Oh God. Had he been practicing? The grin on his face told her he was ready to impress her. She nodded, excitement licking through her, as he stripped her fleece, tossing it and the envelope onto his front seat to free her arms, then sidled up behind her.
“Dance with me, babe,” he murmured against her ear from behind as his fingers dusted down to hers and he tugged her playfully around to face him. She grinned. Goose bumps. But as he pulled her into step, she paused.
“You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to,” she murmured, considering his leg and how self-conscious he’d been, her eyes betraying her and glancing down at it.
As if sensing her line of thought, she cringed. Would he hate the moment’s pity?
Instead, he added easily, grinning, “Why don’t you let me worry about my leg. Can’t say I have two left feet.”
She smiled at his joke. He cupped her shoulder blade. Her arms slid tentatively up to clasp his hand and rest upon his shoulder, and he stepped into the music, leading her, awkward at first but grinning all the same. His hand slid down to her hips, pulling her against him, a physical courtship with no words, just bodies swaying, undulating, fingers feathering against each other’s, curling around one another until it felt so natural, it was a wonder they weren’t an old couple comfortable in their shared embrace.
He spun her—she fumbled in her heavy boots, laughing—his pectoral at her shoulder, his heat at her back. Spun her out again. Again and again. Tripping again on the uneven gravel, feeling her hair swing away from her back as he pulled her hairband loose.
“I’m gonna love you forever…” His deep, rich baritone voice sang the lyrics playfully in her ears, and her heart damn near squeezed out of her chest.
Tears wanted to spring to her eyes at the fondness of that night so long ago, bodies intertwined, two young eighteen-year-olds beneath the heavens blanketing them in a dark, rhinestone-studded quilt, as he spun her back around to him. She gripped his neck now instead of his shoulder, feeling her forehead lay against that blessed heartbeat that still struck her as miraculous.
“Did I ever tell you that I was just a scruffy little ranch kid when my pops used to sing it to my momma?”
No, he hadn’t. But it made it all the sweeter. And hard-headed as he’d been as a kid, he probably wouldn’t have given his dad credit way back when for inspiring him. His arm slid around her waist, his hand palming her back as billions of stars began punctuating the growing darkness, the final sliver of sun wavering upon the horizon, finally blinking down behind the silhouette of far-off landforms, or maybe it was the sparkle that was bursting through her at his easy, natural touch, at his fingers pressing into the rise of her lower back, inching downward, downward—God, the tension was killing her.
His grip tightened, his other arm releasing her hand and sliding around her back, too, cocooning her in an embrace as fingers splayed across her nape, his belt buckle pressing into her stomach, the realness of his body flush with hers. She felt his lips press to her ear, gently dusting a kiss upon it, listening to the soft intensity of his breathing as it feathered against her neck and cheek.
Her lips turned into his kiss, capturing his mouth. He held still, then slowly she felt the kiss returned, his lips, soft and supple, molding to hers. New shivers washed over her. She wanted to feel him. Bask in his aliveness and live alongside it forever. As she inhaled his scent, felt his tongue surreptitiously tease her lips to nibble secretly and mask the tension pulling tight between them in a shroud of a hug, as if Brandon might look out his window and see them, she wanted so much more again.
The music had moved on to something else by the time she surfaced from her thoughts to him pulling her toward the hood of the truck. He spanned her waist and picked her up as if she weighed nothing and set her rear upon the hood. He grabbed the ice cream out of the door, still open, when he paused, leaned back in.
“What’re these?” he asked.
Standing upright again, he carried the bag and spoons in one hand and the manila envelope in another, the folded strips of thermal ultrasound paper protruding from the flap. He set the bag of ice cream down next to her, sweating as rivulets rolled down the hood, placing the envelope in her outstretched hands, intensity shimmering on his brow, not smiling, not frowning…eagerness, maybe?
She nodded, expecting him to continue staring and waiting like he was so good at doing when he wanted answers, but instead, he nudged himself between her knees and grabbed up a pint of ice cream, tearing the seal and taking off the lid. The surrounding heat had begun to turn the edges of the ice cream soupy. He dipped a spoon in and brought it to her mouth, his eyes holding hers, then dipping down to the envelope again, then her gaze again as he withdrew the spoon. The sweet cherry taste played over her tastebuds as she worked the softened ice cream around in her mouth, then swallowed, while he took a bite himself off the same spoon and drew it out from between his lips upside down.
She smiled. He wasn’t pressuring her, but he could probably tell what was on that protruding roll of paper. Travis deserved to see these, too.
She reached within, her fingers wrapping around all the memories she’d buried in the back of her drawer, as if doing so would make them disappear, but they never had. She’d only ignored them, instead of facing them. They’d quieted their demands to be acknowledged over the years. But they’d never been silent.
Travis set aside the ice cream, his hands coming up to rest on either knee to stroke her thighs, squeeze them, and though the familiar spark from his touch nipped her, she could tell this time, it was to pass confidence to her, not get into her pants.
“Show me,” he whispered, leaning in, gently pecking her ear.
A hand caressed back her loose hair falling in her face, his breath warm on her lobe, and her fingers tightened on the stack within and dragged them out.
She shook her head. “I’ve carried this with me for so long. Not wanting to look at them, not wanting to ever be without them, either.”
She unfolded the old local news article of his death, yellowed with age, and slowly, he stood upright again, hips still wedged between her knees, and took it. His eyes roved over the page silently. He said nothing, merely swallowed and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Draped an arm around her neck.
Then she unfolded the long string of ultrasound photos. Reverent silence fell between them. That gentle, coaxing smile that had graced his lips moments ago, fell away. Emotion thickened her throat now, but she pressed on. She was done with tears.
He encompassed her, the thermal paper still dangling in her grip, pulling her flush against his chest so her rear slid to the edge of the hood and her boots threatened to lose their perch on the bumper, but she knew he’d hold her up. His fingers dug into her skin as her cheek rested against that blessed heartbeat she loved so much.
The rumbling of a car, far off, barely registered in her ear.
His hand was petting back her hair, his lips pressed against her cheek. She let him clench her, let his arms crush her. His hand was cupping her head to him, gripping her hair. His arm was wrapped around her waist, anchoring her against him.
“You’re not mad at me?”
At this, he grimaced and pulled back, staring incredulously into her eyes, and took off his Stetson, setting it aside.