’t place. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Any preference?” I gesture toward where the different types of guns are laid out.
Without moving, she shifts her gaze to the cases set on the rickety wooden table beside her. Top teeth scraping against her bottom lip, she regards the firearms. She stares at them for so long that I wonder if she’s even going to say anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stefan and Mira look at each other in question.
“The handgun.”
It’s not what I expected her to choose.
I shrug again. “Okay.”
