Sidecar Crush

“Yes, ma’am.”

I ended the call and put my phone in my back pocket. Kept eying the sculpture.

It wasn’t what I’d planned to make for this client. When I’d started this commission, I’d had something more abstract in mind. A statement piece that would be decorative and beautiful, but less organic. More modern, like the building it would front.

But after watching Leah Mae on that show a few times, I hadn’t been able to get the image out of my head—Leah Mae, locked in a cage. An angel behind bars, her light dimmed. Didn’t seem to matter how hard I tried to concentrate on something else, that was all I saw. A beautiful angel with her hands gripping the bars, her wings faltering.

But something was missing, and I didn’t know what. It was driving me a bit crazy. I knew it needed more—wouldn’t look finished otherwise—but I didn’t know what the missing element was.

Dee’s reassurance helped a little, but I was still anxious about it. It was so personal. I always put myself into my work, but this was different—raw and real.

It had been terrifying to show it to Leah Mae. I’d been so afraid she’d be able to tell what it was—that it was her. She’d walked around the unfinished piece and I could have sworn I saw recognition in her eyes. Maybe even understanding. It was like she could feel it the way I did. Like she had a sense of what I was creating, and she could see herself in the piece.

But there I went thinking about Leah Mae again. I did my best to put her out of my head and got to work.

By mid-afternoon, it was time for a break. I also needed some things from the hardware store, so I changed into clean clothes and drove into town.

Without the distraction of my work, the first thing to come to mind was Leah Mae. I’d been beating myself up over her since I’d gotten her text yesterday. There were times in life when you had to take a chance. When you had to grab a situation—or in this case, a girl—and take the risk. And I hadn’t. I’d let it slip through my fingers, and now my chance was gone.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been single for long. Or that I had no reason to believe she’d stay in Bootleg much longer. I shouldn’t have let those things stop me. There were uncertainties, but I’d let them get the better of me. I could have kicked myself for it.

How many times could I have stopped what I was doing and kissed her? We’d spent enough time together over the last month or so, I’d had dozens of opportunities. So many moments when our eyes had met and we’d both gone quiet.

I had no idea what she’d been thinking. Hell, she could have been hoping I wouldn’t kiss her. Maybe she’d already decided we were better off as friends, and me kissing her would have been a huge mistake.

I still wished I had taken that risk.

My hands were tight on the steering wheel as I drove into town. The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I was with myself. My dad’s voice echoed loud in my head. Telling me I was too sensitive. That I needed to toughen up. Maybe he’d been right about that.

I got into town, heading for the Rusty Tool. I was about to pull into the parking lot, when something caught my eye further up the road. It couldn’t be her—I must’ve been seeing things—but I kept going nonetheless.

Wavy blond hair hanging beneath a sun hat. Denim jacket over a loose blue dress. Long, graceful legs. Delicate hands holding a bag. She turned toward me and oh my god, it was her.

My tires screeched across the pavement as I stopped in the middle of the street, not a care in the world for whether someone might drive up behind me. They could go around. With my truck still running, I opened the door and jumped out.

Leah Mae’s eyes widened as I walked toward her. She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but I was a man on a mission, and this time, I was not going to fail.

Without a word, I slipped one hand around her waist and cupped her cheek with the other. And I just fucking kissed her.

Her lips were as soft and sweet as I’d always imagined. Pliant and yielding against mine. At first my kiss was hard, my mouth decisive and forceful against hers—my hand holding her tight against me. I sold out. Laid all my cards on the table.