Beard With Me: Winston Brothers

by Penny Reid

  I hadn’t seen him at school today, but I did have our conversation yesterday at the edge of the woods, Cletus’s birthday party last night, and what happened after to think about. And I’d been thinking about those events plenty. All day.

  “But thinking about it again won’t hurt,” I said, feeling my lips curve.

  Cletus’s party should’ve been nice. We’d decorated their Christmas tree all together, something I’d never done before, but was apparently tradition on Cletus’s birthday.

  Also, the Winstons were welcoming, sociable, and hilarious. The friendly twin in particular, Beau, he had some real good jokes. We’d spent a stretch over dinner trying to out-pun each other. He was punny, but I was pretty sure I’d won. And Ashley had been so nice! She’d French braided my hair. I’d never had that done before.

  Yes, it should’ve been a great night, except I spent the entire time worried Billy was angry with me.

  Out of everyone, Billy was the least friendly. Even the grumpy twin cracked a smile a few times. Whereas Billy was quiet and withdrawn, barely looking at me or anyone. I don’t think he spoke three words the whole night. That is, not until I tried to leave.

  “What did you expect?” Presently, I mumbled to myself, laughing a little. “Maybe the only reason he wants to be with you is so he can be sure you spend every night under a roof.”

  I left out the front door and Billy materialized out of the dark with a plan to sneak me back inside. He’d still seemed withdrawn, and he made no move to kiss me. I didn’t get the sense he was angry with me, more like he had a lot on his mind. Anyway, despite him being out of sorts, I just wanted to be near him.

  I readily agreed to sleep over, taking a shower and spending the night in Billy’s room. In Billy’s pajamas. With Billy sleeping just a few feet away.

  “Goodness gracious, Scarlet. It’s not like y’all were sleeping in the same bed. Get a grip.” I rolled my eyes at myself, turning away from the fire, my face suddenly hot.

  I hadn’t slept at first. My mind was stubbornly switched on and wouldn’t turn off. Billy also tossed and turned, though he tried to be quiet about it.

  But then, sometime in the middle of the night, I heard his faint whispered, “Scarlet.”

  “Yes?” I answered immediately, like I’d been waiting for him to say my name. Maybe I had been.

  He stood, walked to my bed, and knelt beside it. I heard him but couldn’t see much more than a shadowy outline. His fingers found the nape of my neck just fine, pushing into my hair like it was something we now did all the time.

  “I forgot to kiss you, when you arrived. I’m sorry,” he said, which was silly. He couldn’t kiss me in front of his family if we were keeping things a secret. Then he asked, “Can I kiss you now?”

  My breath caught and I nodded, again my response immediate, like I’d been lying here waiting for him to ask. But I only nodded. I couldn’t speak and I was convinced Billy could see me just fine.

  The air seemed to shift and swirl, changing as he bent. The way his hand slid from my neck to cup my cheek, purposefully touching every inch of me along the way, set off those little fireworks again low in my stomach. His thumb traced along the line of my cheekbone and the vacant rooms inside me filled to bursting.

  And then, Billy gave me the sweetest kiss. A warm, careful, massaging, lingering press of lips that made me feel like I was a treasure. Like a princess. Sleeping Beauty.

  But instead of waking me with a kiss, he’d guided me into a dream. A beautiful dream where only us, and our perfect feelings for each other, and this perfect moment existed. I gripped his hand where he touched my face, needing to hold some part of him, giving into a silly notion that doing so would allow us to travel through the dream together. I couldn’t imagine ever leaving him behind.

  Too soon, his lips separated from mine. Kissing the corner of my mouth like he couldn’t help it, he lifted his head, just an inch.

  “Let this be our first kiss,” he whispered, and I felt the breath of his words on my lips. “The others don’t count. This is our first.”

  “What? Why?” I smiled, confused and curious, but I was also more relaxed, my heart beating easier. Reaching for him, I clumsily found his fuzzy jaw with my searching fingers. How amazing was it, to touch another person just because I wanted to? To feel their skin and warmth and smile with my fingertips?

  Pretty freaking amazing.

  “Because I meant it with my whole heart,” he said, his voice rough. Turning his lips to kiss the center of my palm, his tone grew fierce. “You deserve the best, Scarlet. Only the best. And I swear, I will always mean every one of our kisses. Every single one.”

  Every single one.

  I’d slept like a damn baby after that, probably smiling in my sleep like a weirdo.

  Billy woke me up the next morning, grinning at my flustered confusion as I dashed around the room aimlessly like a ping-pong ball. Being a gentleman, he quickly left me to change. Wanting to give him something, take care of him in some small way, I scribbled a quick haiku on a piece of paper, leaving it for him to find later,

  Using just your lips

  We had a meaningful kiss.

  And yet, I miss tongue.

  No time to overthink, I placed the paper on his pillow, not even sparing a moment to sign it. Billy (with a sleepy Cletus as lookout) snuck me out. The two of us then walked to the woods and ate a breakfast of bagels and cream cheese on the way, holding hands while we laughed about all sorts of funny things.

  I didn’t remember the specifics of the funny things, probably more stories about his siblings because he knew how much I liked them. But I did remember our shared laughter. It sounded so much more than friendly, and I loved it. Mine plus Billy’s more-than-friendly laughter, together, was now my most favorite sound.

  Presently, sighing and smiling at the memory, I chuckled at my foolishness, at all the stupid hiding I’d been doing since Sunday. The misery I’d put myself through had been dumb—in hindsight—and could’ve been avoided if I’d just talked to Billy. Continuing on a philosophical note, hindsight was the best and the worst. It frequently made you feel stupid, but it also offered a chance to peek into the future and what might happen later in a similar situation.

  “I’d do things differently, that’s for sure,” I said to the air, nodding at this proclamation. “I’d talk to him. I should’ve talked to him. Some folks, there’s just no use running from.”

  “Who’re you talking to?”

  Startled, I lifted my head, glancing around until I spotted Billy. Thunk ka-thunk.

  “Hey there, Scarlet.” Standing at the edge of the camp, he gifted me with his small, friendly smile.

  Meanwhile, I was both frowning and smiling, confused. He was early and I hadn’t been singing.

  “Hey there, Billy. You found the campsite?”

  His smile widened. “Yep.”

  Huh. “Well, how about that.” My smile won out over my frown. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” I said. It was funny because I literally lived in the woods.

  “I brought something.” He lifted a black case, his features relaxed and easy, but also expectant.

  Relaxed and easy was an extremely becoming expression on his handsome face, and it helped me feel likewise relaxed and easy despite the handsomeness of his face.

  “Oh?” I said, turning more completely toward him.

  “Yeah.” He nodded once, still grinning, his eyes on me as though he didn’t want to miss a second of my reaction.

  Strolling to me, he opened the black case and I felt like a moron because HE TOOK OUT A GUITAR!! AAAHHH!!! How had I not realized the mystery black case was a guitar case? Too busy coveting your . . . your Billy.

  My heart leapt at the sight of it. Standing hastily, I clasped my hands together under my chin, my eyes bouncing between Billy and the guitar.

  “That’s a guitar,” I said, like a dummy. But I didn’t care.

  His smile was now massive. “Yep.”
<
br />   “Are you—” I found I needed to swallow before I could speak. “Is today the day?”

  He hesitated, his smile slipping as he studied me. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring it before. I should’ve.”

  “Sorry? Don’t be sorry!” My voice pitched high, like a squeal, because my heart was bouncing around, this time with crazy excitement. This might’ve been the best day of my life.

  He laughed at my obvious eagerness, but he looked mildly confused by it too. “I would’ve brought it earlier if I’d known—”

  “DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT!” I reached for the instrument, but then snatched my hands back. “I’m sorry. I’m just—I’ve always wanted to learn how to play an instrument, but I never thought it would happen, so I didn’t allow myself to think about it, like making friends with a mermaid or meeting my favorite actress. This is—I just—can I touch it?”

  Billy watched me with obvious fascination, his eyebrows pulling together like he didn’t know what to think. Even so, he held it out. I felt his stare on my face as I gazed longingly at the instrument. As gorgeous as my Billy Winston was, today I only had eyes for his guitar.

  Carefully, carefully, I wrapped one hand around the neck and supported the lower bout with my other. My arms felt electrified, like maybe I could fly, as I brought the glossy wood body to my chest, flipping it around slowly so that the sound hole was facing out.

  “Am I holding this right?” My words were breathless, but whatever.

  I glanced up in time to see him nod, but then he dipped his head to one side, inspecting me. “Uh, more or less. You need to move your hand here.” He captured my hand in his and moved it further down the neck. “It might be better if we sit down. I didn’t bring the strap.”

  Billy set the guitar case aside and looked around, pulling me by the elbow over to the big tree trunk lying on its side. “Here, sit there.” He guided us to the makeshift seat, and he reached his arm around me to position my hand, the uneven beard at his jaw brushing my temple as the wall of his chest pressed along my shoulder and arm.

  And oh my goodness, I could smell him, much better than when we kissed or hugged, my nose and lips brushing his neck. He smelled faintly of the Oliver house—home cooking and woodsmoke—spicy, clean soap, and mint.

  Quite suddenly, I felt a jolt of something not related to the guitar in my hands but also electric, and it cleared all coherent thoughts from my brain in a single flash. Now, okay, maybe I’m going to sound like a loon here, but him leaning over me sent a hot shiver down my spine, landing with a reverberating GONG low in my stomach. And then I got warm stomach.

  No. That’s not right.

  I’d had warm stomach before—with Ben for instance, and with Poe Payton, and with Poe’s cousin, Charles Boone Jr. This was not that. This wasn’t even the little, delicious fireworks from when we kissed. This was hot stomach. Super hot. Like Billy dwarfing me with his big body set off a full on fireworks display in my insides. And it was twisty.

  Sorta like when you imagined him touching you . . . places.

  Startled by the shameful—but not at all unpleasant—direction of my thoughts, I held my breath. When he pulled back, his attention on my arms and hands and the guitar, I closed my eyes.

  “Okay, there. Like that,” he said, not seeming to notice my turmoil.

  I felt him lean away, as though inspecting me, and so I held perfectly still, unsure what to do about this frenzied onslaught.

  After a beat, he laughed lightly. “Scarlet, you’re going to have to open your eyes if you want to play.”

  “Just give me a minute,” I croaked.

  He gave me less than a minute. “You look like a statue. Do you want to be a statue holding a guitar? Or do you want to play it?”

  Right now? A statue.

  Bracing myself for . . . something, I opened my eyes and stared forward, finally releasing the air from my lungs. In front of me were my legs, and beyond were woods. Brown and white tree trunks and dead leaves and cold air, and the small cluster of primrose that had been blooming every day despite the cold.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head, breathing in deeply, the strange, hot, twistiness persisting.

  “We don’t have to do this right now—”

  “You didn’t kiss me,” I blurted, now totally breathless. “You said we’d always kiss when we saw each other, and you didn’t . . . kiss . . . me.”

  I felt him study my profile for a long while and I sat there, about as awkward as a clown at a funeral, a mixture of embarrassed and hyperaware. But goodness, I wanted him to kiss me. I couldn’t shake the sense that I needed to touch him, his lips on mine, his hands on my body, and nothing about it felt shameful. It was crazy, and I didn’t understand, but I knew I needed it or else I’d go insane.

  Eventually, he stood. My stomach dropped and my eyes lifted, magnetized to Billy Winston. I tracked his long form, his body’s graceful, unhurried movements. He returned to where I’d first spotted him hovering at the edge of the campsite. I fought desperate disappointment, not understanding what was going on.

  Why didn’t he just kiss me? Where was he going? What—

  He turned. He faced me. A look of such raw intensity—one of his impaling looks—on his gorgeous features, I thought I might pass out from the impact.

  “Hey there, Scarlet,” he said, repeating his earlier greeting. But this time, he used his melted chocolate voice to add, “Come here.”

  It was official. Today was the best day of my life.

  Eyes closed, strumming the guitar, Billy sat on the big log and the sun set behind him, making his shape more of a single silhouette with a long shadow rather than individual parts. I faced him, two or three feet away, my legs under me on the blanket.

  Presently, I sang Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’.” Billy provided accompaniment and listened, and I watched him.

  After setting to rights our lack of a hello kiss—which took about twenty minutes to rectify and included stumbling and falling to the blanket by the fire, barely breathing through most of it, and ended with him pulling away, standing up abruptly, and walking off somewhere for five minutes—he picked up the guitar upon his return, handed it to me, and said, “No more kissing unless you don’t want to learn the guitar.”

  It was a tough choice.

  This was our eleventh or twelfth song, I’d lost count after Dolly Parton’s “Jolene.” He’d patiently taught me for about an hour and a half before my hands got tired and my fingertips started to smart. Then he’d taken over and we’d been singing random songs ever since.

  At the chorus, he usually joined in and this time was no different. We harmonized, singing and holding the word free way too long, so long I started to laugh. Billy didn’t open his eyes, but his smile was huge, especially when I went higher rather than try to match or come close to his deep voice on the next line.

  Just as soon as I sang the last note to “Free Fallin’,” Billy switched to a new melody, starting up the next song without pausing. I recognized it at once and lifted to my knees, clasping my hands in front of me.

  “I love this song! I love Johnny Cash.”

  He opened his eyes and they settled on mine, his grin tender. “Me too. Ready? We’ll sing it together.”

  “The whole thing?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, but after can we sing ‘Jackson’? I’ll do June Carter’s part and you do Johnny Cash?”

  Billy laughed. “I’m not sure if I know all the words.” He continued strumming, playing the intro to “Ring of Fire” over and over. It was the musical equivalent of treading water.

  “I’ll help you with the words. I know ‘Jackson’ by heart.” I grabbed his knee and squeezed it. “Please?”

  Nodding, he opened his mouth wider, and then started singing “Ring of Fire” without me. I wasn’t upset, not at all. He had such a great voice, and this was the first time he’d sung all on his own. When he got to the first chorus, I did the oooooohhh and the down, down,
down parts, making him laugh more than sing. Then we were laughing together, trying to sing at the same time, and I decided something definitively.

  This.

  This was the best sound. Singing with Billy Winston and his guitar while fighting laughter. Never in my life had I been so happy. Never in my life had I imagined or dreamed such happiness was possible. And nothing existed beyond right now, this moment, and Billy’s smile.

  We also laughed and sang through “Jackson,” with me standing up halfway through, unable to contain myself. I loved how June Carter belted out her part, telling Billy he was a big talking man and that he was making a fool of himself, with feeling. Which, of course, had him laughing so hard he couldn’t sing. But he kept playing the guitar, so I filled in for him, doing both roles and trying to lower my voice as much as possible for Johnny’s bit.

  Gradually, I became aware that night had fully descended and both of us had neglected the fire. It was dark and I was tired, hungry, and cold. But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to sing with him forever.

  Alas, it was my voice that betrayed me. I hit an off note and immediately Billy stopped playing.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  My body shivered as a gust of wind whipped through the camp. “Yep. Great.” Darn it. Now my speaking voice was hoarse.

  He made a short, grunt-like sound. “No. You’re freezing. It’s got to be past seven thirty by now. We should head to the house.”

  “Just one more song?”

  He was already standing. “Tomorrow.”

  I sat back, grumbling, “Tomorrow you got a football game.”

  “I’ll see you after the game. And we have Saturday after work. And Sunday after church.”

  Twisting my lips to the side, I waited for him to finish moving around, arranging things, now convinced Billy could see in the dark.

  When he was finished, he walked over to me, his hand coming to my shoulder. “Do you need any clothes?”

  “Uh, yeah. Let me grab some.” Shoot. That’s what I should’ve been doing while he was getting his stuff together. I guess I was really tired after all.