by Erika Kelly
Everything she’d had on lockdown in her adult life unraveled like a spool of ribbon in the warm wind.
Funny how she’d thought that wild, uninhibited girl had been crushed under the heel of Fin’s boot, when she’d been here all along.
Oh, cut it out. You crushed your own spirit. She could’ve responded any number of ways—railed at him, gone wild with her independence in the city—but she’d chosen to neatly pack away everything she’d once been to reinvent herself into this…refined woman. She’d quit making art to curate it. She’d let her hair grow out to its natural color, tossed out her hot pink patent leather boots, and sworn off wild love.
That was all on her.
But even as she cleared the path of lies, a bigger truth came rushing in. With every minute she spent in this town, her heart opened wider to Fin. Nobody—nobody—cared about her the way he did. He looked at her like she was his birthday cake ablaze with candles, his Christmas stocking stuffed with foil-wrapped presents. Like she was the light of his life.
And that was a heady feeling.
When Fin’s big hand covered hers, a shock of awareness hit. She almost felt embarrassed, as if she’d voiced her feelings right in his ear. But, of course, she hadn’t. He’d always had that sixth sense with her, probably because he paid such close attention. He picked up on her cues—when her body heated up or her expression changed or her fingers curled into fists.
She just…she felt too much for him. Unconsciously, her thighs pressed into him, and she tightened her hold. The smell of him—his shampoo, his clean shirt, his rugged, masculine essence—unearthed all the longing she kept at bay. That desperate ache to hold him. Yes, God. She’d give anything to be swallowed up in his big, powerful arms. His bear hugs made everything right in the world.
He was right. His love had given her wings. The profound sense of acceptance had enabled the watchful, quiet girl to stand on the edge of a cliff and leap, knowing she could power herself to safety.
What a bitch she’d been to reduce their relationship to a high school romance in front of Julian. How petty of her to try to make him feel bad—to get back at him for hurting her. She wished she could go back and change the way she’d handled everything.
Fin held out his hand to indicate he was making a right turn. She looked up to see they’d entered the parking lot of the fairgrounds. Slowing, he angled into a spot in a row of motorcycles. The packed lot gave way to ticket booths and then acres of tents, white fences, and carnival rides.
It looked like any other fairground across America, except that this one was laid out in the lap of the Tetons, and there was no bolder, more dramatic sight than those rocks that shot seven thousand feet straight out of the valley floor.
He squeezed her thigh, reminding her to get off the bike. Holding onto his shoulders, she swung a leg off, her knees wobbly, the roar of the engine still humming in her bones.
Setting the helmet on the seat, she followed him to the ticket booth. After pulling two bills out of his wallet and paying, Fin led the way.
Growing up, she’d come every year. First, with her parents. Then, later, she and Megan would tag along with Ryder and his friends. She’d find every excuse to be near Fin, to position herself so she’d be the one sitting beside him on rides. For years, she’d watched couples and ached to be just like them. Holding Fin’s hand, nuzzling into his neck. God, the yearning for his attention, his touch…
And then it had happened. At fifteen, they’d become a couple. So to be there with him right then? It brought up all the feels. Especially when he automatically reached for her hand.
The path split in three directions: the rides to the left, the 4-H exhibits straight ahead, and food to the right. “Hang on,” she said. “Let’s grab something to eat. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
“You want barbecue or churros?”
A childlike happiness burst out in a smile. “Do you even have to ask?”
He went straight for the trailer that reeked of sugar-cinnamon and fried dough. Handing her the paper-wrapped treat, he grabbed her hand again.
“Let’s go see my dad.” They headed toward a tent set up like a bar. Her dad stood behind the table, arms folded across his stomach as he chatted with a group. Her mom tapped a keg that poured beer into a red Solo cup.
The banner stretched across the top read: Bell’s Fine Ale.
Callie stopped walking to just take it in. A flap at the back lifted, and Ryder backed in, wheeling a dolly. “This is so cool.” She couldn’t deny the pang, though, of seeing her whole family working together. Without her.
He reached for her wrist and pulled her hand closer to his mouth, biting off a piece of Churro. “You okay?”
“You’re so funny.” She shook her head with a smile. “You read me so well.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, the tip of his finger lingering on the shell. “You feel left out?”
“Not left out.” She leaned closer to him. “Well, maybe a little.” Her brother leaned over their mom’s shoulder and said something that made her laugh. “Yeah, I do.”
“Then let’s do something about it.” With a tug, he drew her closer to the booth.
Entering on the far side, Callie caught a whiff of must from the tent. When her mom glanced up from a row of bottles, her features bloomed in surprise—and so much happiness.
The mom she’d grown up with had practically lived at the diner; Callie had rarely seen her parents doing anything but work. But debuting their homemade beer made her mom look radiant and her dad truly engaged.
It meant the world to see her parents so happy.
In a quick scan of the area, she couldn’t see an obvious way to get behind the table, so she dropped to a crouch and passed under it. Popping up, she pulled her mom into a hug. “This is amazing. I can’t believe you guys are doing this.”
“It’s your dad. And he deserves this, right? Something that’s just his?”
Her dad came over and cupped the back of her head so he could press a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks for coming, Callie-bear.”
“I’m so proud of you, Dad.” She’d missed out on so much. “I’m just…” She swallowed over the painful knot in her throat. “I really love you guys.”
Her mom grabbed her first, but then her dad caged them both in with his sturdy arms, and they rocked like that for a good, long moment. Until one of the workers tapped her dad’s shoulder and drew him back to the customers.
Her mom smoothed the hair off Callie’s forehead. “I love you, too, sweetheart. We’re so glad you’re home this summer.”
“Callie.” Ryder pulled off his work gloves and joined them. “You come here with Fin?”
“I did.” She looked for him and found him listening intently to her dad’s discussion. As always, he sensed her attention and gave her a smile meant only for her.
“Glad to see you can stand to be in the same room with him again.” Ryder gave her a teasing smile.
“Barely.” She reached out to rub his arm. “Hey, you’ve got an amazing little boy. I’m having the best time with him.” And can’t believe I waited four years to get to know him.
Ryder smiled at her. “He likes you, too. Especially that art stuff you’re doing with him.”
“Did you see the mosaic he made for me?” her mom said. “A four year old.” She shook her head like her grandson was the next da Vinci.
An arm wrapped around her waist, and she breathed in the subtle scent of sage and fresh mountain air and everything Fin that made her pulse quicken.
“Marley’s here.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear. “You got a second to talk to her?”
She smiled up at him. “Sure.”
He reached for Ryder’s hand. “Hey, man. Knew if there was free beer I’d find you here.”
Ryder laughed and gave him the finger.
“I’m going to steal Callie for a bit,” Fin said. “Hooking her up with one of my dad’s old friends. We’re gonna kick her mus
eum into gear.”
“I’m going to pretend you said exhibition, since you’ve been working with me for two weeks, but let’s go so I can tell her what I’m doing.”
“Come on.” Fin led her out the back of the tent.
She smoothed her hair and pulled down her T-shirt.
“Leave it,” he said. “You look perfect.”
“I’m asking for a donation. She wants to see a competent, sophisticated museum curator.”
“She wants to see your heart and passion. She knows all about your degrees.”
“You told her about me?”
“I tell everyone about you.” His tone held so much pride.
“Yeah, but it’s what you tell them that scares me.”
She’d only meant to tease him, but he stopped and reached for her hair, twirling a lock around his finger. “I tell them the truth. I always tell the truth, Callie.”
Her emotions rode high and strong. “I know that.” Fierce affection grabbed hold of her body. I wish so badly things could be different.
One corner of his mouth tipped up, and he leaned in so close she could feel his scruff brushing her cheek. “You smell good.”
Her breathing went shallow, and her skin tingled. She wanted to be in high school again, when she’d been free to touch him, because the impulse was strong to jump into his arms, throw her arms around his neck, and kiss him with abandon.
It never went away, that need to get closer, deeper, harder. God, she wanted him so much.
But she wasn’t in high school anymore, and the only thing she needed right now was distance.
She tried to step away, but he gripped her arm and held her in place. “It’s all still there, right? Between you and me.” He gave her a wicked smile, before kissing the corner of her mouth. “And now that you’ve let me in just a little, all bets are off.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, nothing’s—” she began.
“Fin,” a woman called.
He turned to an elegant woman in gray pants and a cream silk blouse. He swallowed her slight frame up in his arms. “Marla. Good to see you.” He pulled back and gestured to Callie. “This is Callie Bell. The curator of the Exhibition of Broken Hearts.”
She’d known he was messing with her every time he referred to it as a museum, so it meant a lot that he’d present it correctly in front of a donor. “It’s so nice to meet you. You didn’t come to the fair just to meet us, did you?”
“Oh, no. I’m with the Artists of Calamity Cooperative. We’ve got a booth over there.” She motioned to another section of white tents.
Callie noticed the art on a flyer in the woman’s hands. “Is that Alexa Rojas?”
“It is. I just picked this up from the Castro Fine Arts booth. They’ve got some wonderful pieces. If you haven’t wandered through the gallery, you’re in for a real treat. It’s right off Main Street on Sundance Road.” She turned the flyer to her. “You’re familiar with her work?”
“I told you she just got her graduate degree from NYU,” Fin said. “She knows her shit.”
Callie elbowed him.
But the woman laughed. “Believe me, we’re used to the Bowies. They’re exceptional men who just need a woman’s touch to balance out all that testosterone.” She held out a hand glittering with jewels. “I’m Marla Gentry, and it’s lovely to meet you. Fin’s told me about your project, and I have to tell you I think it’s marvelous. Truly, I do. Heartache, betrayal, they’re just so stubborn, aren’t they? No matter how many years pass or new loves since, these are the kinds of emotions that linger. I believe you’re onto something here, and I’d love to help in any way I can.” She handed over a bright yellow shopping bag. “This is my anonymous donation. I have to get back to the booth, but if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“Thank you so much.”
The woman gave Fin a hug. “You have to come for dinner soon. Bring Callie, so we can talk shop.”
As soon as she took off, Fin tugged on the handle of the bag. “What’s in it?”
Callie peered inside and found an envelope she assumed held the check, but also a notecard. With the midday sun beating down on the crown of her head, fair goers moving in both directions around her, she read it.
My family summered in the Hamptons. Fin and I went from building sand castles together to sneaking around to applying to colleges in the same city.
“Fin.” He read over her shoulder. “Jesus Christ.”
Intrigued, she ignored him.
I chose Tufts because he wanted Harvard. We stayed in love, or so I thought. I waited for him, dreamed of him, planned my life around him, all while he grew more distant. His excuses made sense, so I didn’t push. School work, his fraternity, his extracurriculars…I understood. And then one summer he chose an internship in New York City over summering in the Hamptons with me. He fell in love with a girl who worked at the same firm. He said he didn’t want to hurt me. He wanted us to stay friends. He’d always love me…just not like that. I never forgave him for falling out of love with me and, worse, I’ve kept a candle lit in the corner of my heart in case he came back to me. He hasn’t.
Callie looked up but, of course, Marla Gentry had long since disappeared into the crowd.
“You know she’s happily married, right?” Fin asked.
He always looked out for her. It had been six years, and she still felt so much for this man. Would it ever fade?
The moment she leaned her head back against his chest, his arm wrapped around her, pulling her tightly against him. Why did this one man feel so right and everyone else so wrong?
But, then, Fin Bowie was a force of nature. Ruggedly masculine, he hurled himself into life, snatching every bit of joy he could grab with both hands. When he unleashed his energy on her, made her the object of his attention and affection, of course she got swept under.
And if she wasn’t careful she’d go right back into the life she’d once had. The one where they’d love each other with every fiber of their beings—and he’d bail on her every time his brothers needed him.
Yes, he was a great guy, and their connection was powerful. But she’d come too far to ever put her life on hold for him or anyone else.
Callie grabbed the tote filled with the laundered leggings and T-shirt she’d borrowed yesterday and headed for the door. A shout of laughter had her glancing back to find Stan leading Barbara around the room in a very sexy, jazzy Bossa Nova. Near the top of a ladder, Fin secured the tree to the ceiling with a thick hook and wire. Judy and her team had made it out of real wood. It stood squat with low hanging branches, easily accessible to visitors hanging their own stories.
Overcome with gratitude, she watched them for a moment. She’d started the project alone, and now she had this amazing team. After that first morning when Fin had shown up late and sweaty, he’d become dedicated to helping her. He’d brought her the Cooters, who’d been invaluable. Between their help and Mr. Martin, they’d turned her idea into something interactive and flashy.
In three days the media would be in town for the July fifteenth opening, and she felt confident she’d created something worthy of the attention.
Stepping outside to the overcast, July morning, she crossed the damp boardwalk to Megan’s yoga studio. The door was ajar, and she pushed it open. A shaft of early morning sunshine cut across the room, dust motes dancing and swirling. It smelled of lavender and vanilla.
“Megan?” The dark-paneled wood glowed in the soft light spilling in through windows.
Bare feet padded on the wood floor, and Megan appeared in leggings and a tank top. “Hey.”
Her friend’s flat expression made her uncomfortable. So she thrust the tote out. “I washed everything, including the shoes. They got dusty from the fairgrounds.”
Megan set it on a woven bench. “Thanks.”
She had her shot; she was going to take it. “You got a second? Maybe we could get a coffee or something. I really do want to talk to you.”
“Th
at’s okay.” Her lips pressed together, her eyebrows lifted. We done?
Up until third grade, Callie had kept to herself. She’d bring a notebook and colored pencils in her backpack and sit by herself during lunch, desperate for the time to pass so she could go back to class and not be exposed socially.
But one day, while sitting on her usual bench in the corner of the playground, Megan had come up to her, hair windblown, eyes wild, and said, “Why do you sit by yourself?” Callie hadn’t answered, and Megan had dramatically rolled her eyes, grabbed Callie’s wrist, and hauled her over to the vault bar. She’d hopped up, slung a leg over it, and hurled herself forward. She’d spun around and around, a blur of pink and purple leggings and long blonde hair, until she’d stopped and hung there like a bat. “You try,” Megan had said. And from that moment on they’d been inseparable.
Until Callie had gone off to college.
“I’m a terrible friend.”
Megan’s body went on alert. “You’re not a friend. Friends don’t leave for college and never look back. Acquaintances do that.”
“You’re right. But it’s not because—”
“Save it. Honestly? I don’t care about your excuses. I mean, I moved away, too. I had drama, too, but apparently our friendship wasn’t important enough for you to ask how I was doing. So, I’ve moved on, and I really don’t have anything to say to you anymore.”
“Hey.” A woman hustled into the studio. “Sorry I’m late. I’ll just grab my mat.” She looked between Megan and Callie. “We still have a private session at nine?”
“Absolutely.” Megan smiled. “Go on and get set up, and I’ll be right with you.” When she started to turn away, Callie panicked. She couldn’t let her go. Not like this.
“Wait.” She had no rehearsed speech, no carefully-crafted words. She just had to wing it. “Every single memory I have from here has you and Fin in it. And, when we broke up, the only way I could survive was to shut it out. All of it. And I’m sorry, Megan. I shut you out, too. I regret it with everything in me. I regret that I wasn’t there for you when you left home, and I regret that I didn’t let you or my brother or my parents or anybody be there for me. I can’t change what I’ve done, but I hope one day you can forgive me.”
