6
Maddie
“What am I doing?” I asked Mr. Wiggles, my cat.
Mr. Wiggles, Wigs for short, was gray with icy eyes and a blue collar. We were into blue in our house. He perched beside me on the bathroom sink as I examined myself in the mirror. Luke was due to arrive soon and I was still in my bra and underwear. I’d been having the age-old underwear argument with myself. Wear a matching set or go with granny panties? This man had me all tied up in knots. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider a matching set on a first date, but dating Luke felt different than any man before him. Considering he’d basically already seen me naked and come so close to kissing me, I decided on the matching set.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I scolded Wigs. “You’re not my keeper.”
I hadn’t been on a date in a while. I didn’t even mean to be going on one now. I knew it was a bad idea, but there was something inescapable about my connection to Luke. Maybe it was just hormones. For the record, all he had to do was show up and I was reeling. Luke Morgan was the real deal, an honest to goodness panty dropper. My connection to him kept overruling my sanity. For the first time in my life, I looked at a man and thought maybe I could love someone and he could love me. It was ridiculous, I hardly knew him. But when I was standing next to him, it felt like we could be something. Only, we couldn’t be. For me, Luke was a fling at best. There’s no way I was in his future once he realized what I couldn’t offer him. But there was something about being near him that I couldn’t deny myself. This was my year of self-exploration, right? So maybe my body love journey needed to include a swelteringly hot cowboy lovin’ on my body. Why not? Seemed perfectly rational to me.
I pulled my favorite navy-blue velvet top from my closet. It had a sweetheart neckline that accentuated my assets. There was no denying I had boobs—and the thing about big boobs was that showing a little cleavage was always more flattering than covering them up. Fully covered boobs looked trapped. Also, the velvet top was a perfect piece of clothing. It made me feel sexy but not uncomfortable, and it was dressy without being overstated. I paired it with black skinny jeans and red cowboy boots. I was from Montana, after all. Keeping makeup to a minimum, I used only mascara and lip gloss, but spent way too much time on my hair. I always spent too much time on my hair. I wore it down in loose waves. The end result was sexy—not too dressy, not too casual, just right.
Eventually, I was ready, standing in the middle of my living room, not wanting to sit and wrinkle my first impression but also desperately wanting to sit because I literally didn’t know what to do with myself while I waited for him to arrive. Unable to find a solution, I just stood there, far enough away from the door that he would think I was doing something when he rang because he would hear the sound of my boots on the wood floor when I walk up to answer the bell. It didn’t take very long. He was perfectly on time. It was respectful to be on time for a date. It proved you wanted to be there.
At the sound of the doorbell, a cacophony of butterflies took flight in my chest. How could I be nervous to see a man I already knew, one who had made it perfectly clear that he was interested in me? God, I was so into him. I took a quick breath and pulled the door open. I half expected him to be leaning on the doorframe, cocky like a James Dean-esque character from a movie with fifties greasers, but he wasn’t. He was standing a healthy distance away from me, which gave me the opportunity to check out what his A-game looked like, and it looked good. He was still in his Wranglers, but he topped them with a crisp white Oxford shirt, a black leather belt, and boots. He’d left his hat at home and pulled his shiny blond hair back into a slightly messy but perfectly executed knot. He’d also trimmed his dark beard close. Man, I could really appreciate a man who cared about grooming his hair.
Realizing I’d been stunned into silence by his good looks, I said, “Hi.” It came out bashful.
“Hi,” he said back, resonantly. He had his hands pushed deep into his pockets.
We stood there for another beat. Then he spoke, “You look beautiful, Maddie.”
I looked down, played the game, making a series of faces and gestures like oh really, this old thing, when we all knew I spent the entire day figuring out what I was going to wear. Then, I said “Thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself.”
He didn’t seem to move, just stood there looking into my eyes and I wondered if I should invite him in. Mr. Wiggles rubbed up on my leg and purred. Luke looked down, then crouched to pet my cat. I’m not gonna lie, Mr. Wiggles is a slut. He’ll rub up on anyone.
Luke looked up at me, “Name?”
“Mr. Wiggles,” I answered.
He chuckled to himself, “Fitting. I’ll take good care of your girl tonight, Wigs. Promise to bring her back to you in one piece. Okay?”
See, totally Wigs for short.
* * *
By the timewe got to the restaurant, I was flush and overheating. Luke smelled amazing. I caught my first whiff as he opened his truck door for me. His scent was like musk and earth, a woodsy clean man smell. He put his hand on my waist as I climbed into the truck and the imprint of his touch singed my skin. I could feel the echo of his fingertips the entire drive. Inside the cab, his smell intensified. I was drunk from it, desperate to crawl onto his lap and bury my nose in the nape of his neck. I could see the strength in his thick thighs every time he pressed the accelerator. Holy ravioli, Batman, I was like a dog in heat.
He drove us to Sundancer, which was the best restaurant in town. He held my hand as we walked in and kept holding it as the hostess greeted us.
“Hi, Luke,” she said. She was a little blond thing, couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but I irrationally hated that he knew her. I reminded myself that Conway was small. Everyone knew everyone. It was something I liked. He spoke to her like the kid that she was.
“Nice to see you, Carly. How’s your dad?” He squeezed my hand.
“Nosey and completely irrational,” she rolled her eyes. “He won't let me go on a date with Curtis.”
“Well, maybe that’s because Curtis is a little old for you?” he suggested.
“Whatever.” She pursed her lips. “Two?”
“Yes, can we have a booth please?”
Carly grabbed two menus and started walking. We followed. Luke leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Curtis is like twenty-five. Maybe older.”
I smiled. He didn’t want me to feel left out. I’d never been to Sundancer before. The restaurant was dark and felt like a British duke’s library, lots of glowing brass fixtures and wood molding. The tables had white table cloths and they were candlelit. It was fancy, small-town fancy, but fancy all the same. The booth Carly brought us to was a circular one. Seeing this, I realized he wanted to sit next to me. I slipped into the booth on one side, scooting towards the middle and he did the same. Carly handed us our menus. Then she was gone.
“Do you mind?” he asked, referencing the booth and our closeness.
I shook my head. “No.”
“I planned it,” he said guiltily. “I dreamed about it all day actually. Being this close to you all through dinner.”
I smiled. I loved this about him. This painful need to be honest. “It’s good,” I said. “I like being close to you too.” I felt him press his thigh against mine, and he plastered a goofy toothy smile to his face.
“Whatever makes you happy, ma’am,” he said.
I laughed at him. “Okay, so we’ve figured out we like to touch each other. How about we figure out if we’re well suited? Tell me something about yourself.”
He leaned his elbow against the table and turned his torso so he was facing me just a bit more. “Let’s see, I’m a rancher. Second oldest of the Morgan boys. There are four of us. You met Wyatt and Cody. My older brother is Bill. I’ve got a sister too, Sarah. My momma passed when I was fifteen. My pop still runs the ranch, even though Bill acts like it’s his.”
I knew he was a family man. I tried not to get stuck on that and just went where he led me, “That sounds contentious. Do you not get along with Bill?”
“No, I get along with Bill just fine. He’s just a grumpy guy.”
“Like that’s his schtick, grumpy all the time? Is there a reason?”
Luke bit his lip. There was something he wanted to say but didn’t.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re not from here so you're gonna think I’m lying.”
I needled him with my elbow. “Come on, now I’m curious.”
“Bill made a mistake with a girl a while back.”
“That’s not so unbelievable,” I argued.
“The girl was Kat Bennett. She grew up in Conway.”
The only Kat Bennett I knew was a songwriter, an international superstar, the kind of musical success that was a household name.
“Like the Kat Bennett? The platinum records, Grammy-winning Kat Bennett?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s the one.”
I scoffed, “Sounds like a pretty big mistake.”
“She was our neighbor growing up,” he said. “I’d say we’re like family but it’s a long story. Bill and her were in love... well, always. And then, she went off and got famous and I’m not sure what happened to him. Part of me thinks they’ll figure it out sooner or later, and we will be family again, but they’re going on ten years of not talking. It’s really sad.
“You think he still loves her?” I asked.
“I think they still love each other. They're just both stubborn and pig-headed. Always have been.”
It was kinda romantic. “What is she like?”
“She’s just Kat. She’s funny and friendly and cool. I’ve known her since I was in diapers. Her house is a stone's throw from my front door. She loved my brother. She played guitar with my sister. We talked about stuff and we were friends. Also, she sings really well,” he joked.
I laughed. Then, I shifted gears. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
“Thank you. It was a long time ago but I still miss her. You want to see a picture?”
I nodded. I thought he would pull out his phone, but he pulled out his wallet and took a tattered old photo from its folds. The image wasn’t just his mother. It was his whole family. But it wasn’t a portrait. It was a candid shot. His mother was standing behind the older three boys who were elementary-aged and holding two toddlers, one with pigtails. Everyone was smiling and covered in red paint, including his mom. Again, I was reminded that family mattered to him, enough that he kept a photo of them with him all the time.
“We painted the barn,” he explained. “We wanted to help my dad, only, we did a terrible job and mostly painted each other.”
“She’s pretty,” I offered. “And she looks kind.”
“She was a great mom,” he said wistfully. He took the photo back and returned it to his wallet. “What about you?” he asked. “What’s your story?”
I felt obligated to explain my family. There was no way to avoid it after he’d basically just described himself by giving me a family tree.
I sighed, “My parents were not that nice. I don’t speak to them anymore.”
I turned to examine his eyes, expecting to find pity there, but he wasn’t pitying me. He looked curious more than anything. “Do you want to tell me more?” he asked gently. “You don’t have to. But I’d like to know. I’d like to get you, and I think where we come from plays a role in who we are.”
I was surprised to find that I wanted to tell him. So, I did, “They weren’t physically abusive or anything. But they ripped me of my self-esteem.” I prided myself on talking openly about the history of my eating disorder and I didn’t see a reason to stop that now. “I managed their cruelty by developing an eating disorder. I don’t know how much you know about anorexia and bulimia but people think they are beauty disorders, when they are really about control. Controlling my body helped me feel secure in a place where I was treated unkindly. It’s more complicated than that but I worked hard to put it behind me. When I was eighteen, I got a job at a restaurant and I was lucky enough to meet a woman named Claire, who helped me.”
“How did she help?” he asked. He was really listening.
“She helped me move out of my parents’ house. Gave me somewhere to stay, rent-free, so I could afford my therapist. And then let me continue to stay with her when I decided to go to cosmetology school. Claire is my family. She’s the person who cared for me and the person I cared for the most in my life.”