The One Month Boyfriend (Wildwood Society)

I watch him as he disappears into the crowd. When I look back, Nakamura’s eyes are deadlocked on me. I hold her gaze for a minute, then drop it and her hand, pick up a pen, cross off Meckler’s name on the bidding sheet and write my own for five dollars more.

“You got a minute to talk?” I ask without looking up.

“Not right now,” she says, voice stiff.

I don’t look up, move to the next pie. It’s coconut creme, a pie I don’t like, not even when Clarabelle Loveless makes it. I bid on it anyway, just to cross his name off.

“Are you fucking kidding?” I ask, voice low.

“I’m guarding the pies.”

“It’s a small-town fundraiser for an animal shelter, not Fort Knox.”

“That doesn’t mean I can leave. I have a job.”

Jesus, she hasn’t changed at all in twelve years, not since she nearly made me drop out of college. I bite my lips together and force myself not to respond, but I want to shout. I want to get in Nakamura’s face and ask why the she thinks she can call me her lover—and what the fuck is that, lover, is she serious?—in front of half of Sprucevale when so many of the people in this town are dangerously over-invested in my relationship status.

I already know I should regret it, and there’s a part of me that does. I was supposed to be fixing a damn mess, not creating a bigger one and yet here I am up to my neck in it, and I’m not even mad at myself. I should be.

Instead my blood feels like it’s fizzing with trouble and the sheer glee that comes from reckless, impulsive decisions.

I make Nakamura stand there and watch me while I outbid Meckler on every single one of these pies. When I’m done I walk around the table to where she’s standing, staring her down the whole way. She doesn’t move.

I drape an arm over her shoulders, and I swear I can feel her tense.

“Take a break, babe,” I say, keeping my voice low. “You deserve it.”

“Silas,” she says, through her teeth. “I am guarding. The. Pi—”

“Please tell me she made her pecan pie,” says Gladys Dawson, who’s just walked up to the table and interrupted us without so much as looking up. “I was devastated last year when there wasn’t one. Something about a pecan shortage?”

“Right over there,” Nakamura says, pointing helpfully. “Plenty of pecans this year!”

Gladys finally looks up, a small polite smile on her face, and I can practically see her taking notes before she responds.

“Thank goodness,” she says. “I guess I ought to bid on the blackberry and the lemon meringue as well…”

She steps away, crossing out my name and writing her own with the zeal only a southern retiree raised on passive aggression and hush puppies can muster, commenting politely on baked goods the whole way before she finally leaves, huge purse slung over one shoulder.

I pull Nakamura a little closer, turn my head.

“Fuck guarding the pies,” I tell her hair, closer to my face than I’d expected. Why did I think she was short? “You called me your lover in front of that asshole, half of Sprucevale, the office gossip, God, and everyone, and I want to talk about it.”

“You said you needed a girlfriend,” she says, voice quiet and controlled.

“Yeah, and I asked—”

“Are you looking for pecan?” Nakamura asks a couple who’s just walked up. “That one’s the chess pie, and then peanut butter is right next to it.”

“—Anna Grace, not you,” I finish once they’ve moved away.

“Well, you’re standing there with your arm around me so it can’t be too bad,” she says.

“The fuck else was I gonna do, Nakamura?” I hiss. “The only way I could’ve made more of a scene would’ve been to fight you on this. Hi, Mrs. Edwards, enjoying your night?”

Connie Edwards’ eyes are on my hand, currently draped over Nakamura’s shoulder, like she’s already thinking about how she’ll report this to her friends.

“Yes, it’s lovely. And you?” she asks, pointedly.