Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

I left the house in a daze. My future had been torn straight out of my hands and replaced with a new one—a better one I couldn’t have begun to imagine for myself.

Perhaps that conversation is what brings the words out of my mouth now to Emmalea. “You just need to have faith in yourself, Lea. You’ve always had it in you to run this farm. Everyone looks to you for answers. Not me anymore. That’s ‘cause you know every damned thing about every damned thing.” I smirk at the stove. “Plus, you keep us all from starving. Remember that week when you were sick and we had to stomach Fred’s mystery meatloaf?”

She shakes her head. “Harrison … I don’t know what to say.”

I borrow Gary Strong’s words. “Then don’t say anything.” I lean in. “Personally, I can’t wait to see the looks on all their faces when they learn this farm’s finally got the forewoman it deserves. They’re gonna be so happy for you.”

“Oh, we’ll see if they’re still happy after a week with me in charge.” She cracks her knuckles and smirks.

I grin.

The door to the bunkhouse bursts open, and in struts Hoyt wearing his fitted gray polo and jeans, looking just as fresh as he did when he left. Quite instantly, the mayor’s speech is forgotten, and everyone swarms Hoyt to razz him about his first day. “How’d it go, college boy?” “Hey! Bomb any tests yet?” “How hot is your professor?” The questioning and general teasing goes on and on as Hoyt laughs and rolls his eyes, dropping his backpack by the door and placating everyone with, “Hey! My day went fine! I obviously survived it! You’re all a bunch of punks, by the way, but I love y’all just the same. Damn, that smells good! Is that dinner??”

The bunkhouse swells with the noise of laughter and chatter as we eat one of Emmalea’s best meals in ages. Hoyt sits right by me, and his face is beaming so infectiously, I can’t help but burst with happiness despite myself. When he’s feeling happy and I see that joyful light in his eyes, nothing can bring me down.

It feels so amazing to have someone in my life I care about.

Somewhere I can put all of this love I’ve hoarded inside of me for so long.

After dinner, the explosively happy energy carries on. Miguel, Fred, Rust, and Hoyt engage in a card game that has everyone in the house taking sides. The whole time, Hoyt is telling story after story of what happened during his day, including stuff about his weird or interesting classmates, his professors, and about a dozen other things. With the way he’s talking, you’d think he just had his first month of classes in one damned day. Then afterwards, Turtle picks up his ukulele and starts to improvise a song about Hoyt’s first day, and before long, everyone is busting out laughing. At one point, even Turtle cracks himself up, and we’re all gifted with the very rare occurrence of an actual laugh from the musician.

It’s midnight by the time we head to my cabin across the yard. The moment we spill inside, Hoyt goes straight to my bed and plops right down on his back, arms and legs spread.

“Fuck me,” he exclaims, spent.

I’m carrying his backpack for him and set it on the desk chair. “That a request, college boy?”

He snorts. “After this mornin’? I’m gonna need a few days to recover from that. Hey, what’re you doin’ all the way over there?” He pats the bed next to him. “College boy needs some lovin’.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Demanding, are we?”

“Can you undress me? Phew, I’m so dang tired, I don’t think I can even move an arm.”

I come up to the bed and pull off his shoes one by one. As he continues to lie there like a ragdoll, staring up at me with those cute doe eyes of his, I unbutton his pants, then work them right off his legs. I crawl over him and hold myself over his face, staring down at him with a mixture of adoration and wonder. After the day I’ve had, it’s a wonder I haven’t burst apart from happiness.

“What about the shirt?” he asks, like I’ve forgotten.

“I don’t know. It looks kinda cute on you, college boy. Maybe I want to cuddle you in it for a bit before I get you all naked.”

His lips curl up into a silly grin. “You like how I look?”

“I like that you’re here on my bed,” I tell him. The more I say, the softer my voice gets. “I like the way you look back at me, like I’m the only one who’ll ever have your heart. I like that you seem empowered after your first day of college, and not … well …”