Fakers (Licking Thicket 1)

“Yeah,” I said tightly. “I’m glad it worked out for you.” And then, because we were going to be working together and because I was done with projecting an image, I added, “Things didn’t work out for me with the guy I met in the Thicket last week. Mal. He, uh… designed the Welcome to Licking Thicket sign. You might’ve seen it?”

He nodded and his face broke out in a grin. “An artist, then. Temperamental?”

“A little.” I smiled. “So talented, though. And funny. Smart.”

“Not too smart if he’s put that look on your face.”

I snorted. “He lives in Los Angeles.” And as far as I knew, he was going to stay there. Ava told Paul that Mal had briefly considered moving to the Thicket, but then his work had been selected for a showing at a high-end gallery—the kind of thing he’d been wanting forever—and once everyone saw how amazing his art was, I couldn’t imagine why he’d want to move to Tennessee. I was happy for him, though.

Or, you know, I was trying to be.

“Ah, well. If you’ve laid it out for him, and told him how you feel, and asked him to take a chance on you, there’s not much more you can do, son. Drink up.”

I blinked. “I… I would never ask him to take a chance on me if it meant giving up his dreams.”

The General looked at me like I was dim. “What’s one thing got to do with the other? If you love the boy, you help him make his dreams happen, whether it’s in Tennessee or Timbuktu.”

I shook my head. “I’m trying to give him space. That’s what he asked me to do. He doesn’t feel the same way about me. And he liked visiting the Thicket, but he’s not into small towns.”

“The boy who made that sign?” He shook his head. “You’ll never convince me he doesn’t love that town. Sounds to me like he’s running scared. Or you are. Or both of ya.” He leaned toward me over the table. “So ask yourself this, Brooks. You willing to wait forty years to tell the man what you should’ve told him right now? What’s the worst that could happen if you tell him how you feel in plain words? He sends you away again? What do you have to lose?”

My pride. The last scraps of my heart. Nothing that meant much at all.

The General nodded, though once again I hadn’t said anything, and downed the last of his drink. “Exactly. My money’s on you, Brooks.”

20

Mal

For some reason the tuxedo I’d worn in Licking Thicket only a week ago had fit better than the one I was stuck in now. Or maybe I’d just felt a little more comfortable in that one because I’d been relaxed and happy instead of nervous and nauseated, and feeling like something essential was missing.

I looked around the gallery’s pristine white walls and sleek tracks of lighting, specifically designed to highlight the strengths of each piece they shined on. It boggled my mind that my piece was included among other LA up-and-comer sculptors. There were some incredible works displayed here, and I was shaking with a combination of anxiety and excitement. Ava had warned me against imposter syndrome, but it was impossible not to feel like this had all been some kind of misunderstanding. Surely they’d picked me by mistake.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Ava: Knock ’em dead. Sorry I can’t be there, but I’m sending you love!

She’d also sent me flowers and chocolate this afternoon. I knew she felt terrible for missing the opening reception, but her closest friend at the day spa where she worked had asked Ava to be her maid of honor and the wedding was this weekend up in Napa. It had been planned for months, and even then, Ava had tried to beg off the rehearsal dinner so she could be here for me. I’d laughed and told her she could come to the next one.

As if there’d be more.

My hands shook as I texted her back.

Me: It’s no Licking Bachelor Auction, but it’ll do.

I sent her the selfie of me in a tux with my sculpture behind me that I’d taken earlier before the doors had opened to guests.

I tried to tell myself that I was fine. I’d made my way from Homer to LA years ago all by myself, so I could totally handle one showing, no matter how huge and intimidating it was, right? But I couldn’t help wishing for a friendly face. Or maybe one specific face, even if it might not be so friendly after the way I’d left things.

After five days back in Los Angeles, I knew what I felt for Brooks wasn’t temporary insanity. Even though the bubble around us had popped and I was back in my “real” life, my feelings hadn’t lessened one bit, and ironically enough, nothing felt very real. I’d thrown myself into work to prepare for the show, but that hadn’t stopped me from missing Brooks’s wry humor, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the way he wrapped his arms around me and made me feel like anything was possible… Hell, I even missed his overthinking perfectionism. And his stupid eyebrow cowlick.