Wait for Me

Inside, I scoot all the way across like always, so I can rest my head is on his shoulder. The lap belt is across my waist, and I hold his hand with our fingers still threaded.

We don’t speak. On the radio is an old country song about a man who loved a woman until he died, and I close my eyes, wondering if such a thing is possible. If Taron might love me until he dies. I know I’ll love him…

It hurts so much, but I’m determined not to waste these precious moments borrowing heartache from the future. He’s still here with me. I can still touch him, smell him. He’s still mine right now. I’ll have plenty of time to miss him when he’s gone.

The civic center is transformed for the party. White twinkle lights are wrapped around potted trees lining the room. Tables are arranged on one half of the hall with white tablecloths and small candles in the centers. A band is playing a mix of country, rock, and standards at the other end, and people are dancing.

I catch sight of my brother talking to Dutch Hayes, and I can guess what’s going on there. Sawyer’s been worrying himself sick over what’s going to happen with the orchard while he’s gone. I wish he’d talk to me about it. I’m perfectly capable of keeping things up and running, but he likes to follow the old ways.

He gets up every morning at the ass-crack of dawn, gets in his truck, and drives twenty miles per hour to meet with the old timers at the Denny’s in town and talk about the almanac predictions and whether or not the migrant workers will be back next spring.

Spoiler alert: They always are.

“Want some punch?” Taron’s smiling down at me, and I let my annoyance with my brother go.

“I’d rather have a Coke, if they’ve got it.”

He lifts my hand and kisses my fingers before leaving me standing beside a tall table at the perimeter of the dance floor.

I look around for anybody I know while I wait, and I see Leon hugged up with Betsy on the dance floor. My brow furrows, and I wonder if I should have The Talk with him. I wonder if Sawyer’s already done

it… He’s just so distracted these days, and he still thinks of Leon as a little kid. I’m sure my youngest brother already knows how sex works, but I hope he’s being smarter than I was about birth control. Jeez… What would I do without Mindy?

Digger’s smooth, unwelcome voice breaks my reverie. “You look as beautiful as I imagined you would.”

“Digger.” I hold out my hand, hoping to block his usual hug and kiss on the cheek.

I fail.

He pulls me into a stiff embrace and kisses my cheek, leaving behind the heavy scent of his lemony cologne.

Looking past him, I see Rachel Bishop with her arms crossed, standing at his left flank and glaring at me. I really want to tell her she has absolutely nothing to worry about. At all.

“Hi, Rachel.” I reach out to wave her in closer, but she turns to chat with Andie Stevens at the next table.

Rude. But I guess I don’t blame her. Just because I can’t imagine ever dating Digger doesn’t mean nobody else might. Some girls actually find him attractive, and I guess his dad does have a lot of money.

“You’re here with Taron.” It’s not a question. Digger’s nose curls. “At least he’ll be gone in twenty-four hours.”

“Gone isn’t forgotten.”

“You think he’s something, but he’s not. I checked. Taron Rhodes is nothing in Nashville. No people, no family.” He looks over my shoulder to where I assume Taron is getting me a drink. “Don’t set your heart on a guy like that, Noel. He will let you down. Believe me.”

My voice is practiced calm. “I couldn’t be less interested in what you think.”

He’s about to say more when a warm hand catches my arm, and I relax at the familiar touch. “Is this guy bothering you?”

His voice is a tease, and I look up into Taron’s handsome face. “He talks too much. I’d really like to dance.”

“Done.” He puts our drinks on the table and lifts his chin at Digger. “Sup, Hayes. Bothering my girl again?”

That makes me laugh, and I slide my hand into the crook of his arm. Digger’s dumb expression is enough for me. I put my face against Taron’s chest, and we sway into the middle of the couples dancing to an old Patsy Cline song. It’s the one about having a picture of the one you love… only he’s with another girl.

We sway side to side several bars, and I can’t resist. “Your girl?”

“Yeah.” His voice lowers, and the air around us seems to change. “That’s right.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to my brow, and I close my eyes, feeling all the emotions vibrating in my chest. He lifts his head and looks down at my face.