Fawn Hill has its traditions, and most of them hadn’t changed in decades.
“Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always celebrated the July Fourth holiday on July eighth, or somewhere around there depending on what day of the week it falls. The high school fields are the only place big enough or safe enough to hold all the townspeople and keep the fireworks at a safe distance. Since they have summer school during the weekdays, they don’t want to hold them on a school night. And the organizers especially don’t want to have to test beforehand or clean up after. A couple years running, when I was in elementary school, some teenagers would steal the displays or grab the exploded shells out of the field. So now, they wait for the weekend and have crews work overnight to pick up all the debris.”
“Who knew Fawn Hill had such a rowdy teen population?” She wags her eyebrows.
“When you live in the middle of nowhere, you create your own fun.”
We walk hand in hand past the different vendors, a local band playing a country song as people line dance in the dirt in front of the stage.
“Aren’t you supposed to win me a teddy bear or something? Isn’t that what boyfriends do?” Presley lays her head on my shoulder.
“Oh, I’m your boyfriend?” The thought lights me up inside like someone’s just pressed all of the elevator buttons and I’m rising to the top.
“Wouldn’t you call yourself that? I mean, you are sticking your—”
I put a hand over her mouth, trying to contain my laughter. “There are five-year-old’s right next to you!”
Her green eyes are cunning. “Finger in my pie. That’s all I was going to say.”
My lips meet hers as we walk. “I’m sure. But … if you want to call me your boyfriend, I’d be honored.”
“What are we, teenagers?” Presley giggles.
“Sometimes I feel like it when I’m with you.” I shrug, leaning down again to whisper in ear. “However, teenagers do not know how to fuck each other the way we did last night.”
I feel the shudder that moves down her spine and has her rubbing her thighs together. “Keaton Nash, you are shameless. And yet, everyone here assumes you’re some kind of saint. Imagine what they’d think if I told them what you did with your mouth last night.”
Any of the girls I’ve dated in the past would have paled the minute I talked about fucking, but this woman just eats it, spits it out and serves it right back to me.
“That’s for your body and your body alone to know.”
“Oh, Keaton! I’m so happy to see you’ve gotten a new girlfriend. Shame you wasted so many years single and sulking.”
I turn to see the three old ladies who always run the sweet corn stand during the fireworks festival and try not to bristle.
Presley’s mouth, however, is hanging open. She’s not used to Fawn Hill and its forwardness, or the nosy people who live here and assume your business is their business.
“I was just holding out for the right girl, Mrs. Jenkins. Ladies, this is Presley.”
The woman on the left, who dyed her gray hair an unnatural shade of black, waved me off. “Oh, boy, we know who she is. Hattie’s granddaughter, and she teaches that new-fangled exercise class in the park. An out of towner … not sure about her yet.”
She says this as if Presley isn’t standing right there, holding my hand.
But my girl, she just puts a hand to my chest and smiles at the gossiping old women.
“It’s nice to meet you. I know I’ve been hogging the good doctor here, but you can rest assured I like Fawn Hill more than I like him.”
Two of the women flash small smiles while the one who made a comment about her scowls.
“You’re a pretty, young thing, aren’t you? No wonder Keaton likes you. Look at those legs, Bertie!”
Mrs. Jenkins elbows Bertie, the one who hadn’t spoken yet.
Bertie unabashedly checks Presley out. “A mile long. God, to be young again. I used to be able to wrap my legs around a man’s waist—”
“Bertie!” Mrs. Jenkins swats her friend’s arm.
Presley and I look at each other, bewildered and hysterical.
“Those hips look pretty sturdy to me.” The scowling lady inspects me.
“Oh my God …” Presley cracks up, turning her head into my shoulder and biting her lip to keep from howling.
“Good to see you, ladies.” I’m about to lead Presley by the hand when Mrs. Jenkins interrupts us.
“Um, sonny, you’re not going to buy your girlfriend the best sweet corn in all of Pennsylvania?”
Presley looks up at me sternly. “Yes, Keaton, you’re not going to win me a teddy bear or buy me sweet corn? Maybe I need to find another boyfriend.”
“I’ll take him off your hands.” Bertie’s grin is all dentures, directed right at Presley.
I relent, buying us two ears of sweet corn doused in butter and parmesan, and hand one to my girl.
We bid farewell to the kinky old ladies and walk off munching on our cobs.
“This is delicious,” Presley says, butter glistening on her lips.
That does something to my insides as I lead us over to the football field where most of the town has already laid down blankets to claim their spots. Just like I did earlier, knowing all too well how territorial people were on this night. I spotted the green-and-blue plaid blanket I’d set down and stepped over lawn chairs and George Foreman’s to get there, careful to avoid the odd running child.
Presley sat on one side and I joined her, finishing my corn and wrapping the remains in the foil cone it came in.
“You’ve been every year, haven’t you?” She smiles at me.
“Even when I was too cool and in high school.”
“I keep forgetting this was where you went to high school.” She finishes her corn and mimics my actions from a minute ago.
“Right over there is where I sat in the dugout during games.”
She rolls her eyes. “Is someone trying to impress me with his glory days?”
The sun has sunk past the tree line, swathing the field in darkness, but the sky is still light enough that the fireworks display won’t start for another hour or two. Either way, I move in closer to her, closing the small space between us on the comforter. I move so that she’s sitting in between my legs; her back to my front, and wrap my arms around her waist.
Like this, I can bury my nose in her hair and nuzzle past it to the soft spot on her neck that makes her shiver when I inhale there. As if on cue, a small ripple moves down Presley’s limbs, and she swats gently at the hand secured on her stomach.
“You keep doing that and this fireworks show is going to be anything but G-rated.”
“Is that a promise?” My voice comes out husky.
“Cool it, hotshot. Tell me more about your golden boy days.” She turns her face and those green eyes flash up at me in amusement.
I laugh. “I was pretty much the same. Too concerned about grades, colored inside the lines and always did the responsible thing. I was pretty okay at baseball … Bowen was the superstar, actually.”
“Hmm, somehow, none of this surprises me. Remind me to make you play hooky from work one day, you have a lot of catching up to do. Why didn’t Bowen go pro?”
I know it’s Bowen’s story to tell, but I can’t just brush her off. “He was in a bad car accident. Broke his clavicle, couple of ribs, right arm, his left hand and leg. After that, his body didn’t function the same in the sport.”
She goes quiet in my arms and faces forward again. “The accident with Lily, right?”
Imperceptibly, I nod into her cheek, where I place my own. “It’s not my story to tell.”
Presley settles back against me again. “I’m not asking you to. You’re a good brother, Keaton.”
“So, what do we do until the fireworks start?” I change the subject.
“Are you asking for a little football field nookie?” Presley tilts her head back to look up at me.
“I have always had that
fantasy. Maybe a little over the pants hand job action?” I whisper in her ear.
“Seriously? Keaton Nash, the good boy vet, is asking for an OTPHJ?”
Her acronym has me cracking up. “Yeah, I guess there are children around. And we wouldn’t want to scare the nice sweet corn stand ladies.”
“Or the Amish pretzel people.” She snickers, and I know she’s thinking about me coming in my pants while the straitlaced Pennsylvania Dutch stood selling their wares just feet away.
“You make me crazy.” I growl.
Because she does. Presley brings out the real me, the man I never knew was there.
Life before her was muted, and with her in my arms, I saw nothing but fireworks.
24
Presley
I have a boyfriend.
The concept is so foreign that sometimes, I find myself just giggling at nothing.
Not to mention, I have a boyfriend who was a sex god. Like … no joke, honest to … well, God … sex god. Who the hell would have thought, Dr. Keaton Nash, the small-town vet, would be an animal in bed.
A shiver runs over my flesh, causing goose bumps to rise, just thinking about the nights we’d spent in his bed. Endless hours of touching, different positions, those dark eyes pinning my soul to the bed just like he was pinning my body with his … it all melded together to make me a mushy pool of lust.
But our time spent together was more than just fucking, more than just the physical release. The way that Keaton’s gaze bore into me … it was like he was reading my most inner thoughts. Like he saw how deeply I felt about him, but that I couldn’t say the words out loud. Not yet.
Part of me was terrified. I didn’t know how to navigate this. I’d fallen so completely … gosh, there was that word again, for him in such a short amount of time that it almost felt like it was too easy. There had to be strife, hardships … right? Love wasn’t love without having to fight for something. At least that’s what society tells us.
Maybe, though, there are love stories where a girl just meets the guy she was always supposed to fall in love with, and they do the damn thing.
I don’t know. I’m too sexed out to think straight.
Unfortunately, said sex god did have to work, damn his responsibility complex, and that meant I was on my own on a Saturday. Penelope was busy with her kids, and Lily had some official event with her father, who was a state senator. I hadn’t known that until recently, and from the looks of his website, which I’d visited, he was a total square. No wonder Lily gave off the whole daddy’s girl, sheltered vibe.
So I found myself driving out of Fawn Hill, through the Pennsylvania country roads, watching the summer sun sparkle as the breezy air flew through the open car windows. Living in the city, I forgot how much I liked to get lost in the car. In high school, I’d drive out of my hometown and just take random turns, seeing where I’d end up.
Those were usually days when my sister earned some academic achievement, or my brother scored a goal on the soccer field to win the game in the final seconds. My shame wasn’t born out of jealousy, it was created from a deep need to be seen as well. I was the average middle child, and my parents only had so much time. It was easier to sink into the background than exhaust myself trying to put in effort for pride.
But it came at a cost. Slowly, that unintentional invisibility chipped away at my confidence. So … I began to distance myself. First with my drives. I’d take long, winding journeys, sitting on the hood of my car until the sun went down just thinking about what my life might look like in ten years. I didn’t have a lot of people I trusted back then, or none I really wanted to confide in about how I was feeling.
I took it a step further when I moved out to the city. I was a nameless face in a sea of millions, and I kind of liked it that way. My family didn’t keep tabs on me, and I didn’t have to check in just to be disappointed when I didn’t measure up in their eyes.
All of that, though, it leads to a sharp loneliness. And so my journey brought me back to the start. Maybe not to my nuclear family, but to where my family essentially started. When I used to sit on the hood of my car, imagining what my life might be like, I never in a million years thought I’d be living in a place like Fawn Hill. I never imagined I’d be falling in love with a small-town boy or cherishing the quiet peace that a place like this brings.
As I navigate Grandma’s car down this country road, and over one-lane bridges, I make snap decisions about where I’ll venture off. That’s the fun about having no plans and going with your gut. I’m still that girl, the spontaneous nomad who enjoys living without strings. Falling in love and staying in one place doesn’t have to change that.
I can still have adventures.
It’s just that, now, I have someone who might want to adventure with me.
A road shaded in a canopy of trees catches my interest up ahead, and I turn onto it. The car steadily climbs, up and up the inclining road, the forest pulling me away from civilization.
And then the tree line breaks and the road becomes gravel. I have no idea why it’s led up here, or what purpose this road serves. But I do know, that when I get out of the car, it is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in my life.
I stand at the top of a massive, rolling hill, looking down into a valley. The landscape opened up, strokes of greens, blues, and yellows painting the canvas. A river rambles through the middle of it, cutting the farm fields in a babbling flow of water. I could spot cattle grazing, and the sun beat down as if its attention was directed solely on me in this moment.
There was a chance that I would only come to find this paradise once, and I’d made a promise a long time ago never to catalog or map my aimless drives. Because the point was to find a special place in that moment, and if life brought you back to it, then it was a sign of something bigger.
After sitting on top of that hill alone for what felt like hours, I picked myself up and dusted my hands on my jeans. I hadn’t thought about anything for that time, and it felt good. Sometimes, you just needed an afternoon where no heavy questions were asked, no feelings were examined, and you could just sit with yourself like an old companion.
When I got back in the car, I drove toward home. Today, an aimless journey was necessary. And normally, my brain would rebel against the act of settling back into a routine.
But not today. This time, when I knew the journey was coming to an end, I was happy to be going home.
25
Presley
The smell of sizzling hamburgers and Frank Sinatra’s voice fill the air, accompanying the fireflies flashing their butts around the humidity of Keaton’s backyard.
Sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs on his patio, I watch as my boyfriend mans the grill.
“You hold that spatula like you know what to do with it.” My eyebrow cocks up suggestively.
Keaton turns, waving the utensil through the air. “Once I’ve cleaned and dried it, maybe we could put it to good use.”
“In your dreams. Is my burger ready yet, I’m starving!” My stomach grumbles.
Keaton chuckles. “You have less patience than a hungry puppy. I just put them on the grill. Enjoy the night air, drink your wine. Listen to Frank.”
“I’m not sure I get the allure of Frank …”
He whips around. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. The man is a legend, the ultimate man’s man. He’s an icon, a—”
“Jeez, you’ve got a real hard-on for a crooner who has been six feet under for over twenty years,” I tease.
Keaton turns back to the grill, mumbling about a certain woman who has no musical taste.
“Let me take you to my kind of club in New York City. The rap lyrics busting out of the speakers will melt your face off they’re so good.”
He shakes his head. “How can we be so different?”
“Opposites attract, baby.” I get up from my chair, walking to him and wrapping my arms around him.
I press up on my tiptoes to rest my
chin on his shoulder, looking at how he layers the cheese on top. It begins to melt instantly, and my stomach grumbles again.
Keaton’s pocket vibrates, and I’m all too aware of what that means by now.
If it’s not Fletcher pulling him away, it’s a veterinary crisis. And on another occasion, his mother called in hysterics after watching the home movie of her wedding.
I hadn’t been kidding the first night we slept together when I’d said he took care of everyone. The guy was like Superman, piling damsels and distressed persons alike onto his back and trying to carry them to safety. Meanwhile, no one looked back to see if he was crumbling under the rubble of the disaster.
Keaton wanted to help everyone, and I saw how much that wore him out. How tense his shoulders were after a day in the office. The lines of anger and helplessness in his face every time Fletcher got wasted after swearing he’d never touch a drop of alcohol again. And the monstrous grief of his father’s death, that he kept hidden from his mother to spare her more sadness for herself.
“What is it this time?” I tried to keep the hint of annoyance out of my voice.
“An ewe has gone into distress while trying to birth baby lambs at one of the farms on the outskirts of town. They need me to come out and help.”
He stares down at his phone, thumbing through pictures that have obviously been sent to show him the situation.
And all at once, our relaxed evening on the patio is gone. He’s in Dr. Nash mode. He’s in hero mode. He’s already turning off the grill, taking the hamburger patties off distractedly and putting them on a plate. I watch them bleed juices onto the white ceramic as I try to keep calm.
This is how a life with him will be. We may be in a small town, but he’s always going to volunteer for anyone who needs saving. It’s an admirable quality, but what is the line he won’t cross. Will he leave in the middle of the night when I’m in our bed? Put a patient or his brothers over future children? It sounds insane thinking these things, but … I’ve never had a boyfriend before. And it’s pretty serious between Keaton and I if I’m in a relationship with him, something I’ve never done with another man. These are things I need to consider.
Fleeting (Nash Brothers Book 1) Page 11
