Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

When we’re on the road and the farm is behind us, I notice he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. After a moment of thought, I take his hand into mine.

He shoots me a glance. “You want to hold my hand …?”

I web my fingers between his. “Sure. It feels kinda nice. I just wanted to try it.”

He cracks a little smile—though it seems more amused than anything. “Alright.”

“Doesn’t it feel good? To hold my hand?”

His eyes are on the road as he shakes his head in wonder. “I swear, you never cease to surprise me.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Are we boyfriends now?” he asks, still carrying that amused tone of voice. “Is that what this is? You want to be my boyfriend?”

“I don’t care what you call it. We’re something, though.”

“Something?”

“Yep, we are.” I squeeze our fingers together tighter, then let my thumb start rubbing across the top of his. “Don’t have to have a name. But you’re stuck with me, Harrison.”

He gazes at me. The look on his face has changed. It isn’t one of amusement anymore; something sincere has taken hold of his eyes as he looks me over for a moment, before returning his gaze to the road. “Stuck with you, huh.”

“I like you, Harrison. You’re a good man. You have a good, big, bottomless heart, unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. Maybe even bigger than Toby’s. And that guy was like a tall sack of lovin’.”

He makes a strange face, then laughs. “You and your words.”

“I’m serious.” I bring his hand up to my mouth and kiss it, then lay it back down. “You amaze me, Harrison.”

He smiles with his eyes still on the road. “You too, Hoyt.”

We don’t say much else the rest of the ride. I feel so full to the point of bursting with joy inside, it’s difficult to contain it. Is this what love feels like? Is it too soon to feel it? I haven’t felt this with anyone ever before. I feel like I could dance on top of this truck, poke the sun right out of the sky with my finger, and throw it like a Frisbee into the rest of the stars. I could march down Main Street with Harrison’s hand in mine, not giving a shit what anyone said or thought. Maybe the inspiration from Reverend Trey’s sermon is still living in my bones, thriving like a brilliant idea.

Is Harrison my key? Is he who will unlock me from my cage?

Is he the one who will finally set me free …?

Harrison pulls up to the curb of my house, then brings the truck into park. He lets go of my hand and gives me a pat on the back. “Go make your sister’s day special with your fashionably late arrival,” he teases me. “Tell her your boss says happy birthday.”

I glance at my house thoughtfully, then turn back to him. “Why don’t you tell her yourself?”

His lips part, caught off-guard, then he chuckles. “Nah, nah. I don’t want to, uh … I mean, it’s your family, and I—”

“Blah, blah, excuses, excuses. C’mon. Don’t you want to try a piece of stale kiddy birthday cake? It’s probably got so much food coloring in it, you’ll be pooping pink and blue for a week.”

He wrinkles his face at me. “You make the invite so enticing.”

“If I go in there all alone, I’m gonna get tackled by a bunch of little girls with too much energy.” I reconsider it. “Well, or maybe not. I keep forgetting how old Gemma’s gettin’. Eleven. She ain’t six anymore.” I meet his eyes again, pleading. “Come in with me.”

I watch a literal arm wrestle occur across his face as he winces and fights it. One side wins. “Alright.”

“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air.

“But just for a few minutes,” he insists. “Then you can call me in a couple of hours to come pick you up.”

I smirk.

I have no plans to let him leave after just a few measly minutes.

When we reach my front door, I’m about to give Harrison the rundown on my family and what to expect—when suddenly the door opens and my stepdad appears. He scrunches up his face as he looks at me. “You’re not the pizza guy,” he observes mildly.

I quirk an eyebrow. “No …?”

He glances around me, as if to check again, then squints as his eyes fall on Harrison. “Oh, hi there.”

“This is Harrison,” I introduce him. “He works with me at—”

“Of course, I know all about Harrison. Good man.” My stepdad extends a hand. Harrison shakes it, smiling politely. Then he goes right back to squinting. “Pizza’s supposed to be here ten minutes ago. I got hungry girls.” His eyes turn to me. “Was wondering if you’d come. Gemma’s been asking about you every five minutes. We’re waiting on a couple large pizzas and cinnamon rolls to make up for the fact that the big birthday cake Deena made got botched up—should’ve followed the dang recipe—but now that you’re here …”