should have gone to therapy

You're already waiting by your car when Joel's familiar red pickup appears. He backs up so that it's in front of your own car and that's when you notice some sort of device attached to the bumper. Presumably that's what your car will be attached to so he can get it back to his place. The car door slams behind him and all thoughts of towing are out of your head. He must have just showered, his hair wet and curling around his forehead. It's dripping onto the grey of his t-shirt, damp spots dotting the neck of it. He's wearing worn blue jeans and work boots too. The jeans hug his thighs quite nicely, if you're being honest with yourself.

"Hey Joel," you say instead. "How are you?"

Joel takes you in the way he always does. His eyes are focused as the trace your face, even as he nods at you in greeting.

"M'good," he says. "How are you?"

"Good too," you say. "Thanks again for doing this. You're really saving me here."

"Now what did we say about this bein' a fair trade?" Joel asks, an undercurrent of humour in his voice. The left side of his mouth lifts in an almost smile and you shake your head, unable to stop your own smile.

"Alright, alright," you acquiescence, raising your hands in mock surrender. "If you say so."

"I do," Joel says. "Now, this is gonna be a two person job. I'm gonna attach your car to that tow dolly and then we're gonna have to push it on. Shouldn't be too hard and I can handle most of it. Might just need you to step in if I need a hand."

"Of course," you say. "I don't know if you've heard but I've taken three boxing sessions so I'm feeling pretty strong lately."

Joel's eyes crinkle when he smiles, shaking his head at your shitty joke. You grin.

He moves to the front of your car and observes the positioning before nodding to himself, seemingly satisfied.

"Can you release the parkin' brake for me?" he asks and you nod immediately, walking over to the drivers side and pressing the handle down. You glance at Joel through your rearview mirror, his brows furrowed as he takes in your car. He leans down, his arms coming up to hold the bottom of the bumper. He pushes once lightly and then more firmly, grunting as he does it. The car moves forward but not enough to bring it fully onto the dolly.

"Can I help?" you ask and he grunts in response. You're not certain what it means but you take it as an affirmative, crouching down next to him and positioning yourself just as he has. He looks at you and nods, and then you both push. The car moves further now. Joel pushes once more, his muscles flexing with the strain of it.

"Alright," he says. His face is flushed red with the effort of it. "That should do it. I'm goin' to secure the wheels and then we should be good to go."

He brings out what looks like leather rope and begins securing the tires of your car to the dolly. He loops the rope quickly and efficiently, like he's done this a million times. He probably has. You watch, fascinated by his delft fingers and fast movements. It's barely two minutes later that he tells you that he's done.

"Should be secure," he says. "We can keep an eye on it when we get started but I reckon it should be fine. What do you think?"

"You're the expert here," you say. "I trust you."

He opens the door of his pickup for you and you decide you're not going to read into it. The leather is hot beneath your thighs. You had decided on shorts since the cooler weather from earlier this week had seemingly disappeared. Now, as your thighs stick to the seat under you, you rethink your choice. Joel gets into the drivers seat, immediately shifting gears and pressing down on the gas. The dolly stays in place and so does your car, as he drives the two of you out of your building's parking lot.

"Looks like we did a good job," Joel says, glancing in the rearview mirror. It's nice of him to give you credit for the single push you helped with.

"So cars, boxing and construction, huh?" you say. "Jack of all trades."

"Master of none," Joel answers, a wry smile tugging at his mouth.

"And you're humble too, " you say, voice teasing. Joel huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "So is car stuff just a hobby?"

"Sorta," Joel says. "I started doin' it on the side when I needed the extra cash. Mostly when Sarah was little. Now I do it to keep busy since I'm not contractin' anymore."

"So your hobby became your job and your job became your hobby," you say and Joel shrugs, glancing at you sideways.

"What about you?" he asks.

"What about me?" you say.

"I figured boxin' ain't your only hobby. What do you like doin' in your spare time?" Joel says and you hesitate. The honest answer right now at least, is not much. School takes up so much of your mental capacity and when you're not busy working, you have groceries to buy or laundry to do or sleep to catch up on. When you were younger, your mother had signed you up for gymnastics. You had enjoyed the precision of it, the practiced movements that required perfection. Soon enough though, you had starting obsessing over it. You wanted to be more than good. You had wanted to be perfect and your mother, wisely, had suggested that perhaps it wasn't the healthiest environment for you. You had eventually agreed but you can't stomp out that sort of personality trait. And where does a kid with a persistent streak of perfectionism go when they've outgrown the systems that provide the validation they need? Grad school, that's where.

"I like reading sometimes," you say, your answer sounding dull to your own ears. You haven't read anything not related to your research in two years now. "I don't really have a ton of spare time. It's why I took up boxing actually. I needed a distraction from the endless pit that's academia."

You say it with a smile even though your answer embarrasses you. Joel nods, mouth slightly pouted.

"I remember being twenty-somethin'," he says, almost wistful. "Sarah made it good but I don't think you could pay me to go back to that."

"Well I'm glad to hear it gets better," you say. Curiosity's already wrapped itself around your mind so you have to ask. "How old are you anyways?"

"Thirty-six," Joel says. "My back feels about forty-five though."

You snort, before you can stop yourself. You bring your hand up to cover your mouth, your ears going hot. Joel glances at you, amused.

"Sorry," you say. "That was rude."

"Laughin' at my joke is actually pretty nice of you, if you ask me," Joel says and it makes you smile even wider.

"How old are you?" Joel asks and you shift to look at him more fully.

"You didn't see it on my intake form?" you tease and this time, it's Joels ears which flush red. "I'm twenty-seven."

"I did actually," Joel says and you raise an eyebrow in a silent question. "See it on your intake form. It felt polite to ask though. Didn't want you to think I memorized it or somethin'."

He says it in a low, amused voice.

"Well it's getting harder to believe that you didn't," you say. You can't remember the last time you've enjoyed talking to anyone this much outside of hanging with Anika.

"You're my only client right now," Joel says. "In my defense."

"What about Jesse?" you counter, and Joel shakes his head.

"Jesse doesn't count," he says, in a tone so certain it's almost as if it's factual.

"Why not?" you ask, curious.

"Cause he's a pain in my ass," Joel says and a quiet laugh escapes you.

"Consider me flattered," you say.

"Oh, you should be," Joel says, but there's a small smile on his lips. He glances at you as he changes lanes and you catch his eye, a twin smile on your own mouth.

He pulls into a suburban neighbourhood soon after. Most of the houses on the street have well trimmed lawns and jack-o-lanterns on their lawns. There are kids riding their bicycles and playing catch. There's a woman mowing her lawn and a man building a tree house. It's picture perfect suburbia and you can't remember the last time you've been somewhere like this.

"It's nice," you say, even though Joel didn't ask. "Seems like a good neighbourhood."

"It is," Joel agrees. "Nice people for the most part and no ragtag teens makin' a ruckus."

You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing at how curmudgeonly Joel sounds but he must see the expression on your face because he continues speaking.

"You come back to me when you're tryin' to get a two year old to sleep and there's a group of sixteen year olds drag racin' a Corolla at one a.m," he says and this time, you do laugh.

"Alright," you say. "That sounds awful. Worse than the guy that lives above me that stomps on the floor every time he walks. Or maybe he's just Bigfoot."

"Ah, the wonders of poor floorin'. Y'know builders don't even save money when they do that? It's just laziness on their part." Joel says.

"So then it's truly just to drive me insane," you say, voice solemn even though you're smiling.

"I reckon it is," Joel says, matching your tone. You can see the soft lines of crows feet around his eyes, more prominent now that he's smiling too. He pulls into a driveway. His house is similar to the others you drove by, the lawn neatly cut with flowers dotting the border near the walkway. You slip out of the car, your thighs sticky with sweat and you grimace as you close the door behind you.

"C'mon," Joel says, waving you towards the front door. He slips a key out of his back pocket and unlocks it. The air conditioned air is a relief, immediately cooling you. You can almost feel the sweat on you evaporate. You look around. The walls of the hallway are filled with picture frames, silly ones of Joel and Sarah smiling into the camera. There's some of them and a man who has Joel's same colouring — that must be his brother. You follow him down the hall towards the kitchen which smells like pancakes and orange juice. Sarah's sitting at the dining table, a spread of papers and notebooks and colourful pens in front of her. She gives you a bright smile when she sees you.

"Hi!" she says. "I was wondering when you guys would get back."

"Hey Sarah," you say. "It's nice to see you again."

"You too," Sarah says. She has a dimple on her cheek in the same spot that Joel does.

"Alright well, I'll leave you two to it," Joel says. He turns to look at you more fully, his dark eyes meeting yours. "I have an appointment but I should be back within the hour."

"Sounds good to me," you tell him. In a way you're relieved Joel won't be around to watch you and Sarah get to work. You're too in your head about him as is and you want to give Sarah your full attention. Joel turns to Sarah now, his brow furrowing.

"Be good," he tells her. "Ask her a lotta math questions because the lord knows I won't be able to help you."

His tone is light and there's that fondness in his eyes that you only see when he looks at her. Something warm cracks open in your chest.

She snorts. "Oh, I know you won't dad. Now go on and enjoy your appointment."

She says the word appointment like there's some secret meaning behind it. Curiosity gnaws at you once more.

"Yeah, yeah," Joel says, voice drawling. He gives you one more nod and then he's out the door, the lock clicking behind him.

"Alright," you say. "So pre-algebra."

Sarah groans, slumping in her chair. Her curly hair is loose today, and bounces with the movement.

"The word problems are still killing me," she says. "Why do we even need to know this stuff? When is anyone going to buy fifty watermelons?"

"I can't argue with you there," you say, slipping into the seat adjacent to her. "But I can try make it a little easier."

She pulls her binder towards the shared space between the two of you and you take a look at the printed sheet of homework. If you're being honest, the problems are a little too wordy.

"Okay," you say. "Tell me your three favourite colours."

She searches through the scattered gel pens, pulling out a purple one, a blue one and a green one. She holds them up to you and you take them from her. You can't remember the last time you wrote with one of these.

"Alright. The hardest part with word problems is figuring out what you care about. So we start with what we know and we use purple to underline that. Take the watermelon question for example," you say and she nods. "We know Bill earns five dollars a week, we know he needs fifty watermelons and we know that a watermelon costs a dollar fifty." You underline the information as you speak, Sarah's eyes tracking the movement. Then you take the blue pen.

"What do we need to find?" you ask her and she reads over the question before pointing to the sentence. You smile, nodding. "Exactly! How many weeks he has to work to buy fifty watermelons."

"Okay," Sarah says. "That helps actually. Like a ton."

You hand her the green pen, still smiling. "Have a crack at it."

Her head is bent towards her binder, her hair obscuring the page as she writes away. When she's done, she looks up at you, a pleased smile on her face. She pushes the binder towards you and you go over the equation she set up and how she solved it. When you're done, you look back up at her, grinning.

"And my work here is done," you say and she snorts. "This is really good, Sarah. You got it on the first try."

"Don't get too excited," she says. "I still have ten more questions to go. And then geometry too."

"Ten more opportunities to learn," you tell her and her mouth twitches like she's trying not to laugh.

"You know my dad never said you were such an optimist," she says and your heart might just skip a beat. So Joel had talked about you. You bring your head out of the clouds almost immediately, realizing how silly you're being. Of course he had talked about you. You were going to tutor his kid.

"I have my moments," you say, curbing the urge to ask her what Joel had actually said. "Now, on we go. I think the next person's buying seventy apricots and eighty-three pears."

"These questions absurd," Sarah says but she pulls the binder towards her, her eyes sparkling with newfound motivation. You hum in agreement.

An hour later, Sarah's working almost done with her problem set. The two of you had agreed to work through her geometry homework another day and you make a mental note to arrange it with Joel. Sarah's putting away her things, slipping them into a bright purple backpack when you hear the door open.

"Hey," Joel greets. "How'd it go?"

Sarah beats you to it.

"You were right," she says. "She is a genius. I've never gotten done with my homework that quickly, dad. Now I can head to Gina's even earlier."

Your cheeks heat at the implication. Joel had told her he thought you were smart.

"If anyone's the genius," you say. "It's her. I only had to explain it to her once and she got through the rest so quickly."

Joel smiles, a proud look on his face.

"M'glad," he says, looking at you and then back to Sarah. "Now what's this about going to Gina's early?"

"Daaaaad," Sarah says. "Please can I? I promise I'll be home in time for dinner."

"I was goin' to start the grill," Joel says, sounding disappointed and you look away, suddenly feeling like an outsider. You pull out your phone, pretending to look for something on it.

"We can make dinner together," Sarah barters and you hear Joel sigh.

"Alright kiddo," he says. "Go on then. I'll see you at six p.m. sharp, alright?"

You glance up just in time to see Sarah wrap her skinny arms around Joel. He presses a kiss to the curls on her head and you look back down at your phone, unable to ignore the warmth in your chest. She's out the door in a matter of seconds after that and you're left alone with Joel.

"I should head out," you say at the same time that Joel says "Will you stay for lunch?"

"Oh," you say, eyes widening. You thought dinner yesterday may have been a one-time thing.

"I make a pretty decent burger, if I do say so myself," Joel says. His eyes look even browner in the natural lighting of the kitchen.

"Are you sure?" you ask.

"That I make a good burger?" Joel says, his tone joking.

"You know what I mean," you say.

"I wanted to ask you earlier, but it slipped my mind," Joel says. "No worries if you have plans or anythin' like that." You open your mouth and then close it. Finally, you nod.

"Okay," you agree. "I need to text my friend Anika to tell her that she'll have to pick me up a little later than I had initially told but okay."

"I can give you a ride back too," Joel says quickly. "If the timin' don't work out."

You nod at him, giving him a quick smile. "I'm just going to call her real quick."

You head down the corridor towards the front door, pulling your phone out of your pocket. Anika's contact is pinned to the top. She picks up after the first ring.

"Hi," she greets, sounding excited. "Are you giving me live DILF updates?"

"Shh," you tell her, looking around. There's no way Joel could hear her but you're paranoid. "Do you think you could pick me up at like 2 instead?"

"How come?" Anika asks, her voice singsong.

"Joel invited me to stay for lunch," you tell her, keeping your voice even.

"You realize he's into you, right?" Anika asks. You've considered it but you don't want to think about it too much. You're enjoying being friends with him.

"Does that work?" you ask her, ignoring her.

She laughs. "Yeah babe, it works. I'll just stay at Vicky's longer and then come get you."

"Thank you," you says. "I owe you."

"You do," she says. "I accept payment in the form of a play by play of your lunch with Joel and the white wine we've had in the fridge since a month ago."

"I'll throw in pizza too," you tell her, smiling. "See you soon, okay?"

You head back to the kitchen to find Joel at the counter, a spread of tomatoes, onions, pickles and lettuce in front of him.

"Let me help," you say. "If I keep eating on your dime, I'll start to feel bad."

"I won't," Joel says like it's surest thing of his life. "I will take you up on your offer to help though. I hate cuttin' vegetables."

"Well it's your lucky day because that's the extent of my culinary skills," you say and come to stand by his side. You reach for the knife and start with tomatoes. "Circular, right?"

Joel nods. He stays next to you, a respectable distance away, as he begins to make the mixture for the patties. He moves as if second nature, adding seasonings and herbs, before stirring it together. You focus on your own task, cutting into the tomatoes along the fleshy side.

"M'sorry, by the way," Joel says. You glance up at him, brows furrowing. "For bein' late today. Said I'd be back in forty-five but my appointment ran longer."

"Oh," you say, brows relaxing. "That's totally fine. I didn't even notice, really. And Sarah's amazing. I learned a whole bunch of slang from her so I feel a lot younger right now which is great too."

"M'glad you think so," Joel says. "She's been talkin' about Labubus for a while now and I have no idea what that is and frankly, I don't think I want to."

You laugh, unable to stop yourself. "They're these stuffed toys. They're actually sort of cute."

"I'll take your word for it," Joel says.

"Anyways, like I was saying, it's all good. And I hope your appointment went okay too," you tell him, and he hesitates before he speaks again.

"It did," Joel says. "Thank you."

You can tell he doesn't want to say anymore on it and you know what that's like so you smile, looking back at the chopping board in front of you, cutting into a third of a tomato.

"So," Joel says as the two of you work, side by side. "What made you pick Austin for school?"

"Honestly?" you say. "The funding offer was pretty good. My advisor is pretty nice too which helps. I didn't really want to leave the East Coast but it ended up working that way."

Joel hums, and you glance at him. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he mixes the seasoning into the bowl. "D'you find yourself likin' it?"

You shrug, slice into the last of the tomatoes. "I think it's growing on me. It took me a while to find my footing and make friends but I think I'm getting better at it now."

"It's hard," Joel says. "Startin' over when you're an adult. M'sure you're doin' a good job."

You huff out a laugh as you begin cutting the lettuce into smaller halves. "I think you're being really generous."

"I say it like I see it," Joel says, glancing at you. His gaze lingers, dark eyes warmer in the sunlit kitchen.

"You always this nice to the people you coach?" you ask him, raising a brow. You don't mean for it to sound as flirty as it does. To your delight, the tops of his cheeks flush pink and he clears his throat.

"I reckon we're friends now," Joel says. "If that's alright with you."

You feel something warm flutter in your chest. You smile at him, nudging him with your elbow.

"I'd like that very much," you say. Joel nods, his mouth curling upward into a soft smile. You push the lettuce to the side and get started with the onions. Almost immediately, your eyes begin to water. You tilt your head up, blinking them away, before you continue.

"Alright?" Joel asks, when you sniffle. You wipe at your face with the top of your arm.

"Just really happy that we're friends," you tell him, and he laughs, shaking his head. He rinses his hands and then reaches for a box of face tissues. Your hands are still wet from all the produce you've cut.

"May I?" he asks, and you're not sure what he means but you nod anyways. Gently, he dabs at the tears streaming down your cheeks and your jaw, wiping them away. You shift so you're facing him more fully, giving him access to the right side of your face too. His hand comes up, a finger pressed to the muscle of your jaw to keep you steady, and he wipes away any wetness that lingers. Your eyes still burn and your nose must be red but you can't bring yourself to care. All you can think about is the barely there touch of his index to your jaw. It feels almost like a caress.

"There," Joel murmurs as his eyes trace over your face, scanning as if to check for any missed tears. Your heart thumps against your ribs and you clear your throat.

"Thanks," you say. "I think I'm all done with the veggies."

Joel steps back, tissue dropping from his hand and onto the counter. "Good. I already got the grill goin' so we can carry this out back."

The burgers really are damn good. The flavours melt into your tongue, Joel having seasoned them perfectly. You tell him as much when you're done swallowing a ginourmous bite.

"You weren't kidding about making a good burger," you say. "Jesus, Joel this is probably the best one I've ever had."

Joel quirks a brow, a smile on his mouth. "That so?"

You nod as you take another bite. His eyes stay on you as you chew and swallow and you suddenly feel as if you're being studied. You clear your throat and he glances back down at his plate.

"Once we're done with boxing, I'll take you up on cooking classes," you tell him.

"Don't think Tommy's made coupons for that," Joel says but he's grinning now. He has the beginnings of crows feet, the soft skin by his eyes crinkling.

"Groupons," you correct him, smiling back at him. "And I'm willing to pay full price for 'em."

"Well it'll probably still be cheaper than the boxin' since there's only gonna be two lessons. One for these," he says, gesturing to your now-eaten burger. "And another for pasta. That's about all the cookin' I know."

You laugh. "I think you're being humble, Mr. I-can-build-cars-from-scratch."

Joel snorts. "Just wait until Sarah gets home n' she'll vouch for me."

"Speaking of," you say. "Sarah and I were talking and I wanted to ask if I could come by on Tuesday to help her with geometry."

"I think that should work," Joel says. "If you have the time, we could shift our lesson to after. You could come tutor Sarah whenever and then we can head to the gym. Saves you the trip on Thursday."

It's a good idea. Selfishly, you'd like to see Joel more than once a week but you nod anyways. You pull out your phone and open up your calendar.

"I'm done at two p.m. and it should take me about an hour to get here after that," you tell him. "Does that work?"

He hums, nodding. "I pick up Sarah around three so that should be fine. Y'all can take however long you need and then we can get started."

"Any spoilers about what lesson number four is gonna be?" you ask, eyebrows raised.

"We're goin' to be movin' a bit more," Joel says. "And that's all I'll say."

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes.

[Anika, 13:55 pm]: I think I'm here!

You look up at Joel. "Anika's here. I should probably get going."

"Alright," Joel agrees. "Thanks for keepin' me company."

"Thank you for lunch. And for the ride. And for taking a look at my car," you say and Joel shakes his head, exasperated. You know how he feels about you making it seem like he's doing you a favour. In his eyes he isn't, but you know he is.

"I'm takin' a look at it tomorrow so I'll let you know what I find and how long it'll take me to fix it," he says.

"Sounds good," you tell him. You text Anika back that you'll be out in a few and help Joel put the dirty dishes into the sink. When you're done, you turn to him.

"I'll see you Tuesday then?" you say and he nods. He walks you to the door, even opening it for you. You grab your bag and give him another wave before you head towards Anika's familiar Corolla. She's looking past you, craning her neck. When you glance behind yourself, you realize it's because Joel's standing on his porch, watching you. You give him a quick wave again before slipping into the car.

"Please ask him out," is how Anika greets you. "That is one of the hottest men I've ever seen. You have to."

She pulls away from the curb.

"Anika —," you start but she interrupts you.

"He's fixing your car for next to nothing and he keeps feeding you," she says. "Now I'm not saying he isn't sweet and his intentions aren't pure. That being said, you need to go for it. His eyes literally followed you all the way to my car."

"He's my boxing instructor," you argue weakly. Nerves erupt inside of you. Dating has always stressed you out and the few relationships you've been in were fine, but you were in them because you felt like you had to be rather than because it felt right.

"That's such a hot power dynamic," Anika says and you snort, slumping into the seat. You look up at the grey ceiling of her car. "He could probably hold you down with like, one arm."

"How's Vicky?" you ask, changing topics and ignoring the heat in your cheeks. Vicky and Anika have been dating for six months now and you've never seen a couple more compatible. Seeing them together had given you a new surge of motivation to start dating again. You had even re-downloaded Hinge for three days two months ago, before you had uninstalled it again. Something about getting a message that read wanna meet up 2nite? took you out of the fantasy.

"She's perfect as usual," Anika says. "I know you're trying to change subjects, by the way. I'll allow it for now but trust, when we get into that bottle of wine later today, we are going to talk about it."

"Fine," you acquiesce. Wine makes you brave so it might be easier to talk about it then. "So are you still meeting Vicky's parents this month?"

Anika's eyes light up, a bright smile gracing her face. "She's taking me to their ranch in two weeks. I can't wait. I'm going to need your help figuring out outfits. I'm thinking cowboy chic."

"D'you think you can be good and listen?" Joel asks, his voice low. He's standing closer to you than usual, his broad chest just a hairsbreadth away from your back. You can feel the heat emanating off of him, can imagine how warm his skin must feel. You're too distracted by his proximity to answer. Everything feels warm and hazy and your own skin is heating up. You look around you, and you're back at the boxing gym but this time you're in the ring. Your front is pressed to the ropes that bound the space, and Joel is caging you there. His arm comes up around your neck, his bicep pressing into your jaw so that your chin is tucked into the crook of his elbow. The curve of the muscle is right there in front of you, golden and tempting. You open your mouth, pressing your upper canines into it. You want to leave a mark.

"Sweetheart," Joel drawls, and now his mouth is right by your ear. You can feel his chest moving as he breathes. He squeezes his arm so that his bicep presses into your jaw and you shudder. "I asked you a question."

Sweetheart?

You tilt your head up and Joel's mouth presses a wet kiss to the space between your neck and ear. You shiver in his arms.

"Joel," you say and your voice is breathy. It sounds different then it usually does. Suddenly, the arm that isn't around your neck moves, his palm coming to grip your hip, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel him entirely. The strength in his chest, the slight softness of his stomach, and the hard length of him pressed to your tailbone. You shudder, arching into him. His arm tightens around your neck and your hips shift backwards, desperate for some sort of friction. You can feel yourself drip into your underwear. God, how did this even happen?

"What's the matter baby?" Joel asks, his mouth brushing against your ear. You whimper, pushing back into him and his grip on your hip tightens. He shifts his own hips, pushing himself more firmly against you. You can feel the heat of his cock, even through two layers of clothing. His hand creeps down the front of your leggings, cupping you through the flimsy cotton of your underwear and you rut into his palm, uncaring of how desperate you must seem.

"Now I understand," he says. "My poor girl's desperate for it, isn't she?"

You nod, the movement restricted by his arm. Your mouth opens against it, your tongue pressing into his hot, salty skin.

His fingers find your clit through the wet gusset of your underwear and he draws quick circles. You can feel yourself grow even wetter, the pleasure inside of you reaching a pinnacle. Just as you're about to let go, you hear something. It sounds like a bell tolling. Or are those wind chimes? Your brows furrow and Joel's fingers seemingly disappear from you soaked panties. You can no longer feel the heat of him along your back and the hum of pleasure that was buzzing inside of you seems to fizzle away.

You wake up out of breath and your neck is so sweaty you can feel the dampness it's left behind on your pillowcase. Shit. You just had a wet dream about Joel. Joel who's fixing your car and who cooked you lunch and offers you rides since he's apparently, the nicest man ever. Joel, who had said that the two of you were friends. Friends. Nothing more. You sit up and swipe at the screen of your phone, hoping to turn off your wretched alarm. God, couldn't it have waited two minutes? Flipping over your pillow, you slump back into bed. You try not to linger on the dream but you're only human. And it's almost as if you can still feel Joel's big hands all over your hips and cupping your cunt. You think of how his arm had felt, holding you in place as he had curved it around your throat. Without even realizing, your own hand starts creeping below the waistband of your sleep pants. You hesitate when your fingers brush the bow on your underwear. Would you be able to face Joel later this week if you did this? You consider it for a handful of seconds and then decide, fuck it. You can't remember the last time you had a nice dream, let alone one that gave you any sort of pleasure. Plus, wine has always made you like this, wanton and flushed with need. You and Anika had finished almost two bottles the night before as she had quizzed you about Joel and his life and what you knew about it.

You fingers slip into your underwear and you shift your hips up, already feeling so close to the edge of your orgasm once more. You think of your dream, of how you could feel Joel's breath against your ear and how his thick fingers moved against your cunt as if he already knew how to draw pleasure from you. It's right as you're about to curl two fingers into your wet heat that your phone starts making noise again, this time even more obnoxiously. You yelp at the shock of it and the pleasure dissipates once more.

"You okay?" Anika yells through the door and you groan. You slip your hand out of your pants and sit up.

"All good," you yell back. The moment has passed and now all you can focus on is how dry your mouth feels. There's a slight ache behind your eyes too, remnants of the wine from the night before. You need water. And maybe a vibrator.

Just friends, you repeat to yourself as you get out of bed. You can feel the wetness in your underwear, and you let out a sigh as you make your way to your bathroom. You need to shower all of this off of you.

“Y’all are ridiculous” a voice draws your attention away from where it had been glued for the past few minutes.

Tommy, of course, who had been gracious enough to wait in line with you while Joel keeps the kids occupied at the table.

You don’t know who looked first, but before you knew it, those soft, brown eyes were on yours again. A gentle smirk revealing a singular dimple focused entirely on you while his hands keep Ellie occupied and giggling. Your two oldest chatting amongst themselves as they focus intently on the coloring books in front of them.

You clear your throat and step up to the counter, ordering all the favorites of your little family.

“I mean hell, nearly 15 years and y’all act like it’s somethin’ new. Not that that’s somethin’ to be ashamed of, but it’s just bewilderin’ to me.”

You turn towards Tommy after you pay and get your order ticket, your hand lifts and pats him on the back, “who knows, maybe this’ll be you and Maria, y’never know!”

He scoffs and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with his hand, “well, I never said I didn’t want what y’all have, you’ve just set a high ass standard, I hope she doesn’t get scared away by it.”

You both walk back to the table, and Joel’s eyes have followed you the whole way back.

You lean down and give him a peck to his lips, knowing that’s what he’d been waiting for. That earns you the smallest, imperceptible grunt of approval as he motions towards Tommy to catch him up in the conversation.

“He’s worried we’ve set too high of standards for he and Maria,” it’s a cliff notes version, Tommy starts to object but realizes you’ve summed it up perfectly.

“In what way?” Joel’s eyebrows raise, a signal that he’s genuinely curious.

He takes the receipt and folds it into his wallet, he knows you prefer it being neatly folded rather than crumpled for when you document all expenditures. Thoughtful, in all things.

“Y’know in what way, she’s heard your story and sees how in sync y’all are and always have been, I’m just… me. Ain’t the same as you big brother.”

And well, there’s no denying that fact. But you don’t want him to doubt how much he’s changed and his intentions he’s established within this new version of himself.

“Don’t discredit the work you’ve put into yourself and your relationship,” you’re quick to defend him against himself, “Maria loves you, you love her… your story is yours, your love is yours, can’t compare it to anyone else’s.”

He nods slowly, his attention quickly diverted to Artie who was intently coloring with what he has deemed as Tommy’s favorite colors. Tommy had never said otherwise, but it meant that anytime Artie uses those colors he had to show him.

“Aw, looks great little man. Can I have it? I’d love to put that on my fridge.”

The praise from his uncle causes Artie’s eyes to gleam with pride, a wide smile plastered on his face as he accidentally bumps his little legs against the booth beneath him in excitement. He nods his head eagerly.

As Tommy’s attention returns to the two of you, he just shakes his head, “would it kill y’all to quit it for five seconds?”

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Usually, you’d dissuade the men from using such language around the kids, but even Ellie’s preoccupied with her stuffed animal she never leaves home without. Off in her world of imagination, occasionally using Joel’s lap, arms, or head as a walking path for her pretend adventures.

Occasionally he’ll poke her in her side to send her into another fit of giggles, and you’ll never get over how she looks at the man she’s lucky enough to have as her daddy.

“I think… well, I am gonna propose.” He says it quiet enough so as to not alert his blabbermouth of a niece, or your oldest… who’d recently become thick as thieves with Maria since they’d spent time together while you and Joel were celebrating your anniversary.

It was no secret that she couldn’t keep a secret.

Joel strategically uses this to his advantage. Knowing you’re not keen on surprises, he’ll confide in Sarah when planning something for you or the family. It was an indirect way to let you know he’s scheming something. He may not tell her every detail but he’ll tell her just enough so she runs and tells you as many details as she can remember.

It’s genius, really.

Sarah did the legwork for him, and he reaped the benefits. The important details that may make or break his schemes were fine-tuned, and he was still able to maintain some surprise for his final reveal.

For example, when he built the kids a treehouse, he also remembered you mentioning how much you wanted a shed as a shared workspace for his woodworking and your newfound interest in pottery-making.

Sometimes he’ll ask for her input, or what she thinks you’d like and then any corrections or deliberations could be ironed out with you folded in half beneath him.

It also provided the excuse of mommy and daddy needing to be alone to discuss the treehouse and cannot be interrupted! The kids took these things very seriously, knowing if they didn’t go to bed and stay in bed that the process would take much longer than they could handle.

For anything not meant to be a partial surprise, he was more than ecstatic to fill you in on every detail. But this allowed Sarah to take pride in being his little confidant, whilst also respecting your wishes to be included in big decisions.

Of course, in the re-telling by Sarah, the shed was only briefly mentioned, but it still got the point across.

“Oh my god, that’s wonderful!” You say it a little too loudly and Tommy catches that mischievous curiosity out of the corner of his eye.

Sarah knowing you have a secret is also a bad position to be in.

“That our number was just called,” you add, somehow satisfying her curiosity as you and Joel get up to retrieve the trays of food from the counter.

“Lucky timing, darlin’,” Joel’s eyes catch yours once again, that mischievous gleam… so similar to all of your kiddos, but so distinctly his… intently looking at you.

He steals a quick kiss from you before you take the food back to your suddenly ravenous kids.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

But Texas wasn't cruel about it either. There was a different kind of mercy in the heat that clung to the windows even after dark, in the scrubby, sun-bleached scenery that had never once tried to compete with a skyline. New York made you feel like an ant crawling between glass towers. This, this flat, wide, cricket-loud dark, made you feel like something with actual weight again, feet planted on the same dirt you'd grown up running barefoot across. You'd lived here almost your whole life before you hadn't. Of course some part of you still fit the shape of it.

You stared up at the popcorn ceiling, tracing the bumps and shadows into shapes that weren't really there, a lopsided star, a rabbit with one ear, a scatter that looked almost like the freckles on Joel's shoulder if you squinted hard enough and hated yourself a little. The trees outside threw restless shadows across the comforter, black lace shifting every time the wind picked up.

Someone else, in some other life, might've found this peaceful. The kind of quiet you could sink into. But every time your eyes started to drift shut, your whole body would jerk back awake, chest heaving, heart slamming against your ribs like it was trying to escape the room without you. Even as you forced yourself to breathe through it, slow in, slower out, the adrenaline didn't fade. It just sat there in your blood, patient, waiting for the thoughts to catch up.

What if he gets up without calling for you? What if he falls? What if he wakes up remembering Claire? Or worse… what if he wakes up remembering everything?

Fuck it. Lying here dissecting your own nervous system wasn't doing anyone any good.

You pushed the sheets off, the cool air biting at your bare legs, and picked your way across the cold hardwood with the kind of practiced, silent stealth that came back to you frighteningly fast, third board from the closet creaks, skip it, the one by the dresser groans low, step wide.

Joel's door sat cracked open exactly the way you'd left it. Moonlight slid in through a gap in the curtains, laying a pale stripe across his bicep, his chest, catching on the slow, even rise and fall of his breathing. He looked almost peaceful like this. Almost like none of the last twenty-four hours had happened at all.

You crossed the room slowly, kneeling by the edge of the mattress, leaning in close enough that his exhale ghosted warm against your cheek.

"Joel?" Barely a whisper.

Nothing. Your pulse ticked up a notch.

You leaned closer still, close enough to catch the smell of him, that low, warm mix of sleep and skin and something underneath that was just him, unchanged by five years or state lines. "Joel. Hey. Wake up."

His eyes dragged open, slow and heavy-lidded, and for one full, suspended second, he didn't move. He just looked at you. Then his brow furrowed, deep and genuine, confusion spreading over his face like a shadow crossing water.

"I'm sorry… who're you?"

The words hit you like a dropped glass, all sharp edges and sudden silence.

"What? Are you- Are you serious? Joel, it's me." The words came out before you could stop them, panic cracking your voice down the middle as your hand shot out to grab his wrist. The floor seemed to tilt beneath your knees. This was it. This was the nightmare you'd been rehearsing all night, the hole in his memory finally widening enough to swallow you whole too.

You were already halfway to your feet, already reaching for where you'd left your phone, Dr. Anders's number burning behind your eyes, when a low rumble started building in his chest.

Then he lost it completely.

Joel's shoulders shook, the vacant look melting off his face in an instant, replaced by that familiar, wicked glint you hadn't seen in five long years, the one that used to mean you were about thirty seconds from wanting to strangle him.

"God, darlin'," he wheezed, dragging a hand down his face, laughter cracking his voice in half. “You shoulda seen yourself. Went white as a damn sheet. Looked like you'd seen a ghost-“

"You-" Your voice came out strangled. "You son of a bitch."

The adrenaline that had kept you upright curdled instantly into something hot and shaking. You swiped at your eyes and realized, humiliatingly, that they'd gone wet. "That's not funny, Joel. That's not even a little bit funny."

"Aww, c'mere." His laughter softened into something gentler, something almost sorry, and his hand found your wrist before you could retreat into the hallway and slam the door on both of you. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. You were hoverin' over me like a nurse waitin' for me to flatline… it was just too easy."

He tugged, gentle but insistent, and because you were bone-tired and your defenses had been worn down to nothing, you let him pull you down onto the edge of the mattress.

"You jerk." You dragged in a breath, steadying yourself, glaring at him through the dark. "You're lucky you're fragile right now, because I would not be this forgivin' under normal circumstances."

"I'm a jerk with a broken leg and a concussion," he reminded you, thumb tracing slow, absent circles over the back of your hand. "Give a man a little grace."

You looked at him, really looked, the moonlight carving soft silver along his jaw, and for one unguarded second, the clinical, careful silence of the room cracked open to let a memory through. A real one. Warm and whole and untouched by everything that came after.

"Grace?" A small, involuntary laugh slipped free, the corner of your mouth twitching upward before you could stop it. "The last time I gave you grace, I spent four hours in the middle of the night pressin' cold, wet towels to your face because you thought you could handle that monster of a 'Hell-Fire' wing at the state fair."

Joel's eyes lit up like a struck match. A genuine, booming laugh rolled out of him, cutting off into a wince and a grin at the same time. "Hey!” he whisper shouted, “That guy told me nobody had ever finished the whole thing. I liked my odds."

"You had one bite. A single bite," you shot back, the tension bleeding slowly out of your shoulders as the memory unfurled fully in front of you. "You were cryin', Joel. Actual, silent tears runnin' down your face while you tried to insist it 'wasn't even that spicy' through lips swollen to three times their normal size."

"I was fine," he wheezed, his thumb pausing over your knuckles just long enough to squeeze. "And you didn't leave me to suffer alone, either. Sat on the edge of that tub and hand-fed me ice cream for two hours while I hummed every song I could think of just to keep from screamin' like a man bein' murdered."

The memory hit you with a warmth you weren't remotely prepared for, the two of you crammed into that too-small bathroom, knees knocking, laughing until your ribs ached because your big, stubborn Texan husband had finally, gloriously met his match in a ghost pepper. That was the Joel you'd fallen for. Not the man who cheated. Not the man who let you down, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to salvage. Just this, too stubborn for his own good, and somehow, impossibly, still yours in this one suspended moment.

"I think Tommy still has the photo of your face the next morning," you murmured, the smile softening into something quieter, more dangerous, as your fingers found their way into his hair without permission from the rest of you.

"Probably," Joel said softly, leaning into the touch without thinking, his other hand still wrapped loosely around yours, refusing to let go. His eyes had gone heavy again, humor giving way to that raw, medicated exhaustion tugging at the edges of him.

You stayed there, letting your fingers rake slowly through the salt-and-pepper strands, the motion so familiar it felt like no time had passed at all, like the last five years had folded up small enough to fit in your back pocket and disappear.

"Have you slept at all?" he asked, breaking the quiet that had settled comfortably between you.

"A little," you lied.

He shook his head slow against the pillow. "Liar." A pause. "But I haven't either."

His smile finally faded, something more solemn taking its place. He glanced at the empty stretch of mattress beside him, your side, once, a lifetime ago.

"Just stay. At least till I fall asleep." His voice dropped, rough at the edges. "You know I can't sleep without you…"

You knew you should walk away. You knew the real Joel, the one who should be sitting across from you, had spent the last five years sleeping just fine without you, had probably slept in this very bed with someone else, for all you knew. But the "Hell-Fire" Joel, the one still hovering warm and unguarded in the air between you, was the man you'd never quite managed to stop loving, no matter how far you ran or how many state lines you put between yourself and Texas. You were so tired. And the scent of the room, cedar and rain-cooled cotton, was pulling at a version of you too worn down to keep fighting it at three in the morning.

"Just for a little while," you whispered, finally caving, climbing over the edge of the mattress onto what used to be your side. You stayed close to the edge, spine to him, eyes fixed on the shifting shadows against the wall.

"You're gonna fall clean off the bed if you get any further away," Joel mumbled, words already slurring soft with sleep.

Slowly, carefully, he shifted. He didn't pull you against him, just leaned forward until his forehead came to rest between your shoulder blades, warm and solid and asking nothing more of you than this. It wasn't a demand. It was an anchor.

"No more spicy wings," he breathed against your shirt, voice thinning to almost nothing. "Promise."

A stray, broken laugh caught in your throat. You closed your eyes. For the first time since the phone had rung in your apartment a lifetime ago, the static behind your ribs finally went quiet. Joel's breathing deepened, slow and even, and as the Texas night pressed soft against the windows, you let your head sink into the pillow until your own breath found the same rhythm as his.

The morning sun didn't ease in. It arrived with an arrogance, bold and gold, forcing its way through every gap the curtains failed to cover.

You didn't wake to an alarm. You woke to weight. Heavy, solid, radiating heat like a furnace banked low overnight. For one long, hazy minute, the past folded seamlessly into the present, and God, it was a gift you hadn't earned. You melted further into it before your brain caught up, and a large, calloused hand moved instinctively to follow, splaying flat against your stomach, drawing you back against a broad, warm chest. A face nuzzled into the curve of your neck, breath slow and hot against your skin.

"Stay," Joel murmured, the word rough with sleep, vibrating straight through you. His lips began a slow drift down your neck, tracing a path they'd memorized a lifetime ago, grazing skin in a way your body remembered even when your mind was screaming at you to run.

You let out a soft, involuntary hum, tilting your head to give him more room before you'd made a single conscious decision to do so. Your hips rolled back on instinct, chasing a heat you thought you'd forgotten how to want.

Joel met the movement instantly, hips answering yours, his hand sliding higher up your abdomen to anchor you flush against him. The friction dragged a low, rough sound out of his chest, half groan, half your name.

"Fuck, darlin'," he breathed.

Your eyes flew open.

Reality hit like a bucket of ice water straight down your spine. This wasn't your husband. This was your ex-husband, tangled around you like you were the only solid thing left in his world, and every nerve in your body had just betrayed you completely.

Your heart lurched. You scrambled, all frantic, jerky movement, peeling his heavy arm off your waist as gently as a panicking person possibly could, careful not to jostle the cast between you. Joel groaned low in protest, eyes fluttering without fully opening, his hand already searching the cooling sheets you'd abandoned.

"Sweetheart?" Half a question, thick with sleep.

"I'm up!" Your voice came out two octaves too bright, too fast, as you shoved your hair back and swung your legs over the side of the bed. "I'm up- I have to make breakfast. The pills. You need to eat before the morning pills."

You were out the door before he could fully process the sentence, feet hitting cold hardwood, heart hammering a frantic, guilty rhythm as you all but sprinted down the hallway. You didn't look back once.

The kitchen felt like a sanctuary you hadn't earned. You braced both palms against the counter, chest heaving, staring at the coffee maker like it might have answers. Get it together. It was one night. One accidental, half-asleep tangle of limbs. It didn't mean anything.

But your skin was still humming everywhere he'd touched it, and it had been the best sleep you'd had in years, and that had nothing to do with Joel. Obviously. You were exhausted, emotionally wrung out, running on fumes. Joel had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Right.

To drown out the increasingly unconvincing arguments your own conscience kept lobbing at you, you moved. You cracked eggs with more force than necessary, let bacon spit and hiss in the pan, gripped the spatula like it was the only thing tethering you to the room. Between tasks, you fired off a text to Tommy:

Can you come by soon, everything's fine, I just need to get out of the house for a bit 

And true to Tommy fashion, all you got back was a thumbs-up.

You were halfway through plating breakfast when the uneven rhythm of crutches started down the stairs, thump-drag, thump-drag, growing louder as it approached the kitchen. Your shoulders went rigid on reflex.

"Somethin' in here smells like heaven," Joel's voice drifted in, clearer now, the sleep mostly shaken off his words.

You turned, a bright, brittle smile already fixed in place, armored and ready before you lost your nerve completely.

He swung himself into the doorway, hair a wrecked mess of sleep-mussed curls, gray henley stretched taut across his shoulders. His eyes moved over the spread. Bacon, eggs, toast browned just shy of burnt, before landing on you. Whatever intensity had softened with sleep sharpened right back up in the morning light.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble, darlin'."

"It's no trouble." Your movements were quick, clipped, efficient, as you set his plate down at the table. "Doctor said you need to eat well. Helps the bone knit back together. Sit. Please."

You watched him lower himself into the chair, every motion a small, careful negotiation with the cast. You ate in a silence too loud for comfort, the scrape of forks against ceramic the only thing standing between you and the scream building somewhere behind your sternum. You were so focused on your eggs you didn't notice him watching until you glanced up for the salt.

"You're quiet today," Joel noted, thumb tracing the rim of his mug. "Even for you."

"Just thinking through the to-do list," you lied smoothly, already standing to clear your plate though you'd barely touched it, appetite long gone. "Errands. Groceries. Some household things. Tommy's coming by to keep you company."

His brow pulled together. "Groceries? We got plenty in the pantry."

"There's half a bag of flour and a jar of pickles, Joel." A little more of your natural edge slipped through despite yourself. "That's not a pantry. That's a cry for help."

A real, warm laugh broke out of him. "Alright, alright. Whatever you say."

Tommy showed up twenty minutes later looking like he'd had just as rough a night as you had. He gave you a knowing, exhausted look as you grabbed your keys off the counter.

"Take your time," he muttered, leaning back against the island. "I'll make sure he doesn't try anything stupid."

The second the truck door clicked shut behind you, you felt something in your chest finally unclench. You drove toward the nearest Target with the windows cracked, letting the hum of the highway steady your nerves in a way the too-quiet house never could. You needed to buy a life. Shampoo that matched the brand in your New York shower. A spare toothbrush. A stack of paperbacks. Anything to fill the hollow, scrubbed-clean spaces in that house before Joel started asking questions his amnesia couldn't cover for.

But before you went inside, you sat in the parking lot with the engine ticking as it cooled and dialed a number you knew by heart.

"You're alive!" Winnie's voice crackled through, loud and vividly herself. "I was about to file a missing persons report. Do the Texas Rangers still exist? Is there a horse involved in this rescue?"

A small, genuinely helpless laugh cracked out of you before you could stop it. "Winnie. God, it is so good to hear your voice."

The line went quiet for exactly one beat. Winnie's tone shifted instantly, teasing dropping away for something razor-sharp. "Okay. Talk to me. What's going on? Is he okay? Are you okay?"

"Work," you started, your lawyer brain scrambling for the wheel. "How's the Henderson filing? Did the partners-"

"Forget the Henderson filing." Winnie cut you off flat. "I want to know why you sound about three seconds from a total breakdown. Straight talk. What the hell is happening down there?"

You dropped your forehead against the steering wheel, the gold band catching the light through the windshield. "He has amnesia, Winnie. He thinks it's five years ago. He thinks we're still married. And the doctor told me I can't tell him the truth, not yet. Says it could shock his brain into shutting the whole process down."

"Wait." Winnie's breath caught audibly. "So you're… you're living in that house? Playing house? With the man who-"

"Yes," you whispered. "I'm in the guest room. Or I was. I'm wearing the ring, Winnie. I made him bacon and eggs this morning like the last five years never happened."

"Hold on, hold on- were in the guest room? What does that mean?"

You let out a slow breath, wincing even though she couldn't see it. "I went to check on him last night and… may have laid down to comfort him. And before I knew it, I was asleep."

"Okay, we're circling back to that. What's he like? Is he the same?"

You closed your eyes, and for a second you could feel the phantom weight of his arm slung heavy across your waist from that morning, feel the heat radiating off him, hear the way he'd said darlin' like it was something sacred.

"That's the problem," you said, voice cracking down the middle. "He's better, Winnie. He's patient. He's kind. He looks at me like I'm the only person left in the world. He looks at me the way he used to, before everything turned ugly. It's like the last five years just… didn't happen to him. But they happened to me. I'm the only one who remembers how it ended, and it's making me feel like I'm losing my mind."

"You need to tread careful, honey," Winnie said, grave now. "Memory's a tricky thing. But muscle memory? That's the real killer. You stay detached, you hear me? Don't let the good version trick you into forgetting why you left in the first place."

"I know." You watched a mother wrangle a shopping cart across the lot, oblivious to the small disaster unfolding in your chest. "I know. I just have to get through the next few weeks. Buy some clothes. Act like I belong there."

"Call me every day," Winnie ordered. "And if he starts looking too good in flannel, you call me immediately. I’ll read you your own divorce decree over the phone if I have to."

You laughed, thin and watery. "Deal."

Inside, you moved through the aisles slower than you needed to, letting the fluorescent hum and cart-wheel squeak fill the silence in your head. Joel's pantry situation turned out to be even sadder up close, one man's worth of groceries, cooking for no one, for years. You tried not to think too hard about what that said.

By the time you loaded the bags into the truck bed, you'd gone fully numb to the strangeness of it all, letting your body drive on autopilot while the rest of you floated somewhere just outside your own skin.

You don't remember turning onto his street. Don't remember slowing at the stop sign, or the way your hand reached automatically to lower a radio that had never even been on.

But when the house comes into view, your grip tightens hard around the wheel.

Still the same. Same wraparound porch, same chipped white paint curling off the railing in thin ribbons, same stubborn wind chime that always catches one note too sharp whenever the breeze shifts.

You pull into the driveway, gravel popping and crunching under the tires.

And there he is.

Joel sits in the old wooden rocking chair on the porch, one leg propped awkwardly in its cast, a sweating glass of water forgotten on the little table beside him. The chair creaks low and steady beneath him, back and forth, like he's got nowhere else in the world to be.

Like he's been waiting the whole time.

His head lifts at the sound of the engine, and the second his eyes find you, his whole face opens up — soft, lit from somewhere underneath, in a way that lands square in your chest before you can brace for it.

He smiles. The real one.

He lifts a hand in a lazy wave. "There she is."

Your breath catches somewhere in your throat.

For one dangerous second, everything else goes quiet, the heat pressing down, the gravel under your shoes, the static behind your ribs, and it feels easy. Frighteningly, seductively easy.

You swallow it down hard, forcing your focus back onto the task in front of you as you cut the engine and climb out. Heat wraps around you instantly, thick and close. You circle to the truck bed, hauling bags out one by one, aware the entire time of his eyes tracking your every movement, warm and unguarded in that way you used to live for.

Your arms are full by the time you shove the tailgate shut with your hip, turning toward the house-

"Well, I'll be damned."

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn.

Mrs. Carter is standing at the edge of the driveway, sandals scuffing to a stop, a canvas grocery bag hooked over one arm. Her eyes flick between you and the porch, lighting up like she's just stumbled onto the best gossip of her week.

"Well, look at this," she says, beaming. "It's real good to see you back."

Your stomach drops straight through the driveway.

Don't look at him. Don't look at him.

"Joel's been a wreck since you've been gone," she adds, breezy, like it's the most ordinary sentence in the world.

Everything in you goes rigid. You can hear the uneven scrape of crutches approaching behind you, and every nerve in your body screams like a struck wire.

The bags dig deep grooves into your fingers. Your lungs feel too small for the air you're pulling into them. Your mouth works before your brain fully catches up.

"Yeah-" You shift the bags, voice pitching too quick, too bright. "Just work stuff. New York got a little crazy for a while."

A beat.

Then, oblivious, Mrs. Carter presses on: "Well, that sure was a long time to be gone for work. Didn't y'all get-"

You cut her off with a sudden, violent coughing fit, loud enough to swallow the end of her sentence whole.

You feel it before you even look, Joel's attention sharpening, the crutches' rhythm slowing to a stop.

"Been gone?" His voice carries from behind you. Not loud. Just enough.

You turn just far enough to catch him leaning forward on the crutches, brow furrowed, gaze moving between you and Mrs. Carter. Not angry. Not yet suspicious. Just trying, earnestly, to make the pieces fit.

Your stomach folds in on itself.

Before you can force out any kind of answer-

"Oh," Joel says, something clicking visibly into place behind his eyes. His shoulders ease. "Yeah. She had to head up to New York for a bit. Work stuff."

Your breath catches hard in your throat.

Mrs. Carter nods immediately, satisfied, no further push behind it. "Well, I'm just glad you're back. He wasn't himself without you."

You force a small smile, knuckles white around the bags. "Yeah… I'm back."

"Well, don't be a stranger now." She's already turning to go. "Town's too small for that."

You nod, barely registering her retreating steps, her words hanging thick and unresolved in the heavy afternoon air.

Silence settles over the driveway.

"You didn't tell me you were gone that long," Joel says quietly. "She made it sound like months."

You shift the bags again, using them as a shield, a reason not to fully face him.

"It wasn't a big deal," you say too fast. "Just work. You know how it gets."

You brace for more. It doesn't come.

Joel just nods, easy, like the explanation slots cleanly into whatever version of the last five years he's built for himself.

"Hey." Softer now. "You're here now. That's all I care about."

You swallow around the lump lodged in your throat and move past him toward the door, shouldering it open before you have to look at his face any longer.

The lie had been easy inside the house.

Out here, in the open air, in front of witnesses who remembered things you'd rather stay buried, it was already starting to crack.

Dinner passed in a quiet neither of you seemed eager to disturb. Not uncomfortable, exactly, just careful, like every thread of conversation wanted to wander somewhere dangerous before one of you gently steered it back to safer ground. You talked about Tommy burning an entire pot of instant rice that afternoon. About the heat finally letting up after sundown. About how Joel swore the new medication made everything taste like wet cardboard, which earned him a pointed look and a laugh when he grimaced dramatically through a bite of green beans. For one fleeting, unguarded stretch of time, it almost felt like an ordinary evening between two ordinary people.

When the plates were empty, Joel insisted on helping clear them despite every protest you offered. Predictably, he nearly lost his balance two steps from the sink, trying to juggle a stack of dishes and his crutches at once, and only avoided disaster because you lunged and caught the plates just before they hit the floor.

"I was helpin'," he defended, grinning like a man who knew exactly how close that had been.

"You were two seconds from breakin' your other leg."

"Worth a shot."

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile you couldn't fully suppress as you steered him toward the back door. "Go sit down before I have to explain to Dr. Anders how you survived fallin' off a scaffold just to wipe out in your own kitchen."

"Yes, ma'am."

The screen door creaked shut behind him, and a moment later, the low, warm sound of guitar strings drifted back through the open kitchen window.

Your hands stilled beneath the running water almost instantly.

The melody started soft, almost absent-minded, his fingers finding their footing before he committed to the rhythm, but you recognized it before he'd made it through the first line. It wasn't a song anyone else would know. Joel had written it years ago, during one of those long, slow stretches when work dried up and he'd spend whole evenings on the porch with a beer sweating in one hand and the guitar balanced across his lap. He always swore it wasn't finished. He played it often enough that you used to hum along without meaning to, the melody stitched somewhere permanent under your skin.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd heard it before tonight.

The sponge sat forgotten in your hand, water running cold over your fingers, your eyes drawn helplessly toward the window. Outside, the porch light threw a warm gold halo over the railing, and you could just make out Joel's silhouette rocking slow in the old chair, cast stretched stiff in front of him. His fingers moved over the strings without hesitation, without searching, like his hands had never once forgotten the shape of this song even while the rest of him forgot everything after it.

Memory was a strange, uneven thing, you thought. His mind couldn't hold onto the last five years. But his hands still knew every chord by heart.

You finished the dishes slower than you needed to, drying each plate with your attention fixed somewhere far past the kitchen wall. By the time you folded the towel over the sink's edge, the song had wound down to its last, unresolved note, leaving only the steady chorus of crickets to fill the space it left behind.

When you stepped out onto the porch, Joel looked up with an easy smile that hadn't dimmed once since you'd gotten home.

"There you are," he said. "Thought maybe you drowned in the sink."

"I was cleaning."

"You've been cleanin' for fifteen minutes."

"There were a lot of dishes."

He gave you a look that made it clear he wasn't buying a word of it, but instead of pushing, he just nodded toward the empty rocking chair beside him. "Come sit."

You hesitated only a beat before lowering yourself into it, the old wood groaning softly under your weight. The evening had cooled just enough to make sitting outside comfortable, the air carrying the green smell of cut grass and the distant, half-hearted bark of someone's dog down the road. Joel rested the guitar flat across his lap, plucking one more absent chord, his gaze fixed somewhere out past the yard.

"Haven't played in a while," he said after a minute.

"You haven't forgotten how."

A faint smile. "Guess not."

His fingers brushed the strings again before his eyes slid sideways to you. "Funny thing is, I didn't even have to think about it. Hands just knew where to go on their own."

You followed his gaze down to the guitar, your stomach tightening into a slow, cold knot.

"Muscle memory," you murmured.

"Yeah."

The silence that settled between you was comfortable for exactly one breath. You could feel him studying the side of your face, and when you finally glanced over, he made no attempt to pretend otherwise.

"What?" you asked.

He lifted one shoulder in a slow shrug. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I just-" He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, hunting for the right words. "You've been lookin' at me funny all day."

"I've been making sure you're okay."

"I know the difference."

The certainty in his voice caught you completely off guard.

"You keep watchin' me like you're waitin' on somethin'. Like every time I walk into a room, you're wonderin' if today's the day somethin' finally changes."

Your gaze dropped to your hands, folded tight in your lap.

"Did I do somethin'?" he asked quietly.

The question landed harder than you were braced for.

"What?"

"Before I got hurt." He spoke slower now, piecing the thought together carefully as he stared out past the porch rail. "Did we have a fight? Did I say somethin' stupid? Everybody keeps lookin' at me like there's some big thing nobody's tellin' me, and I hit my head, darlin', I didn't lose my whole damn mind."

You let out a slow breath, fingers tightening around each other.

"The doctor wants your memories comin' back on their own."

Joel frowned. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got."

"No, it isn't."

His tone wasn't angry. If anything, it sounded worn thin, tired in a way that had nothing to do with the concussion.

"You could tell me."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because Dr. Anders thinks it could do more harm than good."

Joel let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head at the guitar in his lap. "So everybody gets to know what's wrong with me except me."

"That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?"

You opened your mouth. Nothing came.

He looked up again, and whatever frustration had been simmering behind his eyes had softened into something that ached far worse to look at.

"I'm scared," he admitted, voice quiet in the dark. "I wake up every mornin' feelin' like I'm readin' the middle of somebody else's story. Tommy keeps lookin' at me like he's about to say somethin' and then swallows it back down. Mrs. Carter's got memories I don't. The nurses talked to me like I might shatter if somebody said the wrong word." He swallowed hard, eyes finding yours again in the porch light. "And you- you look at me like you're carryin' around the one answer I'm not allowed to ask for."

Tears pricked hot at the backs of your eyes.

"I'm trying to help you."

"I know."

"Then trust me."

"I do trust you." The answer came instant, unhesitating, and somehow that only made it worse.

"I just don't understand why everybody else gets to decide what I can handle."

The words hung there, carried off slowly by the breeze moving through the trees at the edge of the yard.

You stared out past the porch rail, blinking hard against the sting building behind your eyes.

"I hate lying to you."

The confession slipped free before you could stop it.

Joel was quiet a long moment before he finally spoke. "Then don't."

You laughed, soft and utterly without humor. "If it were that simple, don't you think I would've already?"

He searched your face for something you couldn't give him. Eventually he nodded, more to himself than to you, and reached carefully for his crutches, setting the guitar against the railing.

"I don't wanna fight with you," he said, pushing himself up, finding his balance with a slight hobble. "I just, I need you to promise me somethin'."

You looked up.

"When I do remember-" He paused, gripping the crutch handles a little tighter. "Don't let everybody else tell me who I was before I get the chance to figure it out for myself."

Your throat closed around a knot you couldn't swallow.

He wasn't asking if he'd remember.

He believed, completely, that he would.

What he was really asking was whether the man waiting for him on the other side of that memory was someone worth becoming again.

"I promise," you whispered.

Joel held your gaze a second longer before offering a tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good," he murmured. "Because I'm startin' to think whoever that guy is… everybody's a little afraid of him."

The screen door swung shut softly behind him, leaving you alone on the porch with the guitar propped against the railing and the weight of a promise you weren't entirely sure you could keep. The night stretched on, quiet and endless around you, and for the first time since you'd landed back in Texas, you found yourself wondering if the thing you feared most wasn't Joel remembering at all.

Maybe it was what the truth would do to both of you once he finally did.

Test after test. All negative. You didn’t know what was wrong, didn’t know how to come out of the bathroom every time to tell Harry the bad news. 

Waiting for three to five minutes for the results always put you on edge. You’d feel anxiety simmer in the pit of your stomach every time—it made you feel sick, waiting for the test to say it was negative yet again. Even with more time spent with Harry away from the kids (your parents and his enjoyed the amount of time they got to spend with them), you still weren’t pregnant. 

And the sex was amazing—it always was, but it felt so misleading afterwards because after every session, both you and Harry were sure that that was it. That you’d finally be pregnant, you’d finally share the good news with the kids that they were going to have another sibling. 

But after every test, your hope for another child diminished slowly. 

And you could tell that it was affecting Harry too. 

Harry was exhausted. It wasn’t that sex stopped being enjoyable, but it started feeling more like a chore for the both of you. You were trying to figure things out on your own—afraid to go to the doctors in case something more serious was going on. 

And he didn’t push you. It was your body and Harry knew better than to say otherwise, but scheduling sex was starting to take a toll on him. 

Because it stopped being about a moment to share between the both of you and started to feel like something you both had to do because you were ovulating. 

So, he started working more again. Came up with excuses that he had meetings that made him stay later at work or had him come earlier than everyone else. 

But he hated it too because it meant spending more time away from you and the kids. 

When the recent pregnant test came up negative again, Harry did something that he was sure you’d be angry with him for. 

He set up a doctors appointment for himself and for you. 

“Baby,” Harry sighed, sitting at the edge of the bed still dressed in his suit from work. “I’m sorry, but we both know that you weren’t going to schedule it yourself.” 

You looked down at him and shook your head. “You should’ve at least talked to me about it first.” 

“I tried!” Harry said, voice raising just a bit before he realized that the kids were already fast asleep. He sighed and reached up to loosen the tie around his neck. “I tried, baby. You wanted to keep trying, wanted to try out the things you saw online and it hasn’t worked.” 

“We weren’t trying that long—” 

“You’re lying to yourself if you think that we haven’t been trying long enough.” 

You sighed. “Harry—”

“Aren’t you tired, baby? Because I—I’m fucking exhausted,” he confessed.

“What?” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” he sighed, looking up at you with his deep brown eyes that glazed over with unshed tears. “I’m tired of being disappointed and not knowing what’s wrong. We’ve been doing everything right and we’re still not pregnant. Don’t you want to check what’s going on?”

“Of course I’m tired,” you said quietly. “Of course I’m fucking exhausted whenever I have to take that pregnancy test only to be disappointed when it shows up negative,” you continued, arms crossed over your chest as tears trickled down your cheeks. “But I’m scared—fucking terrified, Harry, because what if this is bigger than just my inability to get pregnant? What if it’s something more serious?”

“Then wouldn’t you want to know?” Harry asked, standing up from the edge of the bed abruptly to walk over to you. “I would want to know if something’s wrong,” he said quietly, hands resting on your hips lightly. “Because then we’ll have a plan of action to tackle it together.” 

You looked up at him and shook your head, keeping your arms crossed over your chest despite his hands on your body. “I don’t—I don’t want to know.”

He shook his head. “It’s not up for debate. This isn’t something we’re negotiating on, baby. We are getting this checked. You and me,” Harry said. “You don’t think I’m scared? You don’t think I’m worried that maybe it’s me that’s the problem?”

“Harry—”

“No,” he interrupted quietly. “I need to know what’s going on and I can’t keep up with this schedule that you have… I don’t want sex to be some kind of chore that we need to do.”

You furrowed a brow and pulled away from him, lower lip quivering just slightly. “Are you not enjoying it? Is sex not something you want—”

“What?” Harry sighed and tried to reach for you again, but you just stepped back. “That’s not what I meant, baby.”

“Then what did you mean, Harry? Because to me, it sounds like you’re tired of having sex because we’re doing it so much.” 

“We’re not doing it because we want to do it,” Harry muttered. “We’re doing it because we have to.” 

“We both want another child,” you said. “That’s what we both talked about.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But something is wrong,” Harry confessed. “I know it. You know it. We can’t—we can’t keep ignoring it.” 

“And what happens if I’m the problem, Harry? Will you look at me differently? Will you no longer want me because I can’t get pregnant?”

“What?” Harry shook his head, disbelief written across his features. “Are you serious? Do you really think that low of me?”

“I don’t know!” 

“You don’t—” he scoffed, not bothering to finish that sentence as he turned to grab his blazer from the bed. “I set up the doctors appointment for the both of us… because I thought that we could do it together—that whatever life threw our way, we’d be right by each other’s sides.”

“Harry—” You bit your lower lip and sighed, feeling the weight in your chest when you realized how you might have sounded to him. 

“I think we both just need to cool off,” he interrupted, slipping his shoes back on and pulling his blazer over his shoulders. 

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here,” Harry answered, not sparing you another glance as he walked past you and out the bedroom and down the hallway. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when Harry wasn’t home yet. So, you sat on the deck in the backyard, waiting for him to come home. It wasn’t until it was close to midnight by the time you heard the sliding door open. You didn’t need to turn in the direction of the sound to know it was him. 

He sat next to you and before you could say anything else, you felt his arms wrap around you to pull you close to his side. You let out a shaky breath and leaned into him, eyes falling shut as tears trickled down your cheeks. You knew that you hurt him—your fear of knowing what could be wrong had hurt him. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” he whispered, shaking his head as his arms just tightened around you further. “I know, baby.”

“You were just doing something that you thought was right and I—I’m just scared,” you said quietly. “I don’t want there to be anything wrong, but I just feel—I feel like there is and I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it.”

Harry looked down at you and sighed. He knew he shouldn’t have left, but he just needed some time to think, needed the space to do it. He reached up and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing across a tear that trickled down your cheek. “You won’t be alone,” he said softly. “I’ll be right here, baby… and I’m sorry too. I should’ve—I should’ve talked to you about it first and I shouldn’t have left either.”

“Is this—is this worth it?” You asked quietly. “Is trying for another baby worth it?” 

He clenched his jaw. It was a thought that had crossed his mind many times in the last few months, but when he remembered how you were with Frankie and then Sammy, it made him feel guilty that he even questioned it. “I think it’s worth it if you think it is,” he answered honestly.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But every time I think about not wanting to do this anymore, I think back to Stevie, to Frankie… to Sammy.” 

He nodded, slowly bringing you to sit on his lap as he felt your arm wrap around him. Harry sighed and rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes falling shut as he felt you lean further into him. “Then whatever the doctors say… we handle it together.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “And—and sex?”

He cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier,” Harry answered with a sigh. “It’s not exhausting. It’s not—”

“It’s okay,” you interjected. “And it is exhausting. That’s not who we are. Scheduling sex—it’s not something that we do.”

Harry sighed. “I know,” he said. “But we had to try everything.”

You nodded, resting your cheek against the crown of his head as you felt his arms tighten around your hips. “I hate fighting with you,” you replied. “I can’t even sleep if you’re not next to me.” 

Harry looked up at you and leaned up to lightly peck your lips. “Me too, baby… and I hate seeing you so upset and me being the reason for it.”

“You weren’t the reason why I was upset.”

“I was.”

“You weren’t.”

Harry sighed, staring up at you. “I was.”

“I know it came from a place of love,” you responded. “And I just—I didn’t see that initially. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Harry replied, slowly standing from the deck and pulling you up with him. “I love you,” he said softly, hand coming up to your cheek. “I’ll always love you, baby, okay? You changed my life. You gave me everything I ever dreamt of. I’m never leaving you, you got it?” 

You nodded, hands moving to rest on his chest as you looked up at him. “I love you too,” you answered. “Now, can we go to sleep?”

He chuckled and took your hand, leading you inside quietly to make sure that neither of you woke up any of the kids. “Let’s go to sleep,” he whispered, turning your hand to gently kiss the back of it. 

Harry was sitting on the other side of the table with you sitting right next to him as the doctor’s voice trailed off. He was staring at the name plate on the desk and your hand over his. He felt you squeeze it reassuringly, but Harry couldn’t focus. 

It was him.

He was the problem.

He was the reason why you couldn’t get pregnant.

I’m sorry it’s not the news either of you want to hear.

Low sperm count 

Secondary male infertility 

Harry pulled his hand away from yours abruptly. He felt his chest tightening and his stomach dropping, so he stood from the chair and left the room without a word to you or the doctor. 

He heard you call out for him, but he just left the room and down the hallway to the bathroom. Shutting it behind him, Harry locked the door and stared at himself through the mirror. He was the problem—something always had to be wrong with him. 

His hands curled into fists as he looked at himself in the mirror. The doctor mentioned something about stress and lack of sleep possibly being one of the causes and it only frustrated him even more. 

If he hadn’t overworked himself when his parents retired, would you have been pregnant by now? Would there be something wrong with him? 

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Fuck!” 

Then, he heard a couple of soft knocks on the door followed by the sound of your voice. It made him break, tears finally spilled over. 

“Harry, baby, it’s me…” 

Harry didn’t move. He just listened to your voice. He couldn’t face you. Not yet. Not now.

“Harry,” you repeated. “Baby, open the door, let me in.”

He shook his head. 

Heard the doorknob rattling.

“Baby, we—we can figure this out together,” you said softly. He could hear it in your voice that you were trying to keep it together, trying to be strong for the both of you. “Please, Harry… open the door.”

Then, he said, “Go home.” It came out quietly, strained, so he took a deep breath and repeated, “Just go home.”

The doorknob rattled again. 

“Stop,” you whispered. “I’m not—I’m not leaving without you. I’ll stand on this side of the door for as long as it takes.”

“Baby, please,” Harry whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t—I can’t face you right now,” he said from his side of the door. 

“No.” You said once more. “I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

He bit his lower lip and then unlocked the door. He stepped back and watched you open the door slowly, stepping through it and shutting it behind you. Before you could say anything else, you walked towards him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 

Harry buried his face against the side of your neck, hot tears strolling down his cheeks and onto your skin. He was breaking down in your arms and you just held onto him tighter. He had always been the anchor for you—now it was your turn to be that for him. 

“We’ll figure this out together,” you said, one hand rubbing his back and the other brushing your thumb across the back of his head. “Just—just don’t shut me out.”

“It’s me…I’m the reason why you can’t get pregnant,” he muttered against you. “I’m the fucking reason.” 

You pulled back and cupped his cheeks. You weren’t used to seeing him like this. “Stop… stop talking like that.”

“But it’s true,” he whispered. “Is it not?”

“Harry—”

“I’m fucking sorry,” Harry interrupted. “I know you wanted another child and I’m sorry I can’t—”

“It’s not your fault and it’s not something you need to apologize for either,” you interjected. “How about we go home, hm? Maybe get away from the doctors office and just—go home.”

Harry nodded. “The kids?”

“I’ll let your parents know they’ll stay the weekend, is that okay?” 

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes, so he pulled back and stood upright, bringing a hand up to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. “You hungry, baby? Want something to eat?”

You furrowed a brow. You could tell he was trying to move past this already. “Harry—”

“I think you’re hungry. Let’s get you some food,” he interrupted, pulling the door open and ushering you out of the bathroom with a hand on your lower back. Harry didn’t look around, just kept walking down the corridor and towards the elevators. Even the hand on your back trembled, but as you looked over at him, he just kept his eyes forward. 

He was trying to bury this, trying to push it aside and focus on taking care of you because Harry knew that if he gave it any more thought, he’d break down again. 

And he couldn’t do that. 

You needed him.

The kids needed him.

The company needed him. 

It felt like he was on autopilot because the next thing he knew, he was sitting in the driver’s seat of his parked car with your hand resting over his forearm. His hands tightened around the steering wheel and it wasn’t until he heard your voice that finally pulled him from his thoughts.

“We—we need to talk about this,” you whispered. “I don’t want to push this away like it didn’t happen.”

“Well, I do,” Harry spat. He still didn’t look at you. “I want to forget that this ever happened.”

“We can’t,” you said softly. “Harry, we—”

“We can,” he interrupted. “We can’t get pregnant, so that’s it. That’s done with. We stop trying.”

“Harry—”

“And if that’s not what you want, then… then I guess you’ll have to find some other way to get pregnant.” 

You tightened your jaw and shook your head. “Stop!” 

He was breathing heavily now. Harry finally turned to look at you and noticed the look on your face. He was afraid that he’d be met with disappointment, but instead, the look caught him by surprise. Tears filled your eyes and concerned etched on your features. 

“Stop,” you whispered. “Getting pregnant again… it’s not worth it if I lose you.”

It had been a few months since you and Harry both decided to start trying again. You thought it’d be easy—it always had been with Frankie and Sammy, but this time was proving to be a bit more challenging. 

Because with three kids that demanded both your attention, it was difficult to find the right time. 

And neither you or Harry wanted sex to be rushed, but what other choice did you have when the only time was either early in the morning, late at night, or during the day while he was at work? 

“So…?” Harry asked quietly, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorway of the bathroom. 

You looked over at him and shook your head, tossing the negative pregnancy test in the trash as you walked over to him. “No.” 

He nodded once and then moved towards you. Harry’s hands immediately reached out for your hips, gently bringing you closer to him. “It’s okay.”

You sighed. “It’s been months now.”

“How about you let me plan this weekend, hm?” 

“We can’t. The kids—”

“Let me plan everything.”

“Harry.”

“Baby,” he said softly, lowering his head as he looked at you through his eyelashes. “Let. Me. Plan. Everything.”

“But your work—”

“Peter can help out,” he interjected softly. Harry had been doing a lot better with keeping his boundaries when work was involved. He still struggled from time to time, but work didn’t take up most of his time like it had before. “Besides, I think a little weekend getaway just the two of us is what we need.”

Your eyes lit up. “A weekend without the kids?”

The corner of his lips lifted. “Maybe we—we haven’t gotten pregnant because we’re rushing it. Sex, I mean.”

You nodded, looking down at your feet for a moment. Your mind drifted—what if getting pregnant was more difficult this time around? What if it was something else that was preventing you from getting pregnant? What if you couldn’t get pregnant? 

“Hey…” Harry said quietly. “You’re thinking.”

“I’m… not.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s just been months now. We never had an issue before.”

Harry bit his lower lip. It had crossed his mind too. What if something was wrong with him? What if the last year being so stressed with work was the reason why you couldn’t get pregnant? “Well, we’re older now,” he suggested. “And sex doesn’t—it doesn’t really last as long as it normally does.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What? No,” he sighed. “I’m not saying it’s you. It’s definitely not you.” Harry moved a hand to your cheek. “I just mean—we’re rushing. At night, we’re both so tired. In the morning too. And during work, well… it’s not like I can spend half an hour either.” 

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m just—What if something’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said quickly. “We just need time, that’s all. Just me and you.” 

“Just me and you,” you repeated. 

He nodded, leaning forward to rest his forehead against your own. “Just me and you, baby.” 

“Okay, hey!” You called out, Sammy running down the hallway with Frankie chasing closely behind him. 

“Sammy, get back here!” 

“Nooo!” He giggled.

“You cheated!” 

“I did not!” 

Stevie laughed quietly, looking over at you and then back down the hallway where her siblings went. “Want me to help?” She asked.

You sighed. “No, it’s okay, baby. I got it. You all packed for the weekend with your grandparents?” 

Stevie nodded. “Yeah,” she answered, leaning against you as you wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“Frankie, okay, okay! I surrender!” Sammy exclaimed, letting out a loud yelp once Frankie gently tackled him to the floor. 

Stevie looked up at you and smiled. “I got them, mom. Just… relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You look stressed.”

You sighed. “I’m just trying to make sure you guys are all set for your weekend.”

Stevie nodded in understanding and then hugged you tightly. “We’re good, mom. I’ll go make sure they don’t hurt each other,” she teased.

“Thank you, baby,” you said softly. “When did you start being so responsible?” 

She giggled. “I have always been responsible,” Stevie answered. “Duh.” 

“Uh huh,” you smiled, kissing her temple. 

Stevie smiled once more and then pulled away from you to jog down the hallway to where Frankie and Sammy were currently wrestling with each other. When the two younger ones saw their older sister, they immediately pulled apart and ran away from her instead. 

“Hey!” 

“Run Sammy!” Frankie giggled.

Sammy’s laughter also filtered the hallway. “I’m trying! You’re just faster!” 

“Come on,” Stevie chuckled, jogging after them with ease. “We gotta get ready before we head to grandma and grandpa’s!” 

“We are ready!” Sammy said.

Stevie wrapped an arm around him and shook her head, tickling his sides. “No, you aren’t!” 

Sammy’s laughter only picked up even more. “Stevie! Okay, okay! Stop! I’ll get ready, I promise!” 

“Frankie, you too!” Stevie said.

“Fine, fine!” Frankie smiled, slowly coming to a stop in front of her door. “I’ll get ready, sheesh.” 

Stevie looked down at Sammy. He stared up at her with those deep brown eyes that reminded her of Harry’s. “You promise you’ll get ready?” 

Sammy nodded. “Yes, Stevie. I promise.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna let you go now. Just put some clothes in your backpack, that’s all.”

“Any clothes?” 

Stevie shrugged. “Whatever you want…as long as they’re comfortable.”

“All my clothes are comfortable,” he said.

“Then don’t forget your pajamas,” Stevie pointed out.

“Fine.” 

“I love you,” Stevie smiled, kissing his forehead before she set him down.

Sammy grinned up at her. “Love you too, sissy.”

You looked at them and chuckled quietly, letting out a relieved sigh. Your parents and Harry’s would be here any minute, leaving both you and Harry alone for the rest of the weekend. 

Harry wasn’t sure why he was nervous once the kids left. It had been a while since you both had the entire house to yourselves, so once he noticed you walk out into the backyard where he was, Harry felt his stomach flip. It felt like the first moment he laid eyes on you all over again. 

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling you to his side once you sat on the grass with him. 

“Hey,” you replied, leaning against him. “It’s quiet.” 

“It feels… weird,” he teased. 

You nodded in agreement and turned your body to face him, legs crossed underneath you as you leaned forward to look up at him. 

“What?” He chuckled, looking over at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“It’s just… me and you now.” 

Harry smiled and turned to face you, gently pulling you closer to him between his legs. “I’m nervous,” he admitted. 

“Nervous?” 

“Yeah, it’s been awhile since it’s been me and you.” 

You sighed. “I know,” you whispered. “Maybe we should start making more time for each other.” 

His hands moved to your hips as he nodded, looking directly into your eyes. The nerves he felt when the kids left finally disappeared when you looked at him. It was ridiculous—how could he be nervous after five years with you? 

“I’d like that.” 

“We could go on more dates,” you suggested. 

“Uh huh,” Harry said softly, leaning in to brush his lips with your own. “Can maybe have your parents or mine watch the kids more often too.” 

You smiled and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, slowly sliding onto his lap. You both were still outside in the backyard, the cool air wafting past the both of you. “Mmm, I wouldn’t mind that either.” Slowly, you rolled your hips and watched as his eyes widened just a bit as he stared up at you. 

“You can be as loud as you want this weekend,” Harry said, his voice lowering to a quiet and deep whisper. “You don’t have to hold back at all. I can take my time with you,” he gasped suddenly, feeling you ground your hips onto his. He felt his manhood twitch beneath his shorts, blood rushing down immediately. 

“Wanna make a baby with me, Harry?” You asked, lower lip pulled between your teeth. 

He cleared his throat and nodded. “You drive me crazy…” 

You smiled innocently and slowly stood from his lap, hand extending out for him. “Come on, baby.” 

Harry scrambled to his feet and reached for your hand instantly. He turned you until your back was flush against his chest, walking you both back inside the house as he slid the door shut. He lowered his head to rest his chin on your shoulder, hands flattening on your abdomen as he began peppering wet kisses along the side of your neck. 

Your let out a moan at the feel of his hardened manhood against your backside and his soft lips against your skin. It felt freeing to not have to force yourself to stay quiet and it only excited you even further when you realized you didn’t have to rush this. 

Both you and Harry had the entire weekend just to yourselves. 

“I don’t know what to do first,” he mumbled, walking toward the sofa in the living area. Harry pushed you against the back of it, hands moving from your abdomen down your sides until they rested on your hips. He was pressed firmly against you from behind, lips continuing to move along you. 

“Wh—What?” You whimpered, moving one hand behind you to run through his hair as your tilted your head back against him. His lips moved closer to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe as he continued to speak into your ear. 

“I want a fucking taste of you,” he whispered. “But I also want to bend you over and just fucking take you,” Harry growled, hands squeezing your hips as he pushed his own hips into you from behind for you to feel just how hard he was. “I want to hear you scream,” Harry continued, one hand moving from your hip down the front of your legs. “Want to hear you say my name over and over again.” 

“Harry,” you moaned quietly, feeling his fingertips brush against your clothed sex. You were wearing just a pair of leggings and one of his shirts, having opted for a very lazy outfit today while your kids were getting ready. You hadn’t expect this to happen so quickly. You had a plan—you were going to shave your legs, take a shower, and put on some lingerie for him. 

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” Harry smirked against your skin. “Say my name again.” 

Your gasped when you felt the pad of his fingers press against your clit. Your leggings were thin and despite being clothed, you could feel just how warm his hand was against you. “Harry, please…” 

“Please what, baby?” Harry growled into your ear. “Tell me what you want.” 

“Fuck, I want you, please,” you pleaded. Sure, both you had regular sex, especially now that you were both trying to get pregnant, but it hadn’t been like this in so long. 

“You know I love it when you beg,” he grinned, suddenly ripping your leggings and watching the fabric tear and rip down your legs. 

“Harry!” 

He groaned at the sight of you just clad in his shirt and a pair of panties. Harry suddenly knelt down before you, hands coming up to pull your panties down your legs. “Sorry, baby. I’ll buy you another.”

Your hands moved to grip the back of the sofa, stepping out of your ripped leggings and panties. You leaned forward suddenly when you felt his large hands rest on your ass, pulling your cheeks apart for him to see your glistening sex. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he said quietly, licking his lips in anticipation. Harry leaned forward, inhaling your scent as he ran a thumb up and down your slit, gathering your slickness on the pad of his thumb. 

You weren’t sure why his touch—at least like this—was making you tremble as much as you were. You had been used to his touch, had gotten used to his dirty talk, but this felt different. It felt like before. 

It felt like you both were coming home to each other. 

Harry moved his hand back to your ass. He pulled back to look at you, cheeks spread as your throbbing heat called out to him. He glanced up at you, eyes catching your gaze for a brief moment when you looked over your shoulder at him. “I’m thinking I wanna spend some time between your legs,” he said, leaning forward slowly. “Been missing how much you taste.” 

Then, without hesitation, Harry licked a stripe along your sex. He kept your cheeks spread for him, allowing him to gather your wetness with his tongue. Your hands gripped the sofa as a loud moan escaped your lips, knees buckling almost instantly. He chuckled against you, pulling back only to swirl the tip of his tongue against your opening. “Mmm, fuck, baby.” 

“Harry!” You moaned, leaning over the sofa now as you felt him press himself further into you from behind. Harry began his assault on your core, running his tongue over your wet sex repeatedly. 

You moved one hand back to grip his hair, moans now muffling against the sofa as you bent over it completely. “Fuck me!” You groaned. You were so wet and could hear how wet you were—it felt like he was fucking making out with your pussy; he was drinking your arousal like a man who was quenching his thirst. 

Harry knew you were close, so he moved one hand from your ass to rub his thumb against your clit. He felt your hand try to push him away, but he just gripped your wrists with his free hand now and pinned them at your lower back. Your stood on your toes, body beginning to tremble and only getting wetter. 

“H—Harry, oh god,” you moaned loudly, eyes squeezing shut as your orgasm hit you unexpectedly. You tried to scramble away from him—it was becoming too much all at once, but Harry kept you firmly bent over the sofa. It wasn’t until he stood up that you had a brief moment to catch your breath. 

“Could do that all day,” he said, licking his wet lips as he slowly turned your around to face him. “You okay?” 

You nodded, still breathless and still trying to regain composure. “Mhm,” you mumbled. 

Harry grinned, pushing his boxers and shorts down his legs as his length bobbed free. He then reached for the end of his shirt and tugged it over his head until he stood completely bare before you. He caught your gaze shifting down his body until it landed on his length, watching your lick your lips in anticipation. 

He reached out for you and tugged you closer to him by the shirt you were still wearing. When you leaned into him, he reached for the end of your shirt to pull over your head until you were naked too. He looked at you from top to bottom and back up, bending down just enough to hoist you into his arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he led you away from the sofa and down the hallway to your bedroom. 

You leaned down and began lining kisses along the side of his neck and to his jawline, tongue darting out to lick his skin. It wasn’t until he stopped walking that you pulled back to look down at him. He pressed your back against the wall and shifted his hips, the head of his manhood brushing against your sensitive opening. 

“You should put me down,” you said softly, hands running through his hair. “Don’t want to hurt you.” 

His eyes narrowed. “I can carry you just fine.” 

“I’m not saying you can’t. I just—”

Harry interrupted you by sliding into you in one thrust. He growled under his breath at the feel of your wet and warm heat sucking him in. 

“Fuck,” you gasped. 

He pulled out just a few inches only to thrust back into you. “I can carry you just fine,” he repeated. Harry pressed your back firmly against the wall and planted his feet more firmly against the hardwood floor, rolling his hips up into you. 

“O—okay,” you whimpered, arms loosely wrapping around his shoulders as your legs squeezed around his hips. You hadn’t ever had sex like this—not against a wall with him carrying you like this. It was fucking hot and as he continued to roll his hips, you felt every inch of him slide into you. 

Harry buried his face against the crook of your neck, panting heavily into you as he thrusted upwards. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold you up for long, so he slammed into you once and remained inside of you as he pulled you from the wall to begin walking down the hallway once more. Each step he took caused him to slide in and out of you just by a couple of inches and it wasn’t enough. 

You needed more. 

So, you squeezed your legs tighter around his hips and tightened your hold around his shoulders as you began grinding against him. 

Harry groaned at your movements, walls sliding along his throbbing length. “Baby, fuck,” he mumbled, kicking the bedroom door open and quickly walking you back towards the mattress. 

You still rolled your hips into his until he tossed you onto the mattress, causing him to slip out of you. You gasped loudly, propping yourself onto your forearms as you looked up at him. His eyes were dark and narrowed, stepping towards you between your legs as he kept them spread apart for him. 

“You gonna just stand there and stare at me?” You asked, biting your lower lip. 

His eyes narrowed further. “You’ve got an attitude today.” 

You giggled and shook your head. “Just need you, Harry.” 

“Yeah? Well, an attitude won’t make me fuck you any faster.” 

You cleared your throat. The smile on your face dropped as you scooted further to the edge of the bed. “What if I say… hurry up?” 

Harry growled and it came deep from his chest, almost like your attitude was pushing him to the limit. He leaned over you and felt the length of himself slide along your lips between your legs. “Hurry up?” He repeated, voice deep and almost… threatening. 

You nodded, moving a hand between your bodies to try and reach for him. 

He shook his head and grabbed your wrists roughly, pinning them above your head. “You were just begging earlier, baby. I’m thinking you should beg some more… before I fuck that attitude out of you.” 

Your eyes widened. 

You squirmed against his grasp. 

“But you were just inside of me…” you whimpered impatiently. “Don’t you… want to be inside of me again?” 

“If you say please,” he whispered. Harry moved his free hand down to hold himself against your slit, rubbing the head of his manhood against your clit. You were still so fucking wet and he could feel himself throbbing impatiently. 

“Please,” you said, shifting against his grip. 

“Doesn’t sound convincing,” he said, sliding himself down the length of your sex until his tip slid inside of you. Before you could even lower your hips, he pulled out again, a strained groan leaving his lips. “Beg,” he demanded. 

“Please,” you pleaded, eyes blinking up at him. “Harry, please…” 

“Not good enough,” he growled, pulling back away from you and releasing his hold on your wrists. “You want me that bad? Get on your fucking knees.” 

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you nodded up at him, climbing off the bed and kneeling down in front of him slowly. Your placed your hands on your thighs, blinking up at him innocently as his hand wrapped around himself. You watched as he tugged on his length a few times before stepping forward, running the head of length along your lips. 

“Open.”

You parted your lips for him and felt his rounded (and already wet and leaking tip) push past your lips. You opened your mouth even wider, accommodating his girth as he pushed further inside of your mouth. 

He growled at the sight of you, one hand moving to your hair to hold it back and away from your face. Harry pushed further until he felt his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him as tears pooled at the corner of your eyes. 

He pulled out of you slowly, running the tip of his length across your wet lips before he took a step back. 

“Beg,” he repeated. “You want me inside of you? Then, beg.” 

Your eyes narrowed. 

You watched him move to sit at the edge of the bed now. 

You moved your hands to the floor and slowly crawled towards him, watching his hand slowly stroke his hardened length. You licked your lower lip and moved to rest your cheek on his thigh, blinking up at him innocently. 

“Please, Harry,” you whispered, gaze flickering between the movement of his hand and back up to his eyes. “Please…” 

“Please what?” He asked, his free hand moving to your cheek. 

“Put a baby in me, please,” you pleaded, turning your head towards his touch and kissing the inside of his palm. 

Harry’s resolve cracked. He gently scooped you up and on top of him, laying back down on the mattress as he lined himself at your entrance. He moved his hand from your cheek to your hip and slowly lowered you onto him, a loud groan escaping his lips at the feel of you wrapped around him. 

Your hands moved to rest on his chest, bracing yourself as you continued to move your hips further down until he filled you to the hilt. You let out a relieved breath, staring down at him. 

“Feel good?” He asked, hands gripping your hips tightly. “Feel better?” 

“Yes,” you moaned out, lifting your hips just slightly only to lower down onto him once more. You could feel every inch and vein slide along your walls, filling you just right with each movement. “Feels amazing.” 

Harry grinned, watching you slowly begin to bounce atop of him. He moved one hand from your hip to one of your breasts, squeezing it tightly into his palm. His lips parted as his own sounds of pleasure left him. It felt freeing that he could take his time with you, that he didn’t have to rush this. 

He missed this. 

Harry missed you. 

“God, you’re gripping me so tight, baby,” he groaned, eyes deviating momentarily down between your bodies. Harry watched you move up and down on top of him, his girth slick and wet with your arousal. 

You answered with another moan, beginning to roll your hips forward and backward. You could feel the hair between his legs brush against your clit with each movement, causing just enough friction to bring you closer to your climax.  

Harry groaned, moving his other hand to your other breast now and beginning to massage both as you rolled your hips. He could feel the pit of his stomach tighten with each movement, feeling your slickness drip down to his lower half and dampening his hair down there. 

“Harry, baby, fuck—”

Harry rolled you over onto your back suddenly. He slammed further into you and stared at you, lips parting as he began thrusting in and out of you quickly. The sound of your wetness mixed in with the sound of skin slapping against one another. 

It felt fucking great to not hold back like this. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled, moving one hand to rest on your cheek as the other kept himself propped up on the mattress. “I’m gonna make sure it sticks this time,” he said, almost like he was admitting that maybe he was the problem. 

You leaned into his touch and wrapped your legs loosely around his hips, nodding up at him. “Fill me up, Harry… get me pregnant.” 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, feeling your walls tighten even further around him. Harry leaned down to rest his forehead against your own, gasping under his breath as he felt himself get closer and closer to the edge. 

His thrusts quickened. 

They became more erratic. 

More rough. 

You held onto him as you felt a wave of pleasure just wash over you suddenly. Your nails dug into his back and your legs tightened even further around his waist. 

Harry moaned under his breath and slammed into you a couple of more times until he filled you with his come. His body trembled and he moved his hips in and out of you slowly, pumping every last drop he could give you and filling you up. 

You felt his warmth instantly. You pulled back and leaned up to press your lips firmly against his own, both of you moaning and panting against each other’s lips.  

“Fuck,” he mumbled. 

You smiled. “Think it’ll stick?”

“It better,” Harry answered, pulling back to look down at you. “But I’m gonna stay inside of you just to be sure.” 

You felt him slide back into you, filling you to the hilt until he ceased his movements. “Mmm, I like that.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Maybe we should take a nap and you stay inside of me.” 

Harry grinned. “God, I love you, baby.” 

“Good,” you laughed quietly. “I love you too.” 

“I don’t think we’ll be leaving this bed for the rest of the day.” 

“That’s okay,” you said. “Because I think I’m gonna want you again.” 

Harry’s eyes darkened. “Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Yes,” you answered. 

A month passed since you and Harry had the weekend all to yourselves. He was still keeping his boundaries with work and you both even managed to make more time for each other too. 

But still, you weren’t pregnant. 

Your period came like it always did. 

You weren’t late. 

It was just another sign that even though you spent most of that weekend in bed with him, there had to be something wrong. 

Right? 

Harry was looking at you hopefully. You had given him an estimate for when you would be getting your period. 

But when you stepped out of the bathroom, you couldn’t even look at him. 

Because you felt disappointment in the pit of your stomach, felt ashamed that you couldn’t get pregnant. 

And Harry knew that something was wrong by the way you couldn’t even meet his eyes. 

But he didn’t say anything. 

Harry didn’t need to—he just knew that you weren’t pregnant. 

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest. “We’ll try again,” he reassured you. “Maybe we just need more time.” 

You nodded. You couldn’t say anything. You didn’t want to say anything, so you just buried your face against his chest as his arms tightened around your waist. 

“I love you,” he said softly. “We’ll figure this out.” 

You nodded again. Then, you shut your eyes and wrapped your arms loosely around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. 

Harry shook his head and pulled back only to look down at you. He cupped your cheek and sighed quietly at the sight before him—unshed tears and guilt across your features. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” 

“I’m not pregnant,” you whispered. 

“And that’s something you can’t control,”  Harry answered. “We’ll figure it out,” he repeated. “We’ll meet with a doctor. See a specialist. Anything—we’ll do it together.” 

You looked up at him and nodded slowly. “What if—what if I’m the reason why we can’t pregnant?” 

Harry sighed. “Then we’ll see what we can do, what options we have… but we’re not giving up. I’m not giving up.” 

You should have done something as soon as you heard the squeaking. You've never been good with cars but no car squeaks and that should have been your tell. You had been driving back from campus when you noticed the squeaking become louder and your headlights started flickering. You had made it back home just as the engine began to stall and you knew as soon as you had turned it off that it wouldn't be turning on again. Weren't Volkswagen's meant to be super reliable or something?

Now, you're standing near the hood of your car and looking up mechanics near you on Google Maps. The first three hadn't picked up but you're hopeful about the fourth. Or at least you're trying to be, even as you can feel a tension headache building behind your eyes.

"Hello," a man says and you slump in relief. "Marty here with Marty Mechanics. How can I help ya?"

"Hi," you say. And then stall. You're not sure how you'd even describe the issue. "Um, I think there's something up with my car."

You hear a chuckle on the line and you can feel yourself flush.

"Figures, people don't really call to make small talk. Your engine not starting up?" he asks and you nod before you remember he can't see you.

"Yeah," you say. "I've been hearing this squeaking noise and then today on my drive back home, the lights started flickering. It felt like it was stalling when I parked and turned off the car. Now it won't start up."

"Sounds like your alternator failed on ya," he says and he might as well have spoken a foreign language.

"Right," you say. You can feel sweat beading at your forehead. "I'm not so good with cars —"

Marty interrupts you with a snort. "I figured, sweetheart."

Your jaw clenches and you tamp down the annoyance that bubbles up inside of you. Today's been a shit day already. You woke up late and then skipped out on lunch in favour of getting a report done and even then, your advisor had been displeased with your writing which he had made very clear. And now you're hungry and your car has gone to shit.

"How much will it be?" you ask, ignoring his condescension. On the other side, Marty hums in contemplation and you tamp down the urge to end the call.

"Well, I'll need to come tow it to the garage. And I reckon we might wanna replace the serpentine belt and tension pulley at the same time as we're looking at the alternator because they're likely fried too. Reckon it should take a few days given I can get my hands on the parts so you're looking at around twelve hundred with labour."

The amount settles in your stomach like a rock. Fuck. You know car things are expensive. The last time you did a full service was two years ago and it cost you nine hundred. But you had planned for that, had saved for it. You have not planned for whatever this is. What the hell is a serpentine belt anyways?

"Okay, um. Can I call you back?" you ask, because you cannot commit to twelve hundred dollars right now. You don't even think you have twelve hundred dollars in your checking account. Marty chuckles, clearly amused.

"Sure," he says. "But you're not going to find anything much cheaper. Especially with imports being more expensive lately."

"I'll keep that in mind," you say. "Could you text me the quote please?"

Once he agrees, you end the call. Your phone buzzes with a calendar reminder.

Boxing Session - 1 hour

You look at your car and then back at your phone. It usually takes you around twenty minutes to drive to Joel's gym but without your car you'll have to take the bus. You could Uber but if you need to spend twelve hundred dollars on your car, you better start saving now. You pull up Google Maps and type in the address to the gym. There's a bus that'll drop you ten minutes away which is decent enough. You already have your gym bag with you because you had planned on going straight from campus but your hunger had gotten the better of you and you had come home with the intention of having a late lunch. Having to take the bus however, means you have to leave now if you want to make it on time. You know you have a granola bar in your backpack so hopefully it tides you until later. You make your way towards the bus stop, thankful that it's only a block south of your apartment building.

The weather is colder today then it should be for October in Austin. You zip up your hoodie and pick up your pace. By the time you make it to the stop, you can see the bus a block down. You're thankful you never clear out your purse because hidden between one of the card flaps is your faded metro card that you haven't had to use in at least three years. You've become spoiled.

The bus driver barely glances at you as you enter and the bus is thankfully, mostly empty. You find a seat near the back and pull out your phone once more. Marty's texted you the quote and the total amount mocks you. You open up your banking app and the total amount in there, mocks you too. You have a grand total of two thousand dollars in your account. Rent is due within the next week and you won't be paid until two weeks after that. You could put it on your credit card but the idea of racking up that much when your credit limit is only fifteen hundred leaves you nervous. You can feel the muscles in your back begin to tighten with stress and your nose begins to tingle in the telltale sign that if you keep thinking about your dire circumstances, you're going to start crying. And once you start crying, it's hard to stop. You lock your phone and shove it into your gym bag. You reach around in your bag before feeling the plastic wrapping of the granola bars you always carry with you. Pulling it out, you peel the packaging apart and bite into it. It's dryer than you'd like but it's something to tide you over until dinner. You continue chewing, angling yourself to face the window.

Houses blur past, shades of red and grey smudging together as you blink back tears of frustration. You focus on something else, deciding to try spot as many types of trees as you can. You get to a grand total of five before the bus comes to a jerky halt at your stop and you make your way off of it, taking in the feeling of the cold air and warm sun against your skin. It's your favourite kind of weather, rare in Texas for it to be so cool even though it is technically fall, and you decide you're going to try enjoy it. You try take it in as you walk in the direction of the boxing gym, but your mind keeps snagging on the tiny little issue of your car being basically dead. You could pick up extra shifts at the coffee shop you used to work at before you received an offer of funding. You make a mental note to call Kylie, the owner and manager who always had a soft spot for you and would let you take all the leftover blueberry muffins home after your shift, and ask her if she could put you back on for weekends.

You swallow down the rest of your granola bar in three big bites and stuff the wrapper into your pocket before you open the door to the boxing gym. Joel is at the front desk this time, looking right at you.

"Evenin'," he greets and you smile, still trying to swallow down half the granola bar. He gives you an amused smile as he watches you chew. After what feels like ages, your mouth is empty and you're able to speak.

"Hey Joel," you say. "How are you?"

"M'alright," he says. "How about yourself?"

You think of your car and your bank account and the amount of editing you have to do in the next forty-eight hours.

"I'm alright too," you say, the lie coming easily. "I didn't get a chance to change into my gym clothes so could I use your bathroom?"

Joel nods, standing up. He's wearing a soft black shirt and matching sweats. The broad expanse of his shoulders stretches the cotton of his shirt and his hair looks wet, as if he's just showered. Usually, you'd admire how handsome he looks but today you just don't have it in you. You're all wound up with stress and you can feel frustration simmering inside of you, growing into something ugly.

"It's right through here," he says, gesturing to a corridor. "There's a shower too, if you need."

"Thank you," you say and go down the corridor. The changing room is nice, actually. The tiles are an eggshell white and the shower looks newly done with shiny faucets and clear, spotless glass windows. You change quickly, slipping out of your hoodie and shirt and into your sports bra and tank top. Your pants are next and then you're pulling on your yoga pants and adjusting the back so the lines of your underwear aren't as prominent. You couldn't find a pair of thongs or seamless underwear this morning so you had settled for a regular pair. You catch your reflection in the mirror and you look as tired as you feel. There are dark circles under your eyes and your hair falls limply. You gather it up into a ponytail and stuff your clothes into your bag before you head out.

Joel's by the mat, the jumprope you warm up with twisted around his knuckles. He looks up when he hears you, his eyes tracing over your form. Silently, he hands you the jumprope and you take it.

"Ten minutes this time," he instructs, and your eyebrows raise in a silent question. "Need to build up your stamina, get your heart rate up."

"I'm not going to lie to you, there's about a ninety percent chance I'm not making it past seven minutes," you warn and Joel's cheeks dimple. He has some stubble today, the dark brown against his tan skin highlighting the sharpness of his jaw.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," he says, voice low. "C'mon now. Time's tickin'."

You make it to seven minutes and fifty-three seconds before it feels like your heart might give up. For however cold it was outside, the gym feels about a hundred degrees right now. You know you must look flushed and you can feel sweat gathering in terrible places like behind your knees and under your boobs. You glance up at Joel, finding his eyes trained on you. You give him a pleading look and he nods. You drop the jumprope and place your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. You sound like you've run a marathon and you would be embarrassed at your subpar fitness if you could muster the energy to care.

Joel's shadow comes to stand above you and you straighten up. You can feel your pulse in your throat. Maybe you won't have to pay to fix your car. Maybe you'll die from cardiac arrest first.

"Deep breath in," Joel instructs and you follow. "Hold it in for a second."

You do.

"Now exhale, slow and steady," he says and you do. "Again."

You do that too, and three minutes later, you feel like you might just survive this session. When you've caught your breath, you finally speak.

"Be honest with me Joel," you say. "Have you ever had anyone else almost die from the warm up?"

You smile as you say it, trying to mask your embarrassment. To your relief, Joel smiles too, shaking his head.

"You did fine," he says, his accent dragging out the last word.

"Fine huh? That's glowing praise," you say and Joel snorts.

"C'mon," he says. "We're goin' to review last week and then work on defense."

It takes you less time to wrap your hands and once you do, Joel's handing you a pair of gloves. You still need help securing the strap, holding your wrist out for Joel who does it for you. He slips into his gloves too, quick and practiced, like it's second nature. It probably is, for him. You start off with your stances, the movements coming more naturally this time around. You had practiced over the weekend, pivoting your leg the way Joel had told you how. You jab the air in front of you, taking turns to switch hands.

"Now in a circle," Joel says and you follow. It's almost like he's a puppeteer and you're his puppet. You circle your imaginary opponent, throwing in jabs whenever it feels right. Joel stops you when you're halfway through, kneeling down and pulling off his gloves.

"May I?" he asks, all southern manners. You nod. He places his hands on the foot that supports your stance. His right hand cups your heel and his left presses down on your toes. You can feel the shape of his strong fingers even through your sports shoes.

"Y'need to make sure you're not puttin' any unwanted pressure on the heel of your foot," Joel says. "You want to be bouncy on your toes and the front half of your foot. Your heels stay off the ground unless you're holdin' a stance. That make sense?"

"I think so," you say. He looks up at you and this angle is new. And something you might store away for nights where there's an ache between your legs. His hands are still on your foot and he squeezes your heel once, before he taps it. You lift it up, settling on the front half of your foot.

"How's that feel?" he asks, now moving his left hand so it lies below your heel, forcing it to stay lifted.

"Like I'm a ballerina," you say just to see him smile. He does, huffing a laugh through his nose.

"Perfect," he says, and then stands up. He's closer to you now than he was before. You can smell him, the scent of some sort of woodsy body wash and laundry detergent combining. You watch as he pulls his gloves back on, his bruised knuckles disappearing. He steps away and you continue, pulling your focus back into the task at hand. You move through your sparring circles a few more times, extra conscious to keep your feet the way Joel had instructed. His eyes stay on you the whole time, tracking your every move. You don't think you're ever going to get used to being his singular focus.

"Alright," Joel says after what's probably you're sixth circle. "Now we move to defense. The most import thing about sparrin' or fightin' or whatever you want to call it is to make sure you don't get hit."

"The best punch is the one you don't get hit by," you say and Joel's brows raise in surprise.

"You know Willie Pep?" he asks.

You can't help the sheepish smile on your face. You absolutely do not know Willie Pep. You did however, watch a YouTube video last night titled TEN THINGS A BEGINNER BOXER SHOULD KNOW by IronFistFighter67.

"I do my research," is what you tell Joel to which he looks amused.

"Alright, alright, I get it. You're doin' a PhD," Joel says and this time it's you who raises a brow.

"It was on your intake form," Joel explains. Right. That makes sense. You don't think Joel's the type to cyber-stalk someone. Still, a silly part of you hoped that he had been as curious about you as you are of him.

"So defense," Joel starts, going back into instructor mode. "Blockin' and dodgin' are just as important as throwin' a punch, if not more. Bein' able to avoid bein' hurt means you conserve your energy which means you're able to fight for longer. Endurance and stamina are just as important."

You bite your lip to stop yourself from saying oh I'm sure.

"Makes sense," you say, instead. "Which one are we starting with today?"

Joel smiles. "Dodgin' first. I want you to try hit me."

This time, you don't hesitate. You get into position and swing your right fist, muscles locked so that you have full control of the movement. To your relief, you watch as Joel moves low, missing your fist entirely.

"That is what we call a duck'," Joel says when he's upright. "It's how you dodge a punch comin' right at you. I'm goin' to throw jabs at you and I want you to watch my movements and then move in a way that allows you to keep your stance and not get hit."

"Okay," you say. And then, just so he knows, you add, "Joel, I really don't think I can handle being punched."

Joel's gaze softens, and he shakes his head. "I'm goin' to go real slow. I promise I won't hurt you, okay?"

"Alright," you say, nerves in your stomach alight. You get into position, holding your hands up in two fists and positioning your feet so that you feel stable. Your eyes stay on Joel's large fists, his swollen knuckles where the skin looks thicker and worn. Slowly, you watch his left fist move towards you and you move lower, feeling the air above you whoosh as he completes the swing.

"Good," Joel says. "But you gotta keep those eyes open for me."

You hadn't even realized you had shut them. You blink them open, feeling yourself warm with embarrassment. You straighten up and meet Joel's amused gaze.

"Let's try again," he says. "This time I want you to remember to meet my gaze when you're done duckin', okay?"

"No promises," you say but you steel yourself.

This time, you duck the other way and think of Joel's warm eyes the entire time, remembering that you have to see them. He gives you a pleased nod when you meet his gaze.

You keep going, and it's almost as if the two of you are dancing, your steps slowing becoming more fluid and natural. Eventually, you come to a standstill.

"Good," Joel says. "We'll pick up the pace with that in our next session. Now, I want to teach you some basic blocks. Dodgin' is good but it isn't always possible to do. That's where blockin' comes in."

"Should I try punch you again?" you ask and Joel's mouth curls into an almost smile.

"You're catchin' on," he says. "Jab whenever you're ready."

So you do. You watch him bring a forearm up, blocking you. His bicep flexes with the movement, straining against the sleeve of his shirt.

"Look at how my elbows are positioned," Joel says, voice low. You move your eyes lower, seeing what he means. His elbows are tucked to his side, close to the top of his ribs. "The top of my glove is near my forehead. You're protectin' your face the whole time but you still want to stay in control. Keepin' your arms close to you helps with that."

You nod, taking in his stance.

"Wanna try?" he asks and you nod again. He gives you a moment to position yourself, fixing your stance so your front foot is firmly planted against the ground. You focus on him, tracking both his gloves hands. When his left hand comes out, still slow, but moving towards you, you're quick to block it. Your gloves shield the sides of your head and you maintain your eye contact, tracking Joel's every move.

"Attagirl," he says and you wonder if he knows the impact those words have on you. The liquid heat that zips through your spine at his low drawl. You push away those distracting thoughts and continue blocking Joel's slow strikes. You go on like that until Joel reorients himself.

"Remember that lead hook punch I showed you?" he asks. You nod, positioning yourself. You bring your right elbow up so that it's almost in line with your shoulder and then swing towards Joel. His brows are furrowed in concentration, his eyes trained on you, as he brings his left arm up to block you. This time he pivots himself a bit, bringing up his entire forearm to stop the swing of your arm.

"So I pivot on my back leg?" you ask and he nods.

"We'll take turns," Joel says. "You punch and then block and we keep goin'. Remember to pivot on opposite feet. Sound okay?"

"Yeap," you say, positioning yourself. You practice the movement once and then nod at Joel. He blocks your first swing and then you block his. Slowly, he starts moving in a circle and you follow, still throwing punches and blocking. You stay focused, watching the flex of his arm as he moves. You can feel his gaze trained on you. You're not sure how long the two of you move like that, back and forth until you can feel your muscles beginning to protest. Your bicep twitches with the effort and you meet Joel's eye, hoping he sees what you're feeling.

"Let's call it," Joel says, blocking your final punch. "You did good."

You relax, letting your arms fall to your sides. You know you'll feel the strain in your muscles tomorrow but it feels good. At least you've achieved this today.

"Thanks Joel," you tell him, as he begins taking his gloves off. You follow suit, leaving them on the bench. Once you've unwrapped your hands, you flex your fingers. You dig your thumb into the meat of your palms, massaging the strain away. It's only then that you notice it's ten minutes later than when your session should have ended. Which also means you only have five minutes to get to the bus stop or else you have to wait another thirty minutes.

"Shit," you curse. "M'sorry Joel but I have to go. I'll see you next week, yeah?"

He nods, his brows furrowed. You grab your bag and run out, picking up your pace into a sprint so you can try make it there on time. Your heart is thumping against your chest, fast and erratic. Even with the chilled air, you can feel sweat beading at your forehead and down your neck. You're definitely going to have to wash your hair tonight. You turn the corner and relief courses through you at the sight of the bus, still stalled at the stop. When you come up the doors however, they stay closed. You knock, hoping to catch the eye of the driver. He looks about your age, nose pointy and his mouth pulled into a frown when he notices you. You raise your bus pass in the air, gesturing for him to let you on. He watches you and then, he begins pulling away from the curb, ignoring your mime work.

"Hey!" you yell. "Please let me on."

He must hear you but the bus doors stay firmly closed and he has the audacity to look at you as if you're boring him. Then, he's gone, pulling onto the street as if you hadn't spent the last minute waiting at the stop.

"Asshole!" you yell, and catch the scandalized look of a woman with a stroller. You don't care. Whatever good mood you had been in because of your boxing session has disappeared and you're back to feeling overwhelmed and furious, all at once. You look down at your phone to see that the next bus won't be there for another thirty-two minutes. Your anger bleeds into sadness, and before you know it, tears are streaming down your face. You wipe them away quickly. Your phone dings with a notification — an email from your advisor by the looks of it — and you quickly put it on Do Not Disturb.

The Uber app faces you, almost mockingly. Fuck it. It's not like saving thirty dollars is going to to get you any closer to the twelve-hundred you need. Just as you're about to confirm your ride, you hear a soft honk and jolt. You look up to meet a familiar set of brown eyes. Joel's driving a red pick-up truck, and saying something to you that you can't understand. He waves you over, and when you walk up the rolled-down window, you finally hear what he's been saying.

"Get in," he says. "Please."

The man in the car behind him honks once, then twice, and then rolls down his window..

"You're blocking everyone, get the fuck out of the way!" he says, voice booming. The lady with the stroller looks even more scandalized now, as she hurries away. "Get the fuck outta the way man, you're holding up traffic!" he yells again even though there are no other cars behind him. Joel's jaw clenches as he glares at the man through the rearview mirror before he looks back at you. It's either this or an Uber. You open the passenger door and slide onto the warm leather seat. Joel starts driving as soon as you've clicked your seatbelt into place.

"You good?" Joel asks, taking in your blotchy face and frown. You nod even though you're still irrationally angry at the bus driver.

"Thank you," you say, though you're not sure for what. You're not even sure why you're in his car. He pulls into a side street and shifts the gear into park.

"What happened to your car?" he asks and you let out a humourless laugh.

"Alternator's broken or something," you say. "And the snake belt too."

Joel's mouth twitches. "I reckon you mean the serpentine belt."

Your cheeks heat but you nod.

"I can give you a ride home," Joel says. "The buses don't come by often."

"I know that," you snap, voice harsher than you intend it to be. You're still so angry at everything and everyone around you. "Sorry. I appreciate it Joel but you don't have to do that. It's out of your way."

"You don't know where I live," Joel says, voice gentle. "I don't mind, really."

"Don't you have to get home to Sarah?" you ask, looking up at him. His eyes are kind, as they trace over your face.

"Nah," he says. "She's stayin' over at a friend's until nine p.m. to study."

You hesitate before you nod. "Alright, if you're certain."

"I am," Joel says. "The bus driver was an asshole by the way."

Your mouth ticks up in a smile, some of your anger dissipating. So he had seen the entire commotion then.

"Right?" you say. "I had my bus pass and everything. He was still parked when I showed up."

Joel shakes his head, shifting the car into drive. You give him your address and he doesn't even need to pull up the navigation for it before he begins to drive. About two minutes later your stomach grumbles, so loudly you're pretty sure the cars across the street can hear you. Right. You haven't had anything today except for oatmeal this morning and the poor excuse of a granola bar right before your session.

"Hungry?" Joel asks, as your ears heat up.

"What gave it away?" you say, trying to mask your embarrassment. Joel chuckles, a lovely sound.

"You have somewhere to be right now?" he asks and you glance at him. His side profile is lit by the dusky sky, his strong nose standing out against his face.

"Just home," you say, curious why he's asking. "How come?"

"You can say no," Joel starts and you shift in your seat, facing him more fully. He glances at you, before focusing back on the road. "But I'm starvin' too and from what I've seen and heard, it sounds like you've had a bit of a day."

You snort. "That would be putting it lightly."

"There's a taco place not too far from where you live that's pretty good," Joel says. "Wanna go?"

Your heart picks up and you can't stop the smile that breaks over your features. You look back ahead, away from Joel, hoping he doesn't notice.

"Okay," you say. "That sounds nice."

Joel hums. You watch him grip the steering wheel more firmly, the veins in his hands prominent. The drive there is silent but not uncomfortably so. Joel has a cassette playing old songs, low and crooning. The taco place is pretty close to your apartment building although you've never been. He finds a parking spot right outside the restaurant.

It's a small place, lit by soft yellow string lights. The chairs and tables look rickety and the air smells warm, with spices and coriander. You follow Joel to the front, where a woman with grey sits at the till. When she notices Joel, she gives him a big smile.

"Joel Miller," she says. "It's been too long."

"Evenin' Mrs. Alvarez," he says. "How are you doin'?"

"I'm alright dear," she says. She notices you then, her eyes brightening. "And who might this be?"

Her tone is teasing and you watch the apples of Joel's cheek flush pink.

"She's a friend," Joel says and your stomach swoops. You and Joel Miller are friends, apparently. At least, according to him. You smile at Mrs. Alvarez, introducing yourself. She hands you a laminated sheet of paper and you look over the menu. There's so many options and when you glance at Joel, he's patiently waiting. He must already know what he wants.

"You can go ahead," you tell him. "It might take me a minute to figure out what I want."

"All good, take your time," Joel says and then continues waiting. You're torn between enchiladas and tacos, both sounding too tempting.

"What do you recommend? Between the enchiladas and tacos?" you ask Joel and his brows furrow as he thinks.

"That's a tough one," Joel says. "How do you feel about splittin'?"

"Oh," you say. "You don't have to!"

Joel smiles and then he's telling Mrs. Alvarez that the two of you will split an order of tacos and enchiladas. You're reaching for your card to pay but Joel beats you to it, waving you off.

"It's the least I can do," you say. "For the ride."

"Nah, there's no need for all that," Joel says. He takes the token from Mrs. Alvarez and you follow him to a table. When you take a seat, it sinks in that you're getting dinner with Joel. The same Joel you've been nursing a crush the size of Canada on. You spent last Friday telling Anika about the way his arms looked in his worn t-shirts. Now, you're sitting across from him waiting to split Mexican food.

Joel clears his throat.

"You call a mechanic yet?" he asks, pulling you away from your thoughts.

"Sure did," you say. "He called me sweetheart and told me it'd cost me twelve-hundred so I'm considering selling a kidney. Know any buyers?"

"I might know someone on the black market," Joel says, the low timber of his voice distracting you from the fact that he just made a joke. You let out a laugh through your nose, settling more comfortably in your seat. "He's robbin' you. No way do the parts cost that much, even with labour."

"It'll be okay," you say, more to reassure yourself. "I think I'll pick up a couple of extra shifts at this cafe I used to work at so that should help cover it."

It'll have to be more than a few shifts but Joel doesn't need to know that.

"I could do it for you," Joel says.

"The cafe shifts?" you ask, brows furrowing. Joel shakes his head. Before he can speak, a server comes by with two plates of food. The smell hits you and your stomach grumbles again as you take in the enchiladas placed in front of you, drenched in salsa verde. The tacos, which are placed in front of Joel, look just as good.

"The car," Joel says once the server has left you alone with the food. "I used to work in a garage."

"I thought you were a contractor," you say and Joel shrugs.

"I've done a bit of both, I suppose," he says. "Car work is more of a hobby."

"And you could do it for less than twelve-hundred?" you ask and the left side of his mouth lifts up in a half-smile.

"How about for zero hundred dollars?" he says and you still.

"No way could I ask you to do that for me, Joel," you say. He can't possibly be serious. He can't possibly like working on cars that much either.

"You're not askin'," Joel says. "I'm offerin'."

You contemplate it for a few seconds and then shake your head.

"It's too much," you say. "I appreciate it, really. But I can't have you do all that work for free."

There's a permanent line between Joel's brows that deepens when he takes in your words. Still, he nods. You begin splitting the enchilada in half just as Joel moves two tacos to one of the side plates. You follow suit with the enchilada and soon enough you've got two halves of a delicious meal in front of you. You bite into a taco, and make a noise that's half a moan. It's the best taco you've ever had. Once you're done chewing you look at Joel, who's already watching you with amusement colouring his features.

"Good, right?" he says and you laugh, delighted.

"I can't believe I've lived here two years and never realized that the best tacos were right around a block away from me," you say.

"Well I'm glad you like 'em," he says, a pleased smile on his face.

You get through your tacos quicker than you'd like but so does Joel. In between bites, you ask him questions about his life without trying to be pry.

"I moved to the suburbs once Sarah was born," he explains. "Felt more stable and the schools in our area are pretty good."

"Do you ever miss living in the city?" you ask and he shrugs.

"I reckon I sometimes miss not thinkin' about taxes and makin' sure there're enough whole foods in the house," he says. "But Sarah's been the best thing to ever happen to me. Wouldn't have it any other way."

You smile, nodding. You've never felt so sure about anything before, not even grad school. Sure, it had been something you wanted but it was also something you had stumbled upon when you were desperately trying to figure out what it meant to be an adult outside of college.

"How about you?" Joel asks.

"I moved here for school," you say. "Grew up on the east coast though so I'm still not used to the weather."

You miss the snow all the time but you don't tell Joel that.

By the time you've polished off your plates, you've told Joel about the statistics paper you're working on and how your advisor's driving you insane with his edits. In turn, he's told you about the worst contracting job he had, for a couple that used the house they were renovating to cheat on each other while the crew was around.

"I live right around the corner," you tell Joel. "I can just walk it. You probably have to pick up Sarah soon."

Joel looks as if he wants to argue but when he glances at his wrist watch, now almost 8:15 pm, he nods. It'll take him at least forty minutes to head back to the suburb he lives in and that's only if traffic isn't heavy, which it usually is around this time, from all the people returning home from their office jobs.

You're about to thank him again when he speaks.

"I have a proposition for you," he says. "For your car."

You cock your head to the side. "You're not gonna let this go are you?"

"Sarah has a midterm comin' up for math. She mentioned you helped her out a bit last week and well, I love my girl, but math isn't her best subject. How about you tutor her for her midterm and in turn, I fix your car."

It's better than having him do it for free. You'd never be able to owe him for that. Still, it doesn't feel enough.

"I don't know if that's a fair trade," you tell him, wringing your hands together. His insistence at helping you is also most definitely not going to help your crush on him go away.

"Trust me," Joel says. "It's a fair trade. If you don't do it, that means I've gotta and I'm no math whizz. Not the way you are, that's for damn sure."

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, is what Anika always says. Tutoring eighth grade math to get your car fixed for free is probably going to be one of the best deals you can get. It's also one of the kindest offers you've ever had.

"Alright," you agree. "If you're sure."

"I am," Joel says. The air is even colder now, and his cheeks are flushed red from it.

"How about I start this Saturday?" you say and he nods.

"I can pick you up and get your car back to mine too," he says. "If that's alright with you."

"That's perfect," you say, unable to hold back your smile. "Thank you Joel. Really. I appreciate all the help."

"We're helpin' each other out," Joel says and you shake your head, letting out a small laugh.

"If you say so," you say and Joel smiles again. You could get used to that, seeing his dimples.

Joel glances at his watch again. "I should probably head out if I wanna get to Sarah on time. You sure you're good to walk the rest of the way?"

You glance behind you, pointing at the four story building a block down. "That's where I live. I reckon I can survive the journey."

Joel nods but doesn't seem entirely pleased. You wave at him and turn around, heading down the street. You force yourself not to look back. When you get to the front of your building however, you chance a glance to find him looking at you from inside his red pick-up truck. You raise your hand again, giving him a wave. He returns it and only then, does he pull out of the parking lot.

You should have done something as soon as you heard the squeaking. You've never been good with cars but no car squeaks and that should have been your tell. You had been driving back from campus when you noticed the squeaking become louder and your headlights started flickering. You had made it back home just as the engine began to stall and you knew as soon as you had turned it off that it wouldn't be turning on again. Weren't Volkswagen's meant to be super reliable or something?

Now, you're standing near the hood of your car and looking up mechanics near you on Google Maps. The first three hadn't picked up but you're hopeful about the fourth. Or at least you're trying to be, even as you can feel a tension headache building behind your eyes.

"Hello," a man says and you slump in relief. "Marty here with Marty Mechanics. How can I help ya?"

"Hi," you say. And then stall. You're not sure how you'd even describe the issue. "Um, I think there's something up with my car."

You hear a chuckle on the line and you can feel yourself flush.

"Figures, people don't really call to make small talk. Your engine not starting up?" he asks and you nod before you remember he can't see you.

"Yeah," you say. "I've been hearing this squeaking noise and then today on my drive back home, the lights started flickering. It felt like it was stalling when I parked and turned off the car. Now it won't start up."

"Sounds like your alternator failed on ya," he says and he might as well have spoken a foreign language.

"Right," you say. You can feel sweat beading at your forehead. "I'm not so good with cars —"

Marty interrupts you with a snort. "I figured, sweetheart."

Your jaw clenches and you tamp down the annoyance that bubbles up inside of you. Today's been a shit day already. You woke up late and then skipped out on lunch in favour of getting a report done and even then, your advisor had been displeased with your writing which he had made very clear. And now you're hungry and your car has gone to shit.

"How much will it be?" you ask, ignoring his condescension. On the other side, Marty hums in contemplation and you tamp down the urge to end the call.

"Well, I'll need to come tow it to the garage. And I reckon we might wanna replace the serpentine belt and tension pulley at the same time as we're looking at the alternator because they're likely fried too. Reckon it should take a few days given I can get my hands on the parts so you're looking at around twelve hundred with labour."

The amount settles in your stomach like a rock. Fuck. You know car things are expensive. The last time you did a full service was two years ago and it cost you nine hundred. But you had planned for that, had saved for it. You have not planned for whatever this is. What the hell is a serpentine belt anyways?

"Okay, um. Can I call you back?" you ask, because you cannot commit to twelve hundred dollars right now. You don't even think you have twelve hundred dollars in your checking account. Marty chuckles, clearly amused.

"Sure," he says. "But you're not going to find anything much cheaper. Especially with imports being more expensive lately."

"I'll keep that in mind," you say. "Could you text me the quote please?"

Once he agrees, you end the call. Your phone buzzes with a calendar reminder.

Boxing Session - 1 hour

You look at your car and then back at your phone. It usually takes you around twenty minutes to drive to Joel's gym but without your car you'll have to take the bus. You could Uber but if you need to spend twelve hundred dollars on your car, you better start saving now. You pull up Google Maps and type in the address to the gym. There's a bus that'll drop you ten minutes away which is decent enough. You already have your gym bag with you because you had planned on going straight from campus but your hunger had gotten the better of you and you had come home with the intention of having a late lunch. Having to take the bus however, means you have to leave now if you want to make it on time. You know you have a granola bar in your backpack so hopefully it tides you until later. You make your way towards the bus stop, thankful that it's only a block south of your apartment building.

The weather is colder today then it should be for October in Austin. You zip up your hoodie and pick up your pace. By the time you make it to the stop, you can see the bus a block down. You're thankful you never clear out your purse because hidden between one of the card flaps is your faded metro card that you haven't had to use in at least three years. You've become spoiled.

The bus driver barely glances at you as you enter and the bus is thankfully, mostly empty. You find a seat near the back and pull out your phone once more. Marty's texted you the quote and the total amount mocks you. You open up your banking app and the total amount in there, mocks you too. You have a grand total of two thousand dollars in your account. Rent is due within the next week and you won't be paid until two weeks after that. You could put it on your credit card but the idea of racking up that much when your credit limit is only fifteen hundred leaves you nervous. You can feel the muscles in your back begin to tighten with stress and your nose begins to tingle in the telltale sign that if you keep thinking about your dire circumstances, you're going to start crying. And once you start crying, it's hard to stop. You lock your phone and shove it into your gym bag. You reach around in your bag before feeling the plastic wrapping of the granola bars you always carry with you. Pulling it out, you peel the packaging apart and bite into it. It's dryer than you'd like but it's something to tide you over until dinner. You continue chewing, angling yourself to face the window.

Houses blur past, shades of red and grey smudging together as you blink back tears of frustration. You focus on something else, deciding to try spot as many types of trees as you can. You get to a grand total of five before the bus comes to a jerky halt at your stop and you make your way off of it, taking in the feeling of the cold air and warm sun against your skin. It's your favourite kind of weather, rare in Texas for it to be so cool even though it is technically fall, and you decide you're going to try enjoy it. You try take it in as you walk in the direction of the boxing gym, but your mind keeps snagging on the tiny little issue of your car being basically dead. You could pick up extra shifts at the coffee shop you used to work at before you received an offer of funding. You make a mental note to call Kylie, the owner and manager who always had a soft spot for you and would let you take all the leftover blueberry muffins home after your shift, and ask her if she could put you back on for weekends.

You swallow down the rest of your granola bar in three big bites and stuff the wrapper into your pocket before you open the door to the boxing gym. Joel is at the front desk this time, looking right at you.

"Evenin'," he greets and you smile, still trying to swallow down half the granola bar. He gives you an amused smile as he watches you chew. After what feels like ages, your mouth is empty and you're able to speak.

"Hey Joel," you say. "How are you?"

"M'alright," he says. "How about yourself?"

You think of your car and your bank account and the amount of editing you have to do in the next forty-eight hours.

"I'm alright too," you say, the lie coming easily. "I didn't get a chance to change into my gym clothes so could I use your bathroom?"

Joel nods, standing up. He's wearing a soft black shirt and matching sweats. The broad expanse of his shoulders stretches the cotton of his shirt and his hair looks wet, as if he's just showered. Usually, you'd admire how handsome he looks but today you just don't have it in you. You're all wound up with stress and you can feel frustration simmering inside of you, growing into something ugly.

"It's right through here," he says, gesturing to a corridor. "There's a shower too, if you need."

"Thank you," you say and go down the corridor. The changing room is nice, actually. The tiles are an eggshell white and the shower looks newly done with shiny faucets and clear, spotless glass windows. You change quickly, slipping out of your hoodie and shirt and into your sports bra and tank top. Your pants are next and then you're pulling on your yoga pants and adjusting the back so the lines of your underwear aren't as prominent. You couldn't find a pair of thongs or seamless underwear this morning so you had settled for a regular pair. You catch your reflection in the mirror and you look as tired as you feel. There are dark circles under your eyes and your hair falls limply. You gather it up into a ponytail and stuff your clothes into your bag before you head out.

Joel's by the mat, the jumprope you warm up with twisted around his knuckles. He looks up when he hears you, his eyes tracing over your form. Silently, he hands you the jumprope and you take it.

"Ten minutes this time," he instructs, and your eyebrows raise in a silent question. "Need to build up your stamina, get your heart rate up."

"I'm not going to lie to you, there's about a ninety percent chance I'm not making it past seven minutes," you warn and Joel's cheeks dimple. He has some stubble today, the dark brown against his tan skin highlighting the sharpness of his jaw.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," he says, voice low. "C'mon now. Time's tickin'."

You make it to seven minutes and fifty-three seconds before it feels like your heart might give up. For however cold it was outside, the gym feels about a hundred degrees right now. You know you must look flushed and you can feel sweat gathering in terrible places like behind your knees and under your boobs. You glance up at Joel, finding his eyes trained on you. You give him a pleading look and he nods. You drop the jumprope and place your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. You sound like you've run a marathon and you would be embarrassed at your subpar fitness if you could muster the energy to care.

Joel's shadow comes to stand above you and you straighten up. You can feel your pulse in your throat. Maybe you won't have to pay to fix your car. Maybe you'll die from cardiac arrest first.

"Deep breath in," Joel instructs and you follow. "Hold it in for a second."

You do.

"Now exhale, slow and steady," he says and you do. "Again."

You do that too, and three minutes later, you feel like you might just survive this session. When you've caught your breath, you finally speak.

"Be honest with me Joel," you say. "Have you ever had anyone else almost die from the warm up?"

You smile as you say it, trying to mask your embarrassment. To your relief, Joel smiles too, shaking his head.

"You did fine," he says, his accent dragging out the last word.

"Fine huh? That's glowing praise," you say and Joel snorts.

"C'mon," he says. "We're goin' to review last week and then work on defense."

It takes you less time to wrap your hands and once you do, Joel's handing you a pair of gloves. You still need help securing the strap, holding your wrist out for Joel who does it for you. He slips into his gloves too, quick and practiced, like it's second nature. It probably is, for him. You start off with your stances, the movements coming more naturally this time around. You had practiced over the weekend, pivoting your leg the way Joel had told you how. You jab the air in front of you, taking turns to switch hands.

"Now in a circle," Joel says and you follow. It's almost like he's a puppeteer and you're his puppet. You circle your imaginary opponent, throwing in jabs whenever it feels right. Joel stops you when you're halfway through, kneeling down and pulling off his gloves.

"May I?" he asks, all southern manners. You nod. He places his hands on the foot that supports your stance. His right hand cups your heel and his left presses down on your toes. You can feel the shape of his strong fingers even through your sports shoes.

"Y'need to make sure you're not puttin' any unwanted pressure on the heel of your foot," Joel says. "You want to be bouncy on your toes and the front half of your foot. Your heels stay off the ground unless you're holdin' a stance. That make sense?"

"I think so," you say. He looks up at you and this angle is new. And something you might store away for nights where there's an ache between your legs. His hands are still on your foot and he squeezes your heel once, before he taps it. You lift it up, settling on the front half of your foot.

"How's that feel?" he asks, now moving his left hand so it lies below your heel, forcing it to stay lifted.

"Like I'm a ballerina," you say just to see him smile. He does, huffing a laugh through his nose.

"Perfect," he says, and then stands up. He's closer to you now than he was before. You can smell him, the scent of some sort of woodsy body wash and laundry detergent combining. You watch as he pulls his gloves back on, his bruised knuckles disappearing. He steps away and you continue, pulling your focus back into the task at hand. You move through your sparring circles a few more times, extra conscious to keep your feet the way Joel had instructed. His eyes stay on you the whole time, tracking your every move. You don't think you're ever going to get used to being his singular focus.

"Alright," Joel says after what's probably you're sixth circle. "Now we move to defense. The most import thing about sparrin' or fightin' or whatever you want to call it is to make sure you don't get hit."

"The best punch is the one you don't get hit by," you say and Joel's brows raise in surprise.

"You know Willie Pep?" he asks.

You can't help the sheepish smile on your face. You absolutely do not know Willie Pep. You did however, watch a YouTube video last night titled TEN THINGS A BEGINNER BOXER SHOULD KNOW by IronFistFighter67.

"I do my research," is what you tell Joel to which he looks amused.

"Alright, alright, I get it. You're doin' a PhD," Joel says and this time it's you who raises a brow.

"It was on your intake form," Joel explains. Right. That makes sense. You don't think Joel's the type to cyber-stalk someone. Still, a silly part of you hoped that he had been as curious about you as you are of him.

"So defense," Joel starts, going back into instructor mode. "Blockin' and dodgin' are just as important as throwin' a punch, if not more. Bein' able to avoid bein' hurt means you conserve your energy which means you're able to fight for longer. Endurance and stamina are just as important."

You bite your lip to stop yourself from saying oh I'm sure.

"Makes sense," you say, instead. "Which one are we starting with today?"

Joel smiles. "Dodgin' first. I want you to try hit me."

This time, you don't hesitate. You get into position and swing your right fist, muscles locked so that you have full control of the movement. To your relief, you watch as Joel moves low, missing your fist entirely.

"That is what we call a duck'," Joel says when he's upright. "It's how you dodge a punch comin' right at you. I'm goin' to throw jabs at you and I want you to watch my movements and then move in a way that allows you to keep your stance and not get hit."

"Okay," you say. And then, just so he knows, you add, "Joel, I really don't think I can handle being punched."

Joel's gaze softens, and he shakes his head. "I'm goin' to go real slow. I promise I won't hurt you, okay?"

"Alright," you say, nerves in your stomach alight. You get into position, holding your hands up in two fists and positioning your feet so that you feel stable. Your eyes stay on Joel's large fists, his swollen knuckles where the skin looks thicker and worn. Slowly, you watch his left fist move towards you and you move lower, feeling the air above you whoosh as he completes the swing.

"Good," Joel says. "But you gotta keep those eyes open for me."

You hadn't even realized you had shut them. You blink them open, feeling yourself warm with embarrassment. You straighten up and meet Joel's amused gaze.

"Let's try again," he says. "This time I want you to remember to meet my gaze when you're done duckin', okay?"

"No promises," you say but you steel yourself.

This time, you duck the other way and think of Joel's warm eyes the entire time, remembering that you have to see them. He gives you a pleased nod when you meet his gaze.

You keep going, and it's almost as if the two of you are dancing, your steps slowing becoming more fluid and natural. Eventually, you come to a standstill.

"Good," Joel says. "We'll pick up the pace with that in our next session. Now, I want to teach you some basic blocks. Dodgin' is good but it isn't always possible to do. That's where blockin' comes in."

"Should I try punch you again?" you ask and Joel's mouth curls into an almost smile.

"You're catchin' on," he says. "Jab whenever you're ready."

So you do. You watch him bring a forearm up, blocking you. His bicep flexes with the movement, straining against the sleeve of his shirt.

"Look at how my elbows are positioned," Joel says, voice low. You move your eyes lower, seeing what he means. His elbows are tucked to his side, close to the top of his ribs. "The top of my glove is near my forehead. You're protectin' your face the whole time but you still want to stay in control. Keepin' your arms close to you helps with that."

You nod, taking in his stance.

"Wanna try?" he asks and you nod again. He gives you a moment to position yourself, fixing your stance so your front foot is firmly planted against the ground. You focus on him, tracking both his gloves hands. When his left hand comes out, still slow, but moving towards you, you're quick to block it. Your gloves shield the sides of your head and you maintain your eye contact, tracking Joel's every move.

"Attagirl," he says and you wonder if he knows the impact those words have on you. The liquid heat that zips through your spine at his low drawl. You push away those distracting thoughts and continue blocking Joel's slow strikes. You go on like that until Joel reorients himself.

"Remember that lead hook punch I showed you?" he asks. You nod, positioning yourself. You bring your right elbow up so that it's almost in line with your shoulder and then swing towards Joel. His brows are furrowed in concentration, his eyes trained on you, as he brings his left arm up to block you. This time he pivots himself a bit, bringing up his entire forearm to stop the swing of your arm.

"So I pivot on my back leg?" you ask and he nods.

"We'll take turns," Joel says. "You punch and then block and we keep goin'. Remember to pivot on opposite feet. Sound okay?"

"Yeap," you say, positioning yourself. You practice the movement once and then nod at Joel. He blocks your first swing and then you block his. Slowly, he starts moving in a circle and you follow, still throwing punches and blocking. You stay focused, watching the flex of his arm as he moves. You can feel his gaze trained on you. You're not sure how long the two of you move like that, back and forth until you can feel your muscles beginning to protest. Your bicep twitches with the effort and you meet Joel's eye, hoping he sees what you're feeling.

"Let's call it," Joel says, blocking your final punch. "You did good."

You relax, letting your arms fall to your sides. You know you'll feel the strain in your muscles tomorrow but it feels good. At least you've achieved this today.

"Thanks Joel," you tell him, as he begins taking his gloves off. You follow suit, leaving them on the bench. Once you've unwrapped your hands, you flex your fingers. You dig your thumb into the meat of your palms, massaging the strain away. It's only then that you notice it's ten minutes later than when your session should have ended. Which also means you only have five minutes to get to the bus stop or else you have to wait another thirty minutes.

"Shit," you curse. "M'sorry Joel but I have to go. I'll see you next week, yeah?"

He nods, his brows furrowed. You grab your bag and run out, picking up your pace into a sprint so you can try make it there on time. Your heart is thumping against your chest, fast and erratic. Even with the chilled air, you can feel sweat beading at your forehead and down your neck. You're definitely going to have to wash your hair tonight. You turn the corner and relief courses through you at the sight of the bus, still stalled at the stop. When you come up the doors however, they stay closed. You knock, hoping to catch the eye of the driver. He looks about your age, nose pointy and his mouth pulled into a frown when he notices you. You raise your bus pass in the air, gesturing for him to let you on. He watches you and then, he begins pulling away from the curb, ignoring your mime work.

"Hey!" you yell. "Please let me on."

He must hear you but the bus doors stay firmly closed and he has the audacity to look at you as if you're boring him. Then, he's gone, pulling onto the street as if you hadn't spent the last minute waiting at the stop.

"Asshole!" you yell, and catch the scandalized look of a woman with a stroller. You don't care. Whatever good mood you had been in because of your boxing session has disappeared and you're back to feeling overwhelmed and furious, all at once. You look down at your phone to see that the next bus won't be there for another thirty-two minutes. Your anger bleeds into sadness, and before you know it, tears are streaming down your face. You wipe them away quickly. Your phone dings with a notification — an email from your advisor by the looks of it — and you quickly put it on Do Not Disturb.

The Uber app faces you, almost mockingly. Fuck it. It's not like saving thirty dollars is going to to get you any closer to the twelve-hundred you need. Just as you're about to confirm your ride, you hear a soft honk and jolt. You look up to meet a familiar set of brown eyes. Joel's driving a red pick-up truck, and saying something to you that you can't understand. He waves you over, and when you walk up the rolled-down window, you finally hear what he's been saying.

"Get in," he says. "Please."

The man in the car behind him honks once, then twice, and then rolls down his window..

"You're blocking everyone, get the fuck out of the way!" he says, voice booming. The lady with the stroller looks even more scandalized now, as she hurries away. "Get the fuck outta the way man, you're holding up traffic!" he yells again even though there are no other cars behind him. Joel's jaw clenches as he glares at the man through the rearview mirror before he looks back at you. It's either this or an Uber. You open the passenger door and slide onto the warm leather seat. Joel starts driving as soon as you've clicked your seatbelt into place.

"You good?" Joel asks, taking in your blotchy face and frown. You nod even though you're still irrationally angry at the bus driver.

"Thank you," you say, though you're not sure for what. You're not even sure why you're in his car. He pulls into a side street and shifts the gear into park.

"What happened to your car?" he asks and you let out a humourless laugh.

"Alternator's broken or something," you say. "And the snake belt too."

Joel's mouth twitches. "I reckon you mean the serpentine belt."

Your cheeks heat but you nod.

"I can give you a ride home," Joel says. "The buses don't come by often."

"I know that," you snap, voice harsher than you intend it to be. You're still so angry at everything and everyone around you. "Sorry. I appreciate it Joel but you don't have to do that. It's out of your way."

"You don't know where I live," Joel says, voice gentle. "I don't mind, really."

"Don't you have to get home to Sarah?" you ask, looking up at him. His eyes are kind, as they trace over your face.

"Nah," he says. "She's stayin' over at a friend's until nine p.m. to study."

You hesitate before you nod. "Alright, if you're certain."

"I am," Joel says. "The bus driver was an asshole by the way."

Your mouth ticks up in a smile, some of your anger dissipating. So he had seen the entire commotion then.

"Right?" you say. "I had my bus pass and everything. He was still parked when I showed up."

Joel shakes his head, shifting the car into drive. You give him your address and he doesn't even need to pull up the navigation for it before he begins to drive. About two minutes later your stomach grumbles, so loudly you're pretty sure the cars across the street can hear you. Right. You haven't had anything today except for oatmeal this morning and the poor excuse of a granola bar right before your session.

"Hungry?" Joel asks, as your ears heat up.

"What gave it away?" you say, trying to mask your embarrassment. Joel chuckles, a lovely sound.

"You have somewhere to be right now?" he asks and you glance at him. His side profile is lit by the dusky sky, his strong nose standing out against his face.

"Just home," you say, curious why he's asking. "How come?"

"You can say no," Joel starts and you shift in your seat, facing him more fully. He glances at you, before focusing back on the road. "But I'm starvin' too and from what I've seen and heard, it sounds like you've had a bit of a day."

You snort. "That would be putting it lightly."

"There's a taco place not too far from where you live that's pretty good," Joel says. "Wanna go?"

Your heart picks up and you can't stop the smile that breaks over your features. You look back ahead, away from Joel, hoping he doesn't notice.

"Okay," you say. "That sounds nice."

Joel hums. You watch him grip the steering wheel more firmly, the veins in his hands prominent. The drive there is silent but not uncomfortably so. Joel has a cassette playing old songs, low and crooning. The taco place is pretty close to your apartment building although you've never been. He finds a parking spot right outside the restaurant.

It's a small place, lit by soft yellow string lights. The chairs and tables look rickety and the air smells warm, with spices and coriander. You follow Joel to the front, where a woman with grey sits at the till. When she notices Joel, she gives him a big smile.

"Joel Miller," she says. "It's been too long."

"Evenin' Mrs. Alvarez," he says. "How are you doin'?"

"I'm alright dear," she says. She notices you then, her eyes brightening. "And who might this be?"

Her tone is teasing and you watch the apples of Joel's cheek flush pink.

"She's a friend," Joel says and your stomach swoops. You and Joel Miller are friends, apparently. At least, according to him. You smile at Mrs. Alvarez, introducing yourself. She hands you a laminated sheet of paper and you look over the menu. There's so many options and when you glance at Joel, he's patiently waiting. He must already know what he wants.

"You can go ahead," you tell him. "It might take me a minute to figure out what I want."

"All good, take your time," Joel says and then continues waiting. You're torn between enchiladas and tacos, both sounding too tempting.

"What do you recommend? Between the enchiladas and tacos?" you ask Joel and his brows furrow as he thinks.

"That's a tough one," Joel says. "How do you feel about splittin'?"

"Oh," you say. "You don't have to!"

Joel smiles and then he's telling Mrs. Alvarez that the two of you will split an order of tacos and enchiladas. You're reaching for your card to pay but Joel beats you to it, waving you off.

"It's the least I can do," you say. "For the ride."

"Nah, there's no need for all that," Joel says. He takes the token from Mrs. Alvarez and you follow him to a table. When you take a seat, it sinks in that you're getting dinner with Joel. The same Joel you've been nursing a crush the size of Canada on. You spent last Friday telling Anika about the way his arms looked in his worn t-shirts. Now, you're sitting across from him waiting to split Mexican food.

Joel clears his throat.

"You call a mechanic yet?" he asks, pulling you away from your thoughts.

"Sure did," you say. "He called me sweetheart and told me it'd cost me twelve-hundred so I'm considering selling a kidney. Know any buyers?"

"I might know someone on the black market," Joel says, the low timber of his voice distracting you from the fact that he just made a joke. You let out a laugh through your nose, settling more comfortably in your seat. "He's robbin' you. No way do the parts cost that much, even with labour."

"It'll be okay," you say, more to reassure yourself. "I think I'll pick up a couple of extra shifts at this cafe I used to work at so that should help cover it."

It'll have to be more than a few shifts but Joel doesn't need to know that.

"I could do it for you," Joel says.

"The cafe shifts?" you ask, brows furrowing. Joel shakes his head. Before he can speak, a server comes by with two plates of food. The smell hits you and your stomach grumbles again as you take in the enchiladas placed in front of you, drenched in salsa verde. The tacos, which are placed in front of Joel, look just as good.

"The car," Joel says once the server has left you alone with the food. "I used to work in a garage."

"I thought you were a contractor," you say and Joel shrugs.

"I've done a bit of both, I suppose," he says. "Car work is more of a hobby."

"And you could do it for less than twelve-hundred?" you ask and the left side of his mouth lifts up in a half-smile.

"How about for zero hundred dollars?" he says and you still.

"No way could I ask you to do that for me, Joel," you say. He can't possibly be serious. He can't possibly like working on cars that much either.

"You're not askin'," Joel says. "I'm offerin'."

You contemplate it for a few seconds and then shake your head.

"It's too much," you say. "I appreciate it, really. But I can't have you do all that work for free."

There's a permanent line between Joel's brows that deepens when he takes in your words. Still, he nods. You begin splitting the enchilada in half just as Joel moves two tacos to one of the side plates. You follow suit with the enchilada and soon enough you've got two halves of a delicious meal in front of you. You bite into a taco, and make a noise that's half a moan. It's the best taco you've ever had. Once you're done chewing you look at Joel, who's already watching you with amusement colouring his features.

"Good, right?" he says and you laugh, delighted.

"I can't believe I've lived here two years and never realized that the best tacos were right around a block away from me," you say.

"Well I'm glad you like 'em," he says, a pleased smile on his face.

You get through your tacos quicker than you'd like but so does Joel. In between bites, you ask him questions about his life without trying to be pry.

"I moved to the suburbs once Sarah was born," he explains. "Felt more stable and the schools in our area are pretty good."

"Do you ever miss living in the city?" you ask and he shrugs.

"I reckon I sometimes miss not thinkin' about taxes and makin' sure there're enough whole foods in the house," he says. "But Sarah's been the best thing to ever happen to me. Wouldn't have it any other way."

You smile, nodding. You've never felt so sure about anything before, not even grad school. Sure, it had been something you wanted but it was also something you had stumbled upon when you were desperately trying to figure out what it meant to be an adult outside of college.

"How about you?" Joel asks.

"I moved here for school," you say. "Grew up on the east coast though so I'm still not used to the weather."

You miss the snow all the time but you don't tell Joel that.

By the time you've polished off your plates, you've told Joel about the statistics paper you're working on and how your advisor's driving you insane with his edits. In turn, he's told you about the worst contracting job he had, for a couple that used the house they were renovating to cheat on each other while the crew was around.

"I live right around the corner," you tell Joel. "I can just walk it. You probably have to pick up Sarah soon."

Joel looks as if he wants to argue but when he glances at his wrist watch, now almost 8:15 pm, he nods. It'll take him at least forty minutes to head back to the suburb he lives in and that's only if traffic isn't heavy, which it usually is around this time, from all the people returning home from their office jobs.

You're about to thank him again when he speaks.

"I have a proposition for you," he says. "For your car."

You cock your head to the side. "You're not gonna let this go are you?"

"Sarah has a midterm comin' up for math. She mentioned you helped her out a bit last week and well, I love my girl, but math isn't her best subject. How about you tutor her for her midterm and in turn, I fix your car."

It's better than having him do it for free. You'd never be able to owe him for that. Still, it doesn't feel enough.

"I don't know if that's a fair trade," you tell him, wringing your hands together. His insistence at helping you is also most definitely not going to help your crush on him go away.

"Trust me," Joel says. "It's a fair trade. If you don't do it, that means I've gotta and I'm no math whizz. Not the way you are, that's for damn sure."

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, is what Anika always says. Tutoring eighth grade math to get your car fixed for free is probably going to be one of the best deals you can get. It's also one of the kindest offers you've ever had.

"Alright," you agree. "If you're sure."

"I am," Joel says. The air is even colder now, and his cheeks are flushed red from it.

"How about I start this Saturday?" you say and he nods.

"I can pick you up and get your car back to mine too," he says. "If that's alright with you."

"That's perfect," you say, unable to hold back your smile. "Thank you Joel. Really. I appreciate all the help."

"We're helpin' each other out," Joel says and you shake your head, letting out a small laugh.

"If you say so," you say and Joel smiles again. You could get used to that, seeing his dimples.

Joel glances at his watch again. "I should probably head out if I wanna get to Sarah on time. You sure you're good to walk the rest of the way?"

You glance behind you, pointing at the four story building a block down. "That's where I live. I reckon I can survive the journey."

Joel nods but doesn't seem entirely pleased. You wave at him and turn around, heading down the street. You force yourself not to look back. When you get to the front of your building however, you chance a glance to find him looking at you from inside his red pick-up truck. You raise your hand again, giving him a wave. He returns it and only then, does he pull out of the parking lot.

People look different in the daylight.

It isn’t just the light itself, though that certainly plays a role. The morning exposes things that evenings had the decency to soften… things that the night can no longer conceal in isolation. Things like the faint shadows beneath Joel’s eyes, the slow retreat from the haze of sleep aided by a cup of coffee, and the quiet routines that make up the life waiting for him outside the walls of his office. Things you have no business seeing and knowing what it is that you are seeing.

Daylight has the habit of contextualizing pieces of people in a way that the night would never demand. Light insists on the whole person, eliminating the shadows that had obscured the entire image.

During the summer, you’d known Joel in fragments, each one carefully insulated from the rest of his life. He’d existed almost entirely inside borrowed nights and lingering mornings, in moments carved deliberately away from responsibility, where desire possessed its own convenient logic and tomorrow always felt comfortably out of frame.

You can almost resent the way philosophers insisted on separating desire from duty, as though the two occupied opposite ends of the same moral spectrum. Semester after semester you witnessed the debate of whether virtue lay in resisting the passions or disciplining them, whether love was best understood as an emotion, a choice, or an obligation freely assumed. How easy it was for them to praise forbidden love. To proclaim it as ‘divine madness’ as if the promise of witnessing universal beauty and truth makes up for the unbearable ache that Joel’s touch had left.

And yet remarkably few of them seemed interested in how any of it actually began and the true consequences of loving someone enough to cling to restraint with your own nails digging into your soul. The experience of what felt like your soul bleeding. To welcome the tortuous longing as penance, as an eternal reminder that the universe had chosen you to suffer because you dared to fall into someone and find safety in their presence.

You understand now that it all began with the kind of ordinary familiarity no ethical framework ever seemed particularly concerned with. It started with a remembered preference, an unspoken routine, or the quiet certainty that someone will appear precisely when they said they will. It roots itself in conversations resumed without needing to remember where it had left off. The imperceptible migration of another person from the periphery of your life to somewhere much closer to its center, accomplished so gradually that by the time you notice, it’s already impossible to identify where the shift had first occurred.

Perhaps that had always been the greatest convenience of the summer, because lust had asked nothing of either of you beyond the present moment.

It had been gloriously uncomplicated in that way, expansive enough to explain every tenderness that threatened to wander beyond the physical. Every lingering glance or touch with the truth laid bare through the windows to your souls could be mistaken for the afterglow of attraction and desire. Every reluctant goodbye became the predictable consequence of appreciating the attention and affection provided in those moments.

The wanting never diminished. If anything, restraint has sharpened it into something almost unbearable. What changed was the realization that desire no longer seemed capable of carrying the weight of everything accumulating quietly around it.

Somewhere along the way, lust had ceased to be the whole story, and could no longer be sustained by the remarkably convenient excuse for refusing to read the rest of it.

The problem with daylight is that it exposes evidence those nights together had allowed you to overlook.

When you are alone, Joel still looks at you the way he had during the summer, his gaze lingering just a fraction too long before he remembers this version of you and him. You still remember exactly what it felt like to wake beneath the weight of his arm or hear his low timbre voice in the quiet hours before dawn. None of that disappeared, but it now seeps around each glance and every smile.

—

For the remainder of the week, Joel arrived outside your apartment each morning precisely when he said he would. You’d brought coffee in two thermoses because you had just so happened to make enough for two, but your roommate had left without taking some. He chooses to believe you because he had showed up with two coffees he had picked up on the way, “guess we’ll be plenty caffeinated for the day,” he’d said, as if remembering your coffee order wasn’t an homage to the mornings you used to share after a night spent together, half-naked in his kitchen.

It became an easy rhythm because he really hadn’t given you much choice, an unspoken responsibility he’d taken upon himself to insure that you had a safe commute to and from campus.

As someone who could usually explain yourself out of most things to avoid the guilt of asking for help, Joel had left little to no room for arguing. A few times you’d offer to ask a friend to take you home or catch a ride in the morning, but without fail he’d somehow convince you that this was the easiest and least inconveniencing option since he was already willing and happy to help… and well, there really was no room left for you to be stubborn.

And you were not going to tell him that your friends had already offered to provide rides which you’d adamantly declined… and you absolutely could not tell your friends you’d accepted your professor’s offer over theirs.

How could you explain without reasonable suspicion that your professor and your current employer offered to take you home, check out your car, then proceed to be your personal chauffeur until he could fix it himself.

So, you had somewhat evaded your friends for the duration of the week, leaving too many moments of quiet contemplation to ponder how you could possibly explain this preposterous scenario you’d allowed yourself to fall into. Thankfully, they’d accepted your excuse of it just being a busy week because it had been a busy week for them, too.

But it frustrated the hell out of you that by the time Friday surrendered to Saturday morning, you were already starting to mourn the mini-routine you’d established.

—

Winter mornings in Texas never possessed the sort of dramatic stillness reserved for postcards, but there was something unusually peaceful about the apartment complex before most of the world had finished waking up. The air carried that familiar February bite that promised sunshine without warmth, leaving a thin layer of frost clinging stubbornly to windshields beneath a cloudless sky.

Joel’s truck eases into the parking lot only a few minutes later, the low rumble of the engine cutting gently through the quiet before settling back into silence.

By the time you wander over to where he’s parked, he’s already climbing out of his truck, dressed far more casually than you were accustomed to seeing him nowadays. Faded jeans sitting low against his hips beneath an old brown leather belt, a charcoal henley stretching comfortably across his chest beneath one of his many worn flannels, and sturdy work boots crunching softly over the frost as he rounds the truck.

His sleeves are already pushed carelessly up his arms as he lowers the tailgate, exposing skin lightly dusted with dark hair and forearms that carry the unmistakable evidence of someone who’s spent most of his life building, repairing, lifting, fixing. The silver near his temples catching briefly beneath the pale winter sun.

His eyes meet yours for only a moment, though it’s long enough for that familiar softness to creep briefly into his expression, “Mornin’.”

Averting his attention back toward the truck bed, he nods toward the collection of tools and replacement parts, “Brought a little more than we need.”

Your gaze sweeps over the assortment of sockets and wrenches before returning to him. The understatement earning an incredulous look from you.

“A little?”

The corner of Joel’s mouth lifts as he grabs the toolbox and carries it over to your car, setting it down beside the right rear wheel.

“Never trust a mechanic that only owns one wrench.”

His voice carries that familiar roughness the early hour always seems to pull from him, lower than usual, softened by sleep in a way that did absolutely nothing to improve your ability to think coherently.

“I don’t actually know if that’s a real saying.”

Straightening again, he glances over his shoulder, amusement settling easily into the lines around his eyes.

“Should be.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, and he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

Turning back toward the truck, Joel reaches into one of the compartments before withdrawing a pair of worn leather work gloves, the fingers molded to the shape of his hands from years of use.

He flexes his fingers, working them comfortably into place before fishing a second pair.

Your brows rise immediately.

“They’re gonna be too big,” you observe before he’s even handed them over.

His eyes flick briefly toward your hands before settling back on the gloves, “I’d rather they be too big than have ya slicin’ your hands open.”

You accept them with a reluctant sigh, wiggling your fingers inside the oversized leather while Joel watches with poorly disguised amusement. The term ‘fitting like a glove’ worked far better for his own pair, and the way his forearms flex while adjusting them on his thick fingers has you swallowing dryly.

He crouches beside the wheel with the same unhurried confidence that seemed to accompany everything he does.

“I look ridiculous,” you tear your eyes away from the sight, looking down at your hands in hopes of steadying your breath before it becomes too painfully obvious.

Joel looks up from positioning the floor jack beneath the frame of your car. His gaze sweeps from the oversized gloves to the thoroughly unimpressed expression you’ve arranged for him before something quietly affectionate softens his features.

“A little…” The honesty catches you a little off guard, “But they’re protectin’ ya.”

“So I’m sacrificing dignity.”

He nods his head sharply and definitively, “For all ten fingers.”

Your eyes narrow at him over the absurdly oversized leather.

“I’ll mourn my dignity later.”

“You’ll be alright, promise.”

Joel lowers his attention back toward the car, you can see the gears turning in his head as he mentally lists every step that needs to be done, “Can y’turn the steerin’ wheel all the way to the left and put the emergency break on f’me?”

You nod and unlock your car doors, climbing into the front seat and turning on the engine. You do as he asks then turn your car back off, returning to his side as he places tire blocks by every tire but the one he’s working on to prevent the from car from going anywhere.

Once he loosens the wheel’s lug nuts, one broad hand curls around the crank he’d attached to the jack. The muscles through his forearm shift beneath lightly tanned skin with each measured movement, veins rising subtly as the weight of the car lifts inch by inch.

You try, unsuccessfully, to focus on literally anything else.

Once the tire hangs just clear of the pavement, Joel sets the handle aside before resting one forearm across his bent knee, studying the wheel for a brief moment to satisfy himself that everything is sitting where it should.

Only then does he glance back toward you, “C’mere.”

The invitation arrives almost absentmindedly, his concentration never leaving the wheel as he tips his head slightly toward the space beside him.

You step closer without thinking.

“So,” he points toward the brake assembly, “before we start pullin’ anythin’ apart, I want y’to actually know what you’re lookin’ at.”

You lean down instinctively, following the line of his finger into the narrow space behind the tire.

“I appreciate your confidence.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him, “I didn’t say it’d make sense immediately.”

“No, but I heard the optimism.”

That earns another smile, one that lingers just long enough for you to catch it from the corner of your eye before he settles back into the easy cadence of teaching.

—

Joel has taught enough students over the years to know exactly what happens when someone encounters an unfamiliar subject and shows some form of interest in it.

Curiosity simply possesses a way of shrinking the distance between a question and its answer.

He can feel your attention with startling clarity. Every time he points toward another component beneath the wheel well, you instinctively lean closer to follow the line of his finger. Your eyes track his movements with quiet concentration, brow furrowing in the same thoughtful way it always does whenever you’re trying to understand something.

You pay attention with an intensity that makes a man feel dangerously interesting.

Joel clears his throat, dragging his attention firmly back toward the brake assembly.

“This little piece is your caliper, this holds the pistons that clamp the brake pads against the rotor, slowing your car,” his finger taps lightly against the device before he catches himself looking at you instead of what he’s guiding your attention to.

You’re close enough that he can make out the individual flecks of color around your irises whenever you glance from wherever he’s pointing back to his face. Close enough that a strand of hair, caught by the morning breeze, drifts briefly across your cheek before you absently tuck it behind your ear.

You look at him for half a second before your gaze drifts very deliberately toward the hand still resting against the wheel.

The very hands that have always given him purpose.

Working with them quiets his mind, gives restless thoughts somewhere productive to go. They’ve built buildings and repaired roofs, changed tires in the rain, cradled Sarah when she was small enough to fit against his chest, fixed bicycles and leaky faucets and broken cabinet doors. They have always known what to do.

They seem considerably less useful when you’re looking at him. Everything in his body has to refrain from reaching for you.

The morning settles comfortably around the two of you, punctuated by the metallic click of tools finding their place, the occasional groan of stubborn parts giving way beneath steady pressure.

During a lull between instructions, you find yourself asking a question like you’ve been doing for the past thirty minutes or so, but this time it wasn’t about the car at all. Aided by the growing ease of conversation established through the past few weeks, “so… how did you learn how to do all this stuff?”

Joel hums thoughtfully at your question as he slides the new brake pads into place, “My grandfather always had some project goin’ on in his garage when me and Tommy were kids.”

Joel’s eyes remained on whatever occupied his hands while memories surface, “Was barely taller than the hood of the car lookin’ ‘bout like you with those gloves,” the dimple of his cheek appears as he catches you looking back down at your hands.

“But…” he continues, “didn’t learn nearly as much as I would when I bought my first truck from a man that my pops knew outside of Austin. He’d sworn I could get another hundred thousand miles outta the ol’ thing,” he chuckles fondly, and you catch the slightest eye roll as he recalls the memories, “I sure had to work for those miles, but it taught me the ins and outs of engines and any other possible thing that could go wrong with a car.”

There was something winsome about watching another person explain the ordinary pieces of themselves without realizing they were doing it.

Joel never seemed aware that these simple stories quietly reveal something much larger about the sort of man he is. He speaks the way people do when they aren’t trying to impress anyone. These small fragments of himself were given with the unconscious generosity of someone who assumes they aren’t particularly interesting, or who assumes their stories aren’t particularly significant in any regard.

You disagree vehemently.

Joel sighs as he motions towards the tire and you roll it back to him, he lifts it onto the rotor with ease, “now, put the lug nuts back in place and tighten’ em with your fingers, don’t have to be too tight just yet.”

You happily do as you’re told, your hands trembling slightly as they always do when you know you’re being watched.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” you feel him straighten and take a step back as you finish, but the weight of his encouragement compresses your lungs just enough that it’s hard to get a full breath in.

You step back as he lowers the tire back down to the pavement and tightens the lug nuts with a tool you didn’t know the name of.

“Now for the next one, can y’turn the steering wheel all the way to the right f’me?”

You switch to the other rear wheel to repeat the process, but this time he’s making you do it.

Unfortunately for you, he understood your need for independence and that the best form of learning for you is to do something yourself.

However, the oversized gloves do not cooperate very well with your fingers so it’s a bit of a wasted effort on the things that require any sort of precision, “sorry ‘bout that, darlin’, I got it.”

Joel still guides rather than taking over completely, occasionally placing his hand over yours to correct the angle of a wrench or bracing one palm against the back of your glove when you need more leverage than the awkward position allows. Every touch arrives with an unimpeachable reason and lasts no longer than necessary, which does nothing to prevent your mind from cataloguing each one with humiliating precision.

By the time the car is settled back onto the pavement, the frost has disappeared from the surrounding windshields and the morning sun has climbed high enough to warm the dark fabric stretching across Joel’s shoulders. He gives the last lug nut a final tightening before rising with a quiet groan.

Your heart feels like a volcanic eruption, your blood flowing like lava through your veins.

Not that he meant to make that sound, but your body responds like a dog to Pavlov’s bell. Your mouth waters and your heart starts beating just a little faster…

God, you miss hearing those sounds in your ear. What wouldn’t you give to feel them against your skin… against your mouth… against your… Has your heartbeat always been so prominent between your legs?

Your attention shifts back as he pops open the hood of your car, and he waves his hand for you to join him.

You step into the space beside him, and Joel braces one hand against the frame while the other disappears somewhere deeper into the engine bay, “This here’s the alternator belt, it’s a little frayed and worn, which caused that rattly noise you’d heard.”

You nod in understanding with remarkable confidence for someone who hadn’t really heard any of the words he’d said in the past few minutes.

Your attention is occupied by considerably less practical things.

You can’t help but appreciate the quiet certainty with which his hands navigate what to you is unfamiliar machinery, but to him it seems to be a language he speaks fluently.

It occurs to you that competence possesses a curious sort of intimacy.

The intimacy of repetition, habit, and practice. The care it takes to learn and to repeat something enough times that your hands know what to do next, each step predictable and familiar.

Processes and tasks done so many times they no longer require conscious thought and slowly become part of who someone is. Memories no longer residing solely in your mind, but in your body. The intimacy of muscle memory.

People often guard their emotions, and Joel most certainly does, but somewhere along the way you’d begun collecting Joel’s habits with the same reverence other people reserved for grandiose revelations.

Your blood runs hot with every bit of himself he gives you, consciously or unconsciously.

You’ve found yourself memorizing him in every moment you share. The way his brow furrows whenever he concentrates. The crows feet accentuating by his eyes whenever he catches himself on the edge of a laugh. The twitch of his lips when he catches you staring. The unconscious habit of wetting his lips before explaining something complicated. The not-so-subtle once over he’ll indulge himself with when he swears you couldn’t possibly see the shift of his eyes over your form.

And now, the tendons shifting beneath the weathered skin of his arms every time he tightens another bolt, sleeves shoved carelessly toward his elbows until there’s nowhere left for your attention to settle except the broad sweep of his forearms and the quiet competence with which he moves through the world.

Every so often he glances toward you to make sure you’re following before returning to the task, entirely unaware of what those brief looks are doing to you.

It would have been far easier if he’d give you something to resent, some small imperfection sturdy enough to wedge between the attraction and everything else it had gathered around itself.

And sure, he’s not a perfect man, no one is perfect… but every scar he carries, every flaw he may have, makes him the man you know you’ll always love. The man whose arms feel like safety, and whose presence feels like home. The man who’s always cared, even when he knew the hollowness in his chest would burrow itself deeper.

The quiet competence that he shares because you need it, not because he has anything to prove.

There’s no performance in the steady efficiency of his movements. He fixes things because he knows how, and he teaches because leaving you more capable and self-sufficient is the best way he can show that he cares.

“Alright.”

The word pulls you back before your thoughts wander any further.

Joel gives the newly fitted belt one last careful inspection, nodding once to himself with quiet satisfaction while reconnecting your car battery and then stepping back from the engine.

“Go ‘head,” he nods toward the driver’s seat. “Start ‘er up.”

The engine turns over and the familiar uneven rattle that had greeted you every morning for the better part of a month never came.

Joel listens with his head tilted slightly and his brows furrowed.

After several long seconds, the corners of his mouth lift, “she’s soundin’ healthy again.”

You shut the engine off before climbing back out, unable to keep the smile from your own face, “That’s it?”

He nods, “that’s it.”

You looked toward the open hood almost suspiciously and peel the oversized gloves off of your hands, handing them back to him, “You made that seem entirely too easy.”

A soft huff escapes him as he takes the gloves from you and reaches up to guide the hood down with both hands, closing it with a solid thud, “Took me twenty-five years to make it look easy.”

Joel glances toward you when your silence stretches, the morning light revealing the faint exhaustion still lingering around his eyes despite the easier expression he wore now, “somethin’ wrong?”

The practical problem had been solved.

You have your car back. There would be no reason for him to appear outside your apartment in the morning with coffee waiting for you in his cupholders, no quiet twenty minutes contained safely between your building and campus, no evening ride home during which you could talk about everything except the one ever-present and mutual truth simmering beneath the surface.

You find yourself resenting the efficiency.

“Do you want to come upstairs for coffee?” You’re not thinking straight… in fact, you wonder if you’re thinking at all as Joel’s attention shifts toward the apartment building behind you, then returns to your face with enough caution to make you aware of every possible meaning the invitation might carry.

“You don’t have to,” you rush to cover the slip up, stumbling over your lapse of judgement, “I mean, you just fixed my car, the least I could do is offer some coffee or water.”

His shoulders rise with a slow breath before settling again, “y’know I shouldn’t.”

The words sound painfully reluctant, as though he was stating a fact that disappoints him every bit as much as it disappoints you.

You manage a small nod.

Joel lowers his eyes with a weary sort of acceptance and begins putting his tools back into the toolbox.

“Can I at least pay you back for the parts? Or for the labor?”

Joel sets the toolbox into the truck bed and shakes his head, “No.”

You frown immediately, “Joel.”

He places the jack into the bed and closes the tailgate with a solid thunk, as though the conversation had already reached its natural conclusion.

“Y’let me help, ‘s more than enough f’me.”

You search his face for a long moment, wondering if he understands how profoundly unfair that sentence feels after an entire week spent dismantling every excuse you’d carefully constructed against accepting help.

“You’re so aggravating.”

Joel’s eyes soften, “Been called worse.”

You can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes you, “Yeah, like what?”

“I ain’t fond of bein’ called ‘old man’.”

Your mouth goes dry and for a few seconds you don’t even realize it’s hanging slightly open in disbelief.

“But I was told it was southern charm,” he continues, the corner of his mouth lifting as he pulls his gloves off, “reckon I’m glad it’s evolved to offerin’ coffee and water nowadays.”

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the sight of his hands, the exertion of repairing a car forcing the veins on the back of his hands to be particularly prominent. You also realize there was no subtlety to where your gaze had fallen to.

The irony of the memory arrives with enough force to shake loose any facade you’d spent curating.

Joel seems to realize the weight of what he’s teased you about at almost the exact moment you do.

An entire semester of careful restraint settles itself over both of you, layer after painstaking layer, until you’d almost convinced yourself those nights existed somewhere outside the version of Joel who stood before you now.

The faint amusement lingering around his mouth falters and his gaze drops briefly toward the ground before returning to you with an expression that looks dangerously close to regret, “…sorry,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shouldn’t’ve...”

You shake your head before he’s even finished, “No, it’s…” you swallow harshly, “… just surprised you remember that.”

A quiet huff escapes him, “more than I’ve got the right to, darlin’.”

He fishes his keys out of his pocket and you see his Adam’s apple bob harshly in his throat as he retreats to the driver’s side, “Let me know if anythin’ comes up with the car or there’s any more strange noises.”

You nod, your hands are shoved into your pockets and you force a small smile as if you entire body wasn’t screaming at you to fucking kiss him. KISS HIM!

“Thank you, Joel. I really am grateful for everything, you definitely didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” he interrupts and pauses right before he climbs into the truck, glancing back at you. His deep, brown eyes look like dark, golden honey in the winter sun’s rays, “see y’Monday.”

—

The entire drive back to his house he’s mentally punishing himself.

For one careless second he’d chosen to break the rules you’d both agreed to and had been surviving by. He’d become too greedy with the growing familiarity between these versions of you that he had chosen to puncture the unspoken agreement that had been keeping you both in check.

Pretend.

Pretend the summer belonged to strangers, that it never happened… that those people never existed together.

Pretend the memory of your mouth on his didn’t arrive with enough force to tighten every muscle in his body.

Pretend he didn’t remember exactly how you’d laughed that day, standing in your kitchen with a cold bottle in your hand before looking at his fingers and announcing, with complete seriousness, that he had nice hands.

Christ.

Unfortunately for him, nothing had faded. It wasn’t difficult to remember you. Remembering you had become the easiest thing in the world.

He remembered the way you’d looked at his hands. The way you looked at him. How you’d called him ‘old man’ with such unbridled desire in your eyes that he still can’t wrap his head around it.

Sure, he’d been called that by his daughter as a hypocrism for “dad” or by Tommy when he was giving him shit about something.

Far different context when the woman he’d been sleeping with called him that with her voice dripping with lust.

Because he remembers the way that conversation with you had ended. He remembers the lead up to that weekend and the anticipation he’d been consumed by to have you in his arms again. To feel you against him. How worked up he’d been from the teasing and flirting accompanied by intimate photos shared between the two of you.

He remembers the noises you couldn’t help but make, the angelic timpany of your pleasure resonating through his veins. The whisper of his name leaving your lips as your body welcomed him inside. The soft hitches of your breath when his eyes met yours as he buried himself between your thighs.

But worst of all, he remembers what it felt like to hold you through the night for the first time, and every time he’d been given after that. It was the first time in a very long time that he’d even fallen asleep around anyone that wasn’t Tommy or Sarah. An even longer time since he’d spent the night with a naked woman in his arms, but even then it had never felt… Well, no one had ever felt like you did in his arms, or in his bed, or in his house… or in his life.

Every night, despite his best efforts, he’d imagine what it would feel like to reach for you in the night and find you right there next to him.

Instead of dulling with time, the memories had simply become a quiet indulgence which sharpened and guaranteed their longevity. They waited patiently beneath the surface of ordinary moments until something as insignificant as a playful tease had unearthed an entire night he’d spent trying very hard not to revisit.

When he caught himself thinking about you and the nights you shared, his mind wandered just as easily toward the mornings afterward.

How you’d tuck your feet beneath yourself while drinking coffee. How you’d wear one of his shirts because yours had disappeared somewhere between the living room and the hallway.

How you’d stand beside him while he cooked breakfast, either a tv show on or your music playing in the background as if that could salvage every other way your souls had begun to intertwine.

Back then he’d safely filed those moments as intermissions, he’d denied the existence of any hint that he wanted more than just casual sex with you because time with you had been limited since the beginning. Admitting the truth to himself meant that he had actively allowed himself to grow attached to something he was guaranteed to lose.

Somehow that hadn’t stopped either of you from taking what you could while you had it. Somewhere in the mess of lust and denial, you’d both neglected to prevent the unusually easy comfort and fondness of each other’s presence from dictating the weight of each shared moment.

Time was supposed to sand lust into something manageable, to dull its sharper edges until it became little more than an occasional inconvenience. Joel had counted on that. He’d trusted time to do the work his own discipline hadn’t been strong enough to accomplish.

But time had betrayed him and abandoned him in the open ocean with little more than an inflatable raft.

The inevitability that he will eventually drown or starve couldn’t be denied.

Yet humans have the habit of holding onto hope of survival, onto the hope of being rescued, regardless of the odds. Because even 99.9% leaves that 0.1% chance.

Much like the odds against the two of you, who had become unwilling custodians of the same impossible truth, each carrying the other’s silence because neither could bear the consequences of speaking it aloud.

So, you both remained lost at sea. Hopeful that someday… against all odds, you could be rescued from the fate you’d been dealt.

· · ──────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒───────── · ·

a/a/n: i’m also working a new job for the summer and school starts again in 2 weeks!! so I’m trying to be kind to myself but all I want is to WANT to write and to actually be able to. So yeah, I mean, I’m never not going to be working on something so there is always a guarantee that there will be a next chapter, thank you for your patience if you’ve been anticipating this next part.

Monday, July 7

(9:16am) Good morning How’s your day looking?

(12:09pm) Guessing you’re busy

(2:34pm) Look, if I said too much last night…just tell me

------------------------------------------------

(4:03pm) I can take Sarah back on up to school if you need it

(4:11pm) Nah, I wanna take her Thanks, Tommy

------------------------------------------------

(7:47pm) Aint trying to crowd you, just…say something so I know you’re alright.

(10:06pm) Goodnight.

Tuesday, July 8

(8:31am) Morning

(10:56am) Hope you’re okay

(10:34pm) Goodnight

Wednesday, July 9

(8:19am) Morning.

(3:36pm) I keep staring at the last thing you sent me. Trying to figure out if there’s some hidden goodbye in it I missed.

------------------------------------------------

(4:12pm) You alright?

(4:21pm) I shoulda kept my damn mouth shut Aint heard a word from her in 3 days

(4:23pm) Maybe she’s just busy, brother

(4:37pm) I scared her off. That’s the truth of it. The hell with me for thinking i could have something good

----------------------------------------------

(9:18pm) Reckon I got the message I’ll quit bothering you now.

----------------------------------------------

(10:47pm) Can you show me how to block a number?

(10:51pm still nothing?

(10:52pm) Nope

(10:52pm) i’ll facetime you tomorrow and show you my roommates asleep

(10:53pm) Alright I'll call after work

(10:54pm) goodnight, dad ❤️

(10:57pm) Night

Thursday, July 10

(9:28am) Hey

(9:32am) Didn’t think I'd hear from you again

(9:35am) I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disappear

(9:37am) Are you okay?

(9:40am) I’m hanging in there

(9:41am) Did something happen?

(9:43am) I'm sorry if I crossed a line or said something I shouldn’t

(9:45am) It wasn’t you, Joel

(9:47am) Then what?

(9:49am) You don’t gotta tell me, but I kinda lost my head

(9:52am) I know and I'm sorry I made you think it was you

(9:54am) Didn’t take much for my head to go there

(9:55am) It was just bad timing

(9:56am) You’re alright though? You’re safe?

----------------------------------------------

(outgoing call)

“Shit– hello?”

“...Hi”

“Gimme just a sec. I’m out on the job site and I can’t hear a damn thing”

“Where are you going? We have a lumber delivery in 20 minutes” 

“I got to take this call. Bill’s already been paid and you can handle signing the drop sheet.”

“Still there?”

“Still here”

“I wasn’t sure you’d even pick up.”

“I’m a little surprised that you called”

“Not that I’m complaining”

“Everything alright?”

“No. Not really. That’s why I disappeared.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about how James, that– that’s my ex… found me here in Austin. Especially the other night at Metz Park. And then, he — he texted me. I didn’t even know how he got my number. I thought I had every number blocked. But it popped up and it was him and I just—”

“It felt like the floor dropped out under me and I panicked. So I shut down. I shut you out. I’m sorry, Joel.”

“Don’t you go apologizing to me now. Not for that.”

“...okay”

“Did you find out how he knew where to find you?”

(sigh)

“It was my mom of all people.”

“Your mom?”

“She always had a soft spot for him. Never understood why I left. She was using my location from my Find My Friends...”

“Jesus. That’s—goddamn, darlin’. That just ain’t right.”

“So, now I’m just trying to navigate what’s next.”

“Is there anything I can do? 

“Thank you, but no. I’ve got to deal with him on my own.”

“You’ll be careful though?”

“Yeah, I’ll be careful. I promise”

“Just…if you need me – any time, any place – you call. Or text.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Just want you safe”

(knocking) “C’mon boss man, we’re losing daylight.”

“I gotta head back.”

“Text me later?”

“Try and stop me.”

----------------------------------------------

(10:32am) knew she’d text you

(10:51am) Shut up

----------------------------------------------

(10:44am) 🙃

(10:53am) Well, look who's back from the land of the dead

(10:54am) I have so much to catch you up on

(10:54am) Lunch?

(10:54am) Please.

(10:55am) Give me one tiny detail to make it through my morning?

(10:57am) Joel has a hot voice

(10:57am) ❗❗❗

----------------------------------------------

(8:46pm) Long day at work. I aint gonna be up too much longer

(8:49pm) That’s alright, I’m pretty tired myself

(8:52pm) I can’t believe I actually got to hear your voice

(8:52pm) I can’t believe I actually got to hear YOUR voice

(8:53pm) Hope I didn’t disappoint.

(9:08pm) You didn’t. Not even close.

(9:08pm) Hearing your voice about knocked the wind outta me

(9:10pm) That's funny, I was thinking the same thing

(9:11pm) You’re gonna make an old man turn red in the face

(9:12pm) Are you blushing, Joel?

(9:32pm) Go to sleep, trouble

(9:36pm) Goodnight ☺️

(9:38pm) Goodnight

----------------------------------------------

(10:23pm) We should talk

(10:38pm) Let’s get drinks

Friday, July 11

(8:16am) Morning

(8:19am) Hey, you

(8:21am) You sound like you’re in a good mood

(8:21am) Went to bed smiling like an idiot

(8:22am) Oh yeah? Why’s that?

(8:22am) Just some guy that I’ve been talking to

(8:23am) He good to you?

(8:23am) He’s the sweetest

(8:25am) C’mon now… You’re gonna get me cheesing like an idiot The guys are gonna start asking questions

(8:27am) Have a good day at work 😘

(8:29am) Beet red and it's all your fault

----------------------------------------------

(10:36am) What time am I picking you up?

(10:38am) We’re meeting at 12:15 at Starbucks right around the corner, so 11:45?

(10:38am) 👍

----------------------------------------------

(8:11pm) Hey, you

(8:13pm) Hey 

(8:15pm) I did something today

(8:15pm) Oh?

(8:16pm) I met up with my ex

(8:16pm) Fuck Thought you said you were gonna be careful

(8:16pm) I had to, Joel. I needed to hear him admit it I needed proof

(8:17pm) Needed him to admit what?

(8:17pm) That he wasn’t going to stop

(8:19pm) Christ almighty That was a goddamn threat Plain as day

(8:20pm) I know you said you needed to deal with this on your own but my blood is boiling I’m fighting the urge to find this guy and shove my fist in his face

(8:20pm) Hey… I took care of it

(8:21pm) I went to the courts and filed a restraining order It can take up to 2 weeks but it’s done

(8:21pm) He's not gonna do anything stupid, right?

(8:22pm) No He may be an asshole, but he's not an idiot

(8:22pm) That’s the best news I’ve heard all day

(8:22pm) Joel

(8:23pm) Can I call you?

(8:23pm) You don’t have to ask

----------------------------------------------

(Outgoing call)

“Hey”

“Hey, yourself”

“What’s up?”

“Nothin’ really. Just wanted to hear your voice”

“Joel…”

“Now, what’d I tell you ‘bout that?”

“About what?”

“Sayin’ my name”

“You don’t like it?”

(pause)

“I love it”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

“You’re gonna make me blush”

“Good. ‘Bout time I got you back for all the times you’ve had me flustered”

(pause)

“What’re you doin’ right now?”

“Just getting ready for bed. Long day, you know?”

“Sure sounds like it”

“I'm real proud of you"

“Now don’t go making me sound like some kind of hero”

“I ain’t exaggeratin’. You stared that bastard in the face, got what you needed, and then you walked straight into a courthouse."

"That’s more grit than most folks could muster”

(pause)

“Wish I could be there now. Just sit with you and make sure you sleep easy after all that”

“Wouldn't that be nice…”

“Still feel like an ass. For that day at the coffeehouse"

"Walkin’ away from you like that...”

“Joel…”

"Just lemme..."

"You didn’t deserve that. I was… scared, I guess. Should’ve stayed. Should’ve looked you in the eye and told you what you mean to me instead of leavin’ you there”

"What I mean to you?"

"You really gonna make me say it?"

(pause)

"Fine then...I'm head over heels for the most beautiful girl I ever laid eyes on"

"Well, that's just not fair"

“No, I guess not"

"Best make it up to you real soon”

"You sure?”

“On my life"

(sigh)

“Listen…much as I like talkin' to you, I’m gonna head on up to bed."

"I’ll talk to you in the mornin’?”

“If you must”

“I'm a grumpy old man, sweetheart. Need to get some sleep otherwise I ain't much fun.”

“You? Fun?”

(laughs) Hey now…

“Night, Joel”

“Night”

Friday, July 12

(8:56am) Good morning  Got to the job site this morning and sure as shit three of my guys called out Wasn't going to be the only idiot putting work in on Saturday, so I gave everyone else the day off

(8:57am) too early

(8:57am) It's 9am

(8:57am) on a Saturday, Joel

(9:02am) You got any plans today?

(9:03am) You’re not gonna let me sleep any longer, are you?

(9:04am) No, no big plans today Just hanging out with a friend

(9:05am) No more secret plots?

(9:05am) No more secret plots

(9:06am) What about you?

(9:06am) Got a leaky faucet i’ve been meaning to get to Aint gonna fix itself

(9:07am) I should get up and get ready I'm meeting her in an hour

(9:08am) Have fun

(9:08am) Call me later?

(9:08am) Yes ma'am

------------------------------------------------

(1:12pm) There's a super cute guy standing in front of me…

(1:12pm) What about Kermit?

(1:12pm) What ABOUT Kermit?

(1:12pm) 🤐

(1:13pm) I'm gonna go for it

(1:13pm) Girl, I leave you alone for two whole minutes…

(1:19pm) What’s taking so long?

(1:20pm) Sorry...I got distracted by gelato and by the hot guy

------------------------------------------------

(1:17pm) I still got a faucet to fix

(1:17pm) Not my fault this place is packed today

(1:19pm) Where’d you go? I thought you were just going to the bathroom

(1:19pm) Got distracted

(1:20pm) Now’s not the time to be chasing tail

(1:20pm) Beg to differ

------------------------------------------------

(1:31pm) Are you goddamn deaf? I said that's the girl who asked me out

------------------------------------------------

(outgoing call)

“Hey. I thought you were gonna call me later. I’m still out with my friend.”

“Yeah, I know. Should only take a sec.”

“You havin’ a good day so far?”

“Yeah, we went to Barton Springs Pool like you suggested and now we’re getting Have a Taco.”

“How is it?”

“Haven’t tried it yet. It’s packed so we’re still waiting on our order.”

“Order for Joel”

(gasp)

“Did he just—”

“Yeah. That’d be me.”

“You’re here?"

"Here here?”

“Seems so. Didn’t mean to crash your lunch. Just wanted some tacos.”

(pause)

“Where are you?”

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around, baby.”

(pause)

“Hi”

“Joel…”

Friday, June 27 (7:03am) Morning

(7:06am) It’s 7am

(7:06am) To be fair, I did wait Was gonna send that at 5 when I woke up

(7:09am) You’re a monster

(7:09am) You can go back to sleep in a sec

(7:11am) Do you have plans tonight?

(7:11am) I don’t even know what day it is

(7:12am) Friday

(7:13am) Probably not

(7:13am) Okay, good.

(7:15am) Metz Park. Tonight.  Be there before dark

(7:15am) That’s vague…

(7:17am) Don’t Google it neither

(7:18am) Okay???

(7:20am) Trust me

------------------------------------------------ (11:14am) Should I be worried that Joel told me to go to a park just before dark? And he told me that I couldn't Google it.

(11:16am) What park?

(11:16) ...

(11:16am) He said you couldn't Google it. I'm being a good friend and making sure he's not going to murder you

(11:17am) Metz Park

(11:23am) Go

(11:24am) What?

(11:24am) Go. It looks fun. And you can always text me if it goes sideways

------------------------------------------------

(6:22pm) A movie?

(6:23pm) A movie

(6:23pm) I was not prepared for this

(6:24pm) What were you prepared for?

(6:24pm) Nothing

(6:25pm) You provided me with literally zero details

(6:26pm) Thought so Head to the concession stand

(6:26pm) Always so cryptic

(6:27pm) Just go

(6:27pm) And what? Tell them you sent me?

(6:27pm) Yep

------------------------------------------------ (6:35pm) How?

(6:36pm) How what?

(6:38pm) You know what

(6:38pm) I know a guy Comfortable? 

(6:40pm) I have a picnic blanket and a family size bag of M&M’s, what do you think?

(6:43pm) Good

(6:43pm) Thank you by the way

(6:52pm) Hey, Joel?

(6:53pm) Movies about to start

(6:53pm) Are you here??

(6:55pm) Gonna get kicked out for being on your phone

(6:55pm) Everyone’s on their phone.

(6:58pm) Joel?

(6:58pm) Yes?

(6:58pm) Are you here?

------------------------------------------------ (6:58pm) JOEL IS HERE

(7:01pm) You saw him?

(7:02pm) No, I didn’t see him

(7:03pm) I don’t think I still don’t have a clue what he fucking looks like

(7:04pm) But, he’s here. and I can’t stop looking around. 

(7:07pm) Why is everyone on their phone!?

------------------------------------------------ (7:08pm) You didn’t answer my question

(7:09pm) Just watch the movie. It’s a good one

------------------------------------------------ (7:21pm) FUCK. HOW?!

(7:22pm)  Uh-oh. Is he ugly? Is he hideous? Do you need me to pick you up?

(7:23pm) James is here How is James here?? Why is James here??

(7:24pm) I think I’m having a panic attack

(7:24pm) I'm on my way

------------------------------------------------ (7:24pm) Joel

(7:24pm) Can’t get through a movie without you talking, huh?

(7:25pm) Joel. He’s here

(7:25pm) Who?

(7:25pm) My ex

(7:25pm) the one who hit you?

(7:25pm) yeah

(7:25pm) where?

(7:26pm) Joel

(7:26pm) where

(7:26pm) I don’t know how to explain it

(7:27pm) I need you to

(7:27pm) I can’t

(7:27pm) sweetheart. please, I need you to tell me where he is.

(7:28pm) He’s walking towards the bathrooms. Closest to where you get your tickets

(7:28pm) what’s he look like? what’s he wearing?

(7:29pm) a hat

(7:29pm) what kind of hat? cowboy hat? baseball cap?

(7:30pm) baseball cap

(7:30pm) the oklahoma sooners one?

(7:30pm) …yes

(7:31pm) you facing toward him or away?

(7:31pm) away

(7:31pm) good. 

(7:32pm) you keep watching the movie, okay? I'll take care of it

(7:32pm) what do you mean?

(7:33pm) Joel??

(7:33pm) it’ll be okay give me 5 minutes. just keep your eyes on the screen.

(7:33pm) Joel?

(7:33pm) promise me

(7:34pm) Promise

------------------------------------------------ (7:37pm) I'm stuck in traffic. Are you ok?

------------------------------------------------ (7:40pm) Ok handled

(7:40pm) What do you mean handled?

(7:40pm) It’s handled

(7:41pm) Did you kill him???

(7:41pm) no 

(7:41pm) Joel??

(7:41pm) He won’t be back. I promise You’re safe

(7:42pm) But if you gotta leave, I get it

(7:43pm) I’d rather wait for it to be over so that I can blend in with the crowd

(7:44pm) Alright You text me if you need to

(7:45pm) What’d I miss?

(7:45pm) I have no idea

------------------------------------------------ (7:46pm) Its “handled”

(7:47pm) What do you mean

(7:48pm) I have no idea James is gone. I don’t see him.  Joel said he took care of it

(7:49pm) I'll be there in 11 minutes

------------------------------------------------ (9:08pm) Home safe?

(9:08pm) Yes, thank you

(9:09pm) Can I tell you a secret?

(9:09pm) Always

(9:09pm) I cheated

(9:10pm) on?

(9:10pm) At the movies

(9:11pm) What do you mean? You looked?

(9:11pm) Yeah

(9:12pm) It wasn’t about him…

(9:13pm) I wanted to see you

(9:13pm) and?

(9:15pm) Still a mystery

(9:18pm) You gonna be alright tonight?

(9:19pm) Yeah, I'm crashing at a friends. Thanks, Joel.

(9:18pm) Try and get some sleep

(9:19pm) I'll do my best.  Night Joel.

(9:19pm) Night

Saturday, June 28

(9:00am) Good morning

(9:03am) Morning

(9:03am) Sleep alright?

(9:03am) As well as I could

(9:04am) Joel?

(9:05am) You sure say my name a lot

(9:06am) Sorry

(9:06am) Didn’t mean it in a bad way.

(9:06am) Oh

(9:08am) What’s up?

(9:09am) You called me sweetheart

(9:09am) What?

(9:09am) You called me sweetheart Last night

(9:10am) I did?

(9:11am) Yeah

(9:13am) Shit…I’m sorry

(9:14am) You were panicking and I needed to know where he was

(9:15am) I didn’t say I minded

(9:15am) Oh

(9:15am) So what happened?

(9:15am) With?

(9:16am) My ex

(9:16am) Told you I handled it

(9:17am) Yeah, but I don’t know if that means I need to delete our text messages as evidence for a murder trial or….

(9:17am) Nothing like that Told the security guard he was talking up some underage girls A parent overheard and raised a whole stink so he was escorted out by the cops

(9:18am) Oh

(9:19am) Would you rather I had killed him?

(9:19am) I plead the fifth

(9:24am) Thank you

(9:24am) Don’t have to thank me

(9:24am) Joel…

(9:25am) You’re welcome

------------------------------------------------ (12:47pm) You eat something?

(12:52pm) Yeah Kind of

(12:54pm) I had coffee

(12:55pm) That’s not food

(12:55pm) Depends who you ask

(12:57pm) Go get something

(12:58pm) Bossy

(12:58pm) Just making sure you're looking after yourself

(1:02pm) I’ll grab something in a bit

(1:03pm) Alright (1:20pm) You got plans for today?

(1:26pm) Not really

(1:27pm) Good

(1:27pm) Why is that good?

(1:29pm) Means you can take it easy

(1:30pm) No more super secret outings?

(1:31pm) Not today

------------------------------------------------ (7:19pm) You know before yesterday, I hadn't had M&M's in years

(8:01pm) That's criminal

(8:03pm) I'm still working on the same bag. 

Sunday, June 29 (9:54am) Haven't been able to sleep all too well

(10:00am) Nightmares?

(10:02am) Unfortunately and anxiety.

(10:04am) Well, you just holler if you want company Got the day off since it's Sunday, so I'm around

------------------------------------------------

(6:07pm) Home safe?

(6:10pm) Door's double locked. I've never been more grateful to be on the third floor. 

------------------------------------------------

(9:37pm) Know you're probably asleep, but just wanted to let you know I'm home

Monday, June 30

(8:24am) Morning. You get some shut eye?

(9:03am) Morning. I slept with the TV on. I'm sure my neighbors hate me.

(12:04pm) If it helped you sleep some, screw 'em

------------------------------------------------

(9:53pm) Probably gonna be pulling doubles all week  Giving the crew Friday & Saturday off

(9:55pm) That's nice of you For the 4th?

(9:58pm) Yeah so, it might take me a little longer to respond 

(10:00pm) When did you wake up?

(10:00pm) 5

(10:01pm) You're probably exhausted

(10:02pm) Spent half the day fixing somebody else's work. Whole wall was starting to bow cause the studs weren't set right.

(10:04pm) Could barely get my boots off and get my ass to bed

(10:06pm) Well, don't stress responding to my texts.

(10:27pm) You fell asleep, didn't you?

Tuesday, July 1

(5:45am) Guilty as charged

------------------------------------------------

(12:00pm) You know what you haven’t given me in a while?

(12:12pm)Yeah? You want a lunch recommendation?

(12:12pm) Show me what you got

(12:15pm) I’ll give you a two-fer

(12:15pm) A what?

(12:19pm)Two for the price of one Have you been to Barton Springs?

(12:19pm) You can assume if you haven’t told me about it, that I’ve not gone

(12:21pm) It’s real nice It's a pool that’s fed from an underground spring. i used to take Sarah there in the summer time It’s free to get in from 5-8am. Otherwise i think it's $5

(12:21pm) I will be paying $5

(12:25pm) Ha. Of course you will Anyway, around the corner is a place called The Picnic. It’s just a bunch of food trucks Can’t go wrong with any of them but my favorite is Have a Taco

(12:26pm) Do you only eat bbq or tacos?

(12:29pm) Haven’t heard you complain yet

------------------------------------------------

(1:30pm) I know I should be worrying about James, but I can't stop thinking about Joel

(1:32pm) What'd he do now?

(1:32pm) Exist 🙃

Wednesday, July 2 (10:24pm) Just walked in the door after a 14 hour day

(10:29pm) Just wanted to say hi

Thursday, July 3

(8:48am) You work too hard

(9:29am) Kid in college aint exactly cheap

(9:31am)Still

------------------------------------------------

(9:56am) don't forget you're supposed to pick me up tomorrow

(9:57am) That's this weekend?

(9:57am) yes, dad 😂 it's july 4th or should i tell uncle tommy to come get me like a neglected child?

(9:58am) I was joking, kid. What time?

(9:58am) doesn't matter do i still have a bedroom or did you turn it in to the tool closet you always wanted

(9:58am) Ha. Ha. That’s what the garage is for

(9:59am) sheets washed?

(9:59am) They will be

(9:59am) ...and maybe something green in the fridge this time?

(10:00am) Lettuce is green

(10:00am) not what i meant

(10:00am) We'll stop at the store and get groceries

(10:02am) score how's work been?

(10:03am) A mess. I’ll tell you about it when I pick you up

(10:03am) you’ll have to tell me about the girl you’ve been texting too

(10:03am) Excuse me?

(10:04am) uncle tommy says that you’ve been texting more than usual distracted and all smiley

(10:05am) Sarah…

(10:05am) see you soon love you

(10:05am) Love you too, kiddo

------------------------------------------------

(10:07am) You can forget about coming over for the 4th

(10:08am) What the hell, Joel?

(10:09am) Quit telling Sarah that I'm talking to someone

(10:09am) You are talking to someone

(10:10am) You're irritating

(10:12am) I barely see that kid as is. I ain't missing the 4th and I ain't missing Sunday dinner

(10:10am) I'm not letting both of ya’ll gang up on me

(10:11am) Too late, big brother

------------------------------------------------

(9:21pm) I'm beat

(9:23pm) Are you done for the week?

(9:26pm) Done until Monday

(9:27pm) Good. You have any 4th plans?

(9:27pm) Picking Sarah up from UT tomorrow Probably grilling up some burgers and then fireworks

(9:28pm) She's not home for the summer?

(9:29pm) No, she's doing some summer research program with one of her professors. Got chosen out of 40-something people she said.

(9:30pm) Oh wow, good for her! You must be excited to have her home for the weekend then

(9:30pm) Yeah, it's gonna be real nice to have her back What about you? Any plans?

(9:31pm) My friend is dragging me to something called Star Spangled Fest You heard of it?

(9:32pm) Sure You'll have a mighty good time at that

(9:32pm) I'm a little nervous Haven't really left my apartment since Monday

(9:34pm) Aw, hell. Hate that he's still got you worked up. I think you'll be okay. Spangled Fest is huge. 10,000+ people a year kinda huge. 

(9:35pm) Fingers crossed My goal is to keep a low profile and just enjoy myself

(9:35pm) Text me tomorrow if you want

(9:36pm) You always say that

(9:39pm) Alright I’m actually going to sleep

(9:40pm) I'm surprised you lasted this long

(9:40pm) Got distracted

(9:40pm) With what?

(9:41pm) You

(9:41pm) ☺️ Goodnight, Joel

(9:44pm) Night

Friday, July 4

(5:37pm) I just paid $19 for a drink..

(8:24pm) For that price, I hope it was a double

(8:29pm) JOEL

(8:31pm) That's me How many of those drinks have you had, sweetheart?

(8:40pm) 3 or 4 I don't remember anymore

(8:41pm) You being safe? With your friends?

(8:41pm) Yes, dad 🙄

(8:44pm) Ouch

(8:46pm) I'm here with my friend and her boyfriend He's weird

(8:46pm) Why's that?

(8:47pm) He's got a mullet and he has a funny name Kermit

(8:47pm) Like the frog?

(8:47pm) Isn't that the dumbest name you've ever heard?

(8:48pm) I reckon it's pretty stupid

(8:48pm) I missed talking to you today All week really Kept checking my phone like an idiot

(8:47pm) Yeah?

(8:47pm) And then you text me today and call me sweetheart What am I supposed to do with that?

(8:54pm) Fireworks gonna start soon?

(8:58pm) Oh my God, Joel! There's a whole orchestra here!

(8:59pm) Glad you're having fun

(9:01pm) Fireworks in 30 minutes!!! They just announced it

(9:02pm) The ones here went off a little bit ago Now we're stuck in traffic trying to get out of here

(9:03pm) Lame

(9:44pm) Hey You text me later just to let me know you got home safe, alright? 

------------------------------------------------

(11:26pm) Home

Saturday, July 5 (9:57am) I should not be allowed to drink

(9:59am) Sure sounded like you had a fun time though

(10:01am) In the moment, yes Right now, everything is too bright & too loud

(10:01am) Welcome to being hungover in your 30's

(10:03am) You're not allowed to welcome me You're not in your 30's 😜

(10:04am) Wow

------------------------------------------------

(12:31pm) I haven't moved from my bed

(12:34pm) Aint the best for you but I can guarantee a cheeseburger would get you upright

(12:36pm) My stomach just growled but food requires movement

(12:37pm) I'm gonna throw some on the grill

(12:37pm) Don't tease me

------------------------------------------------

(1:02pm) I got McDonalds This is your fault

------------------------------------------------

(8:44pm) So what does a man your age do on a Saturday night?

(8:46pm) Sleep. Try not to throw my back out carrying my kids laundry

(8:46pm) Wow. Hot

(8:47pm) You’re trouble

(8:47pm) Don’t act like you don’t love it

(8:48pm) Can’t say I’m used to it

(8:48pm) Really?

(8:48pm) Really

(8:48pm) Hard to believe Bet you were a heartbreaker back in the day

(8:49pm) Back in the day?

(8:49pm) Yeah, like…when dinosaurs roamed the earth

(8:49pm) Twice in one day, huh?

(8:50pm) You didn’t deny it

(8:50pm) Some things don’t need sayin’

(9:09pm) Headed to bed soon?

(9:12pm) Close to it

(9:12pm) So old

(9:13pm) You talk big but i bet you’re in bed by 10

(9:13pm) Okay rude

(9:13pm) Didn’t deny it

(9:14pm) Maybe I just like to be awake in case you text me

(9:14pm) Well, maybe I’ll make sure to say good night from now on so you don’t wait up

(9:15pm) Maybe you should 

(9:21pm) Goodnight, sweetheart

(9:21pm) Goodnight, Joel

------------------------------------------------

(9:21pm) Is it possible to fall in love with someone you’ve never met

(9:25am) There's about 6 different reality shows about this very topic

(9:25pm) I mean it My heart is racing

(9:27am) That's called being horny

(9:27pm) I’m serious

(9:27am) So am I

------------------------------------------------

(9:49pm) this is sarah. my dad’s asleep on the couch and i couldn’t resist. you’re the one he keeps texting, right?

(9:50pm) I guess that’s me

(9:50pm) just so you know, he’s terrible at this stuff but he means well

(9:50pm) You’ve got a real great dad

(9:51pm) i do and he deserves to be happy

(9:52pm) which he seems like he is since he hasn’t stopped checking his phone since i got here

(9:52pm) You’re going to get him all flustered if he finds out you’re texting me

(9:53pm) worth it. someone’s gotta say what he won’t

(9:53pm) Which is?

(9:53pm) when are you two finally meeting?

(10:02pm) I’d like to. I just don’t know if he wants that yet.

Sunday, July 6

(6:03am) Don’t pay Sarah no mind She’s got no business sticking her nose in my phone

(6:08am) Sorry if she bothered you

(8:32am) She didn’t bother me

(8:34am) She was sweet Can tell she was raised right

(8:41am) Dont go giving me too much credit

(8:41am) I think you deserve more than you give yourself

(8:42am) You trying to make an old man turn red?

(8:42am) Not a bad look on you, I bet

(8:42am) …lord help me

(8:43am) Any thoughts on what she said?

(8:44am) Don’t much like her putting me on the spot

(8:45am) But?

(8:47am) Of course i’ve thought about it.

(8:54am) So how about you recommend a place we can meet then

(9:23am) It may be a little out of your way but there’s a coffee shop out closer to me in Bastrop Texas Coffee Works

(9:25am) When?

(9:27am) When are you free?

(9:28am) 11?

(9:30am) Yeah, okay. 11.

------------------------------------------------

(9:47am) He asked me to meet him

(9:49am) When?

(9:49am) At 11

(9:49am) Today?

(9:50am) Yes, today

(9:50am) How are you feeling? Are you good?

(9:47am) What do you mean?

(9:51am) IDK. What if he’s just this person you’ve built up in your head? Or what if he’s just plain ugly

(9:55am) It’s going to be fine It has to be fine

------------------------------------------------

(10:42am) Headed out for a little bit You gonna be alright on your own?

(10:43am) dad, i'm 20 go meet your girlfriend

(10:43am) Not my girlfriend

------------------------------------------------

(10:42am) I got here way too early

(10:43am) Fuck I was just at home and I was ready and all I could do was sit on my couch and re-read everything he’s ever sent

(10:45am) I think I’m going to throw up

(10:45am) Just breathe Imagine you’re meeting me for coffee instead

(10:49am) Fuck shit motherfuck

(10:49am) Did that make you feel better?

(10:50am) No

(11:02am) He’s not here yet

(11:02am) Maybe he’s just running late? it's only 11:02

(11:04am) What if he doesn’t show up?

------------------------------------------------

(11:07am) Something just came up Not gonna make it

(11:09am) I'm sorry I made you come out all this way

(11:10am) No worries. Hope everything is okay.

------------------------------------------------

(11:10am) He’s not coming

(11:10am) It’s only been 10 minutes, give him some time Maybe he’s stuck in traffic

(11:14am) No, he’s not coming He texted

(11:15am) Shit

(11:18am) He just said something came up Why tell me he wanted to meet today in the first place?

(11:18am) I'm sure he had good reason

(11:20am) Do you want to get shitfaced?

(11:24am) No

------------------------------------------------

(1:41pm) hey, you said a little bit it’s been almost 3 hours

(2:20pm) are you okay?

------------------------------------------------

(3:01pm) Sarah said you ain’t answering her texts or calls Just want to make sure you’re okay and not lying in a ditch somewhere

------------------------------------------------

(3:12pm) did your phone die? i keep telling you that you have to charge it at night

(3:21pm) Sorry, kiddo. Just needed to be away from my phone for a little bit

(3:29pm) it didn’t go well?

------------------------------------------------

(Incoming call)

“Hey kid..” “Don’t ‘hey kid’ me. You’ve had me and Uncle Tommy thinking that you got into an accident or something.”

“…I’m fine.”

You better have had a good excuse. How did it go?”

(sigh)

"Where are you?”

“…the Family Viewing Area at the airport”

"Dad…why?”

“Just needed some quiet”

"Did something happen? Did you – did you see her?”

“…yeah”

“and?”

“and I did what I do best. Nothin’. I just sat in the truck like an idiot.” 

(sigh) 

“I'm mad at myself for even going in the first place.”

“Dad…”

“I ain't good at this, kid.”

"You were just overwhelmed."

“I thought if I saw her…it’d be easy.”

“Just addin’ a face to the name.”

“But I seen her and –”

"Do you want to tell me what happened?”

"Nothin’ happened. That’s the problem.”

“I stood there like a damn fool.”

“All this time I’ve been telling myself it’s just texts… but then I saw her. And she’s real.”

“And I thought…maybe–”

"Dad…”

“She’s not Mom…”

“I know that.”

“And she obviously likes you back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Hell, kid. I’m sittin’ in a park talkin’ to my daughter about a woman I ain’t even met. That’s gotta be some new kinda low.”

“Stop beating yourself up. Come home. Uncle Tommy bought steaks.”

“We’ll figure out what to do next, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Drive safe, see you in a bit.”

“Love you, babygirl”

“Love you too, dad.”

------------------------------------------------

(11:04pm) Sorry I bailed today Wasn’t fair to you

(11:07pm) It’s okay. Things happen You don’t have to explain

(11:08pm) I’m not good at this but I want to be

(11:08am) Joel... You don’t have to do or say anything you’re not ready for

(11:10pm) You’re too goddamn sweet

(11:10pm)🫠 

(11:10pm) Just being honest

(11:13pm) Can I tell you something?

(11:13pm) Always

(11:15pm) I was there today

(11:17pm) You were?

(11:17pm) Yeah

(11:17pm) What happened then?

(11:18pm) Was it me?

(11:19pm) Not in the way you might think

(11:20pm) What do you mean?

(11:20pm) I saw you, sitting there and it scared the hell out of me

(11:20pm) Joel

(11:21pm) Dont

(11:22pm) Just let me say what I need to say before I lose my nerve

(11:22pm) Okay

(11:30pm) Sometimes I lay in bed and reread your texts and it makes me feel twenty years younger and it makes me feel like a fool

(11:31pm) because I’m halfway in love with a woman I’ve never properly met and I don’t even know what color her eyes are

(11:33pm) Joel

(11:35pm) Do you have any idea what it does to me when you say my name? I dream about your voice 

(11:36pm) Do you ever think about what I look like? 

(11:37pm) Of course I do

(11:39pm) Not just your face, but how you stand How you probably frown when you’re thinking too hard What it’d feel like to rest my head on your chest 

(11:40pm) What I think about most is how stupid it is that I miss you that I miss someone I’ve never been in a room with

(11:42pm) It’s not stupid

(11:43pm) Feels like it sometimes

(11:43pm) Maybe. but I feel it too

(11:45pm) …Joel

(11:48pm) Should let you sleep It’s late

(11:49pm) Yeah

(11:53pm) Goodnight, sweetheart

(11:50pm) Goodnight

Monday, July 7

Wednesday, May 21 (12:37pm) I’m so done with this day already Verizon said they could move all my contacts over but I’ve been adding every single number in manually for the last hour

(5:16pm) Wrong number

(5:18pm) Sorry, swapped the last two digits!

Saturday, May 24

(10:06am) Why do all exits off I-35 look exactly the same?

(10:08am) Between that and all this construction, I’m never going to make it Just go on without me.

(10:24am) Still not who you're lookin for

(10:26am) Sorry! Fucking Siri.

Tuesday, May 27

(11:41am) I am overwhelmed by the sheer number of food trucks and restaurants in this town

(12:02pm) Best is Vazquez #1 in north Austin or Habanero Cafe

(12:03pm) Sorry, don’t mean to keep texting you. My phone refuses to cooperate 

(12:05pm) Thanks for the recommendations though!

(1:24pm) Wow

(1:27pm) Sorry, I’m at Vazquez #1 right now and…just wow

(1:30pm) Thank you again!

Saturday, May 31 (10:23am) I had no idea breakfast tacos were a thing

(10:25am) A thing?

(10:25am) A thing to exist.  I mean, breakfast burritos, sure. But tacos?

(10:27am) You sure text a lot

(10:29am) Not my fault. Your food recommendations have proven to be amazing.

(10:31am) You might have to start charging for your services if you keep it up

(11:52am) Note to self: don’t try to hike after eating three breakfast tacos

(11:57am) How’s it a note to yourself if you're texting me?

(11:58am) Touche

(11:58am) Also maybe don’t try hiking at noon when it’s nearly 90 out

(11:59am) I’m not from here How was I supposed to know that?

(12:04pm) Common sense

Monday, June 2 (1:55pm) You ain’t one of them vegetarians right?

(1:56pm) No

(2:04pm) Good. Try Stiles Switch bbq 

(2:06pm) …I don’t like barbeque

(2:09pm) Aw hell. You pulling my leg?

(2:11pm) Nope

(2:16pm) Can i ask you something?and i dont mean it to make you feel dumb or sound condescending

(2:18pm) Okay…

(2:21pm) Have you had Texas bbq before? and i mean real bbq not a chain like Dickeys

(2:23pm) I don’t know what that is

(2:36pm) Jesus…what have you had?

(2:40pm) It wasn’t in Texas… It was back in Michigan

(3:01pm) Do me a favor and just go. You gotta at least get the brisket and the corn casserole

(3:05pm) and the banana pudding 

(3:37pm) I don't like banana

(4:02pm) Of course you dont

Wednesday, June 4 (12:28pm) $30?!

(12:34pm) Worth it

(12:35pm) Can I submit a request for reimbursement?

(12:37pm) From who?

(12:37pm) You

(12:38pm) no

(12:44pm) This better be the best goddamn food in Texas

(12:47pm) not like I dragged you there (12:48pm) Easy for you to say when you’re not the one spending the money

(12:52pm) Could've looked it up beforehand

(12:45pm) And been spoiled?

(12:52pm) Then quit your gripin'

(1:12pm) Oh fuck you 

(1:13pm) You got a mouth on you

(1:15pm) This IS the best goddamn food in Texas

(1:17pm) I’m a BBQ convert

(1:20pm) There’s hope for you yet

(1:21pm) Good, cause I’m keeping you around

(1:24pm) Keeping me?

(1:26pm) For your food recommendations, obviously. Maybe I’ll change your contact name in my phone 

(1:27pm) From?

(1:28pm) STOP TEXTING THIS NUMBER

(1:45pm) Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean that as in stop texting me

(1:56pm) Unless you want to

(2:37pm) I meant that’s what I had you in my phone as… (6:03pm) Joel

(6:05pm) Excuse you?

(6:09pm) That's what you can put me in your phone as

(6:10pm) Joel

(6:11pm) Yep

(6:11pm) Hi Joel

(6:12pm) Howdy

Thursday, June 5

(11:24am) So…Joel

(11:26am) You texting me on purpose now?

(11:27am) Should I not?

(11:29am) Ain’t saying that

(11:31am) I’ve determined you’re either a 16 year old boy or a 60 year old man. 

(11:32am) Why’s that?

(11:33am) Just a guess I’m curious

(11:35am) About me?

(11:36am) Yes

(11:36am) Why?

(11:36am) Why not?

(11:38am) Nothing special

(11:41am) You’re not curious?

(11:44am) Could tell you but then I’d have to kill you

(11:49am) …Top Gun

(11:50am) Never seen it

(11:51am) …

(11:51am) What?

(11:53am) Nothing, its a classic

(11:59am) Anyway, how are you supposed to kill me when you don’t even know my name…

(12:06pm) Shit

(12:07pm) You offered yours so easily. Joel.

(12:09pm) Yeah, yeah... So...

(12:09pm) So?

(12:10pm) So tell me. Your name.

(12:11pm) My name

(12:11pm) Smartass. 

(12:13pm) Wait –

(12:15pm) You’re not some 16 year old kid, right?

(12:16pm) I'm not gonna get picked up by that predator guy?

(12:20pm) Hello?

(12:22pm) OH MY GOD. I’M DYING.

(12:23pm) Guessing thats a no.

(12:25pm) No, Joel. I’m not 16.  You’re not gonna end up on To Catch A Predator

(12:26pm) I’m 31

(12:28pm) See what I mean? Smartass

(12:29pm) Is that what you're gonna save my contact as in your phone?

(12:30pm) Good idea

(12:32pm) I was joking!

Saturday, June 7 (12:27pm) Hey, old man.

(12:30pm) Not old

(12:31pm) Still in debate

(12:33pm) Older doesn’t mean old

(12:34pm) Thanks for the confirmation, grandpa

(12:39pm) I’m 42…

(12:40pm) Ancient

(12:42pm) Jesus christ

(12:43pm) He a friend of yours? You two go to school together?

(1:39pm) Sorry

------------------------------------------------

(7:12pm) Not ignoring you

(7:14pm) Just been a long day

Tuesday, June 10 (5:17pm) Not sure if you have to take I-35 through downtown to get home, but if so, you may want to re-route.

(5:18pm) There’s an accident and they have both sides stopped because they have to transport someone via helicopter. 

(5:20pm) Thanks

Thursday, June 12

(8:06am) Morning, old man

(8:30am) Already with the abuse?

(8:32am) I woke up early

(8:34am) And you seem like the type to be up at the crack of dawn

(8:41am) You sure got a lot of spare time to be a wiseass

(8:52am) Only seems that way

(8:53am) I work from home

(9:13am) Never understood the appeal

(9:27am) Of working from home? It’s great. I get to work in sweatpants most days.

(9:56am) You never said what you do.

(10:01am) That’s cause I didn’t Just said I work from home

(10:23am) Descriptive

(10:25am) Says the man who takes 20 minutes to send a one word text

(10:32am) I’m a paralegal, which sounds fancy, but I really just do research all day long

(10:41am) Does sound fancy

(10:56am) Let me guess, you’re a… Firefighter?

(11:12am) Contractor Own my own company Build stuff, fix stuff, remodeling. that kinda thing

(11:17am) Don’t go looking me up on Google now

------------------------------------------------

(11:18am) Remember my wrong number? (11:19am) The food truck guy? How could I forget?

(11:21am) Joel

(11:22am) Joel?

(11:23am) Yeah, we’ve been chatting here and there.

(11:25am) He just told me what he does and told me not to Google him…

(11:26am) But?

(11:28am) I don’t know

(11:29am) Girl, look him up. I need to know if he's hot. or a serial killer

------------------------------------------------

(11:29am) You’re looking me up, arent you?

(11:29am) No. Promise I’m not.

(1:07pm) I mean, you won’t find nothing bad

(1:09pm) I'm not on Facebook or whatever they got these days Best you'll see is that my company’s got 4.4 stars on Google

(1:11pm) "these days". God, you're old. Should i be impressed by 4.4 stars?

(1:13pm) Shut up Pretty high considering some folks gotta deal with my idiot brother

(1:15pm) You have a brother?

(1:18pm) Biggest pain in the ass this side of the Mississippi

(1:21pm) Somehow I don't doubt it. 

(1:26pm) You got any?

(1:26pm) Brothers?

(1:27pm) Or sisters

(1:28pm) Neither

(1:31pm) Gotta get back to it

(1:32pm) Just in case you think I’m ignoring you again

(1:33pm) Aren’t you the boss?

(1:33pm) Yeah Work aint gonna get done if i'm texting you though

------------------------------------------------

(7:12pm) You really didn’t look me up?

(7:15pm) You asked me not to

(7:16pm) I'm surprised

(7:16pm) Why?

(7:17pm) Dunno

(7:18pm) It’s kind of nice, right? Not knowing

(7:20pm) Nice?

(7:22pm) Yeah….different

(7:23pm) Easier

(7:24pm) How do you mean?

(7:30pm) I don’t know, I feel like I can text you anything

(7:31pm) And there’s no expectation or obligation or judgement

(7:33pm) You sure about that?

(7:35pm) Now who's the smartass?

(7:36pm) Still you.

(7:37pm) I meant judgement that has real life consequences You could just block me and that would be that

(7:48pm) Guess it works both ways

Friday, June 13 (6:45pm) Hey, you Big Friday night plans?

(6:49pm) Sure

(6:50pm) Oh yeah?

(6:52pm) Sitting on my couch texting a stranger

(6:52pm) 🙄

(6:54pm) No plans. Just me, Curtis, and Viper.

(6:47pm) Friends of yours?

(6:59pm) Something like that

(8:22pm) Ninjas and Russian spies?

(8:26pm) You looked it up?

(8:27pm) I was curious Thought you were referring to dogs or a biker gang at first

(8:30pm) You got some imagination

(8:32pm) Yeah yeah, too much time on my hands

(8:36pm) Didn't say that I’m sure a gal like you probably has some actual Friday night plans, right?

(8:37pm) Not tonight

(8:39pm) Aint the type to go out by yourself?

(8:40pm) Wouldn’t even know where to start

(8:41pm) Well, lucky for you that you know a guy Wild West. Good food and dancing if that’s your thing 

------------------------------------------------

(8:41pm) Fuck.

(8:43pm) ???

(8:43pm) Did you end up going out?

(8:44pm) No. Since you abandoned me for your new crush.

(8:45pm) I didn’t abandon you 

(8:44pm) You said "I don't feel like going out" and then let out the biggest sigh as you stared at your phone So...is he ghosting you?

(8:46pm) No, he suggested a bar…

(8:47pm) Like to meet him?

(8:48pm) I don’t know?!

(8:50pm) Ew. An Android?

(8:51pm) …

(8:51pm) Just ask him!

------------------------------------------------

(8:56pm) Are you asking 'cause you'll be there?

(9:03pm) Just figure you deserve a chance to experience the right side of Austin

------------------------------------------------

(9:07pm) Definitely not a date.

(9:08pm) For sure?

(9:09pm) Pretty much

------------------------------------------------

(9:13pm) Wild West Cedar Park?

(9:15pm) That’s the one

(9:18pm) Ask for Pete

(9:19pm) Pete? 

(9:20pm) Tell him Joel sent you

(9:22pm) I haven’t even said I’m going

------------------------------------------------

(9:22pm) So, you’ll come with me?

(9:23pm) Sure. I'll come pick you up

------------------------------------------------

(9:26pm) Can I bring someone with me?

(9:27pm) So you are going?

(9:28pm) Nothing better to do

(9:28pm) Have fun

Saturday, June 14

(12:19pm)So, how was it?

(1:46pm) good music. bad tequila. questionable decisions were made 

Monday, June 16 (2:21pm)  Are you still ghosting him?

(2:23pm) Is it ghosting if neither of us are texting?

(2:23pm) You're being ridiculous

(2:24pm) I just feel stupid

(2:26pm) What if he was there and saw me make a fool out of myself? What if he saw me make out with that random guy at the bar?

(2:26pm) Is he not just some random guy?

(2:27pm) Oh god… What if he was the random guy at the bar that I made out with?

(2:28pm) You're spiraling

Saturday, June 21

(9:02am) Can you pick up the goddamn phone?

(9:05am) busy

(9:06am) So busy that you forgot to put in the order with the lumber yard

(9:08am) Framing's gonna be delayed until Monday

(9:11am) shit

(9:12am) The hell's gotten into you this week?

(9:12am) what?

(9:14am) You. Forgetting to put in this order, yelling at the crew, walking around the goddamn job site with a scowl on your face

(9:19am) I don’t have a scowl on my face

(9:21am) I can tell when somethings up with you, Joel

(9:23am) drop it tommy

(9:26am) Fine, but extra day is coming out of your pocket, boss

(9:27am) That’s rich coming from you

------------------------------------------------

(12:24pm) Hey stranger How’s your week going?

(1:28pm) fine

------------------------------------------------

(3:07pm) Kill me

(3:10pm) Some context would be lovely

(3:12pm) I need a drink

(3:13pm) Actually, no. Don’t let me drink. Ever again.

(3:14pm) So dramatic

------------------------------------------------

(6:55pm) How was yours?

(11:02pm) Fine.

Wednesday, June 25

(1:27pm) Sorry about the other day

(2:09pm) Don’t need to apologize

(2:13pm) Yeah, but I feel bad

(2:19pm) You sick?

(2:20pm) No?

(2:21pm) Then why do you feel bad?

(2:23pm) For not answering your text 

(2:28pm) Aint a big texter in the first place

(2:29pm) I can tell

(2:29pm) 😑

(2:30pm) Did you just send an emoji?

(2:32pm) No

(6:07pm) So, what happened the other day?

(6:10pm) Just got in my own head

(6:11pm) That happen alot?

(6:13pm) Enough

(6:13pm) What do you do about it?

(6:13pm) What do you mean?

(6:14pm) When you get in your head

(6:15pm) Wait til it passes?

(6:16pm) Long wait sometimes

(6:17pm) No kidding

(6:19pm) There's a place over by the airport. where I go when I need to stop thinking Could watch them planes take off for hours

(6:21pm) Thanks Joel

------------------------------------------------

(10:10pm) You up?

(10:12pm) Against my better judgement

(10:13pm) So old

(10:14pm) ...Night

(10:14pm) Wait

(10:20pm) Waiting..

(10:22pm) Sorry

(10:24pm) What’re you apologizing for?

(10:26pm) You remember saying something about how we don’t know each other’s past and baggage?

(10:27pm) Yeah, no expectations

(10:29pm) Mhm Can I say something? You don’t even have to respond if you don’t want to

(10:30pm) Go ahead

(10:32pm) It’s a lot I don’t even know why I'm telling you in the first place

(10:33pm) No judgement, remember?

(10:34pm) right.

(10:35pm) So, you know I recently moved to Austin

(10:35pm) Painfully obvious

(10:36pm) asshole

(10:38pm) Keep going

(10:39pm) I left because of an ex.

(10:40pm) we were together 7 years and over time he started to get worked up over the smallest things.  Who I spent time with, who I texted, what I did, what I ate.

(10:41pm) he would have hated us texting like this

(10:41pm) Why?

(10:42pm) He would have seen you as a threat

(10:42pm) Even though we’ve never seen one another?

(10:43pm) Because we’ve never seen each other

(10:45pm) Anyway he made it a point to show he had control over me

(10:46pm) He hit you?

(10:48pm) Yes

(10:51pm) Joel?

(10:51pm) Sorry. I’m here

(10:53pm) Can i ask something?

(10:55pm) Sure

(10:55pm) Were you able to press charges?

(10:56pm) no

(10:57pm) Could you go to the police?

(10:58pm) No, he’s a cop

(10:59pm) He’s a fucking piece of shit is what he is

(11:00pm) You dont treat a woman that way ever

(11:03pm) Sorry, getting worked up

(11:05pm) It’s ok It’s sweet

(11:07pm) So you left?

(11:09pm) Yeah, I left I packed up my life, requested a transfer to our Austin office, and ran.

(11:10pm) You didn’t run that took guts

(11:13pm) Has he tried to contact you?

(11:14pm) I'm sure but he’s blocked on all social media

(11:15pm) And you changed your number

(11:16pm) Yes

(11:18pm) Glad you’re safe now

(11:20pm) Thanks for listening

(11:21pm) Thanks for telling me

(11:22pm) Good night, joel

(11:22pm) Night

Thursday, June 26 (7:43am) Morning

(7:46am) Looks who’s up early

(7:47am) Who said I ever went to sleep?

(7:49am) You alright?

(7:50am) Yeah. Just still thinking about what I told you last night 

(7:52am) Got a slow morning Not gonna take me 20 minutes to respond 😉 Wanna talk?

(7:53am) I’d love a distraction

(7:54am) Alright

(8:00am) Tell me three things i wouldn't guess about you

(8:02am) Did you Google that?

(8:04am) no...

(8:05am) I aint good at distracting like that

(8:06am) 🤫 You're doing just fine Just give me a second to think

(8:10am) Take your time

(8:21am) I can change my own oil I have an irrational fear of butterflies and I always bake on Christmas Eve, even if it’s just for myself

(8:23am) Butterflies?

(8:24am) Anything with wings really. Don’t judge

(8:26am) Your turn.

(8:28am) My turn?

(8:29am) it’s only fair

(8:34am) Oh. Might need to wait for my lunch break You mind?

(8:36am) Of course not

(8:39am) I’m not trying to sneak my out of it Just found out the string line was off on the foundation and now we’re probably going to have to tear out the whole pour

(8:41am) I don’t know what any of those words mean  

(8:45am) Just means it’s a damn mess and i get to fix it

------------------------------------------------

(12:04pm) I'm back How’s your day been so far?

(12:06pm) Nowhere near as chaotic as yours I’m sure

(12:07pm) It’s alright Pain in the ass, but nothing that can’t be fixed

(12:08pm) Did you have a second to think about your answer?

(12:10pm) I’ve got a few ideas rattling around

(12:11pm) Whenever you’re ready

(12:12pm) Alright

(12:16pm) I don’t wear sandals or flip flops I play guitar

(12:18pm) and….I don’t really sleep all too good unless there’s someone else in the house.

(12:20pm) Someone else?

(12:21pm) My kid

(12:23pm) You have a kid?

(12:26pm) Sarah. Sophomore at UT Austin. smart as a fucking whip Dont know where she gets that from

(12:27pm) I’m going to need a second 🥺

(12:29pm) Dont make this into a thing

(12:30pm) Too late. 

(12:31pm) Quit.

(12:32pm) You’re officially soft

(12:33pm) You’re a marshmallow in a hardhat

(12:35pm) Jesus christ

(12:37pm) Can I ask follow up questions?

(12:39pm) Not like I can stop you

(12:41pm) Not married?

(12:45pm) Not married

(12:46pm) Single dad. Pretty much ever since she was born

(12:47pm) That must of been hard

(12:49pm) Everyone always says that but, she was the best fucking kid

(12:50pm) 🥺

(12:51pm) quit

(12:51pm) I can't help it

------------------------------------------------

(12:51pm) My heart

(12:52pm) Gonna need a bit more than that, babe

(12:53pm) He’s a single dad The way he talks about his daughter 🫠

(12:54pm) Dinner after work? You can catch me up?

(12:55pm) Please

------------------------------------------------

(12:55pm) Another question.

(12:56pm) Lunch breaks almost up.

(12:56pm) Shit, sorry

(12:58pm) What's the question?

(12:59pm) Do you regret it?

(1:01pm) What? Answering you? 

(1:03pm) Your kid, dumbass

(1:03pm) Wow, name calling?

(1:04pm) You literally have me in your phone as smartass

(1:05pm) Cause you are one

(1:05pm) Anyway, you didn’t answer

(1:06pm) Cause it was a dumb question

(1:08pm) You gonna call me soft again?

(1:09pm) I’ll restrain myself

(1:11pm) How kind.

(1:12pm) I dont regret it. not for a minute.

(1:13pm) Trying to figure it all out was hard, especially when she was a baby

(1:14pm) Didn’t have nobody to ask and at 22, i was too embarrassed

(1:15pm) But we figured it out She was what my dumbass needed 

(1:15pm) So you can call yourself a dumbass?

(1:18pm) See what I mean? Fucking smartass

(1:19pm) Oh c'mon, I’m endearing

(1:21pm) You’re something 

------------------------------------------------

(1:18pm) You wanna explain why I’m hearing from two different people that Joel Miller is cheesin' at his phone like a teenager?  Cause last I checked we gotta repour that whole foundation this afternoon.

(1:22pm) nope

(1:25pm) Guess they must be hallucinating then

A broken fence is one option, but you can’t be sure that Mr Hadley hasn’t been along that way recently and therefore might be confused at your insistence that the wiring needs repaired. A sick looking sheep is another option and perhaps one that might work better given the number of beasts on the land and the improbability that a farmer can account for the health of every single one.

As you dress, you can feel your heart thumping against your chest with excitement at the prospect of seeing Frankie again but also with anxiety at the thought of someone catching you together. Not that you’re intending to do anything improper, of course. Asking him to lay you down in the grass is a flight of fancy, you know that – but it doesn’t stop the wanting.

You can’t help but notice the look that crosses your mother’s face as she pours the tea for you at the stove, and you start wittering in the hope that it might distract her from whatever she might be thinking.

“Hope it stays dry today,” you say between mouthfuls of toast.

“Mm, nothing worse than working outside in wet weather.” She lifts her own cup to her mouth and regards you steadily. “Are you sure you’re alright love?”

“Of course – it’s just early.”

“It’s just…you haven’t seemed quite yourself lately. Is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing’s happened between you and Henry?”

You can’t help but pause fractionally in your chewing and know that she’s seen it. “No, everything’s fine, Mum, I promise.”

“You can tell me, you know…if there’s something bothering you. If things aren’t…right.”

“There’s nothing, honestly.” You glance at the clock and put your cup down. “I’d best be going or Margery’ll be wondering what’s happened to me. I’ll see you tonight.”

Before she can respond, you kiss her quickly on the cheek, pull on your coat and head outside into the biting winter wind, your head down against it like a shield. In some ways, you’re almost grateful for the chill, cooling as it is on your flushed cheeks.

“Cold one,” Margery comments when she joins you at the gate, stamping her feet and hugging herself. “We’ll need to think of inventive ways to keep warm today.”

You hear the slight humour in her tone but keep your eyes facing forwards as you walk up the lane towards the farm.

“What time are you meant to be meeting him again?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“Mmm. And what’s the excuse going to be?”

“I was thinking…a sick looking sheep?”

“As opposed to a fence needing mended?”

“Yes.”

Margery muses on this for a moment. “I like it.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“I approve of anything that’s going to bring you and Frankie together, you know that.” She bumps your shoulder affectionately. “I’m not one to stand in the way of true love, old girl.”

“Margery…” you feel your cheeks redden again even as your belly does a flip. “It’s not…”

“It is, old girl, mark my words. I’ll wager that he’ll tell you that today too.”

You say nothing, because there’s nothing that you can say. If Frankie were to tell you he loves you…you’re not entirely sure how you’ll respond.

You reach the yard at seven and undertake your usual chores without comment, albeit your mind drifts as you inhale Buttercup’s warmth thinking about a face and eyes and hands…

“The ewe with the black spots on her face…” you say casually when Mrs Hadley brings you and Margery a cup of tea just before ten.

“What about her, love?”

“She wasn’t looking right yesterday so I thought I’d go up to the top field and check on her.” You keep your eyes on the byre floor, not chancing to look either at Mrs Hadley or Margery. “Make sure that she’s alright.”

Mrs Hadley looks at you for a count of a moment. "Good idea. You take a bottle of the mash up with you just in case she needs it."

"I will."

"And a halter, in case she wants bringing down."

"Yes,” you nod with an exhale that you don’t intend.

Margery coughs inconspicuously and Mrs Hadley looks at you a moment more. Then she picks up one of the pails from the corner and turns back towards the house.

"Mind you're down in time for dinner. I've a leg of mutton and I'll not have it dry."

"Oh, I will be, of course. Thank you."

She nods and disappears out of the byre, leaving you and Margery alone with only the quiet breath and the swish of tails for company.

“Be sensible, old girl,” Margery mutters as she stands up and brushes straw from her jumper. “Don’t do anything you might later regret.”

“Like what?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” She looks at you hard. “It’s all well and good but make sure he respects you. You wouldn’t be the first girl to lie down and…”

“Margery!”

“I’m only saying,” she raises her hands in supplication. “You wouldn’t be the first girl to lie doen for a man and end up in trouble so, just…be careful.”

You walk up the lane with her words ringing in your ears and a slight feeling of irony given how she’s pushed you towards Frankie at every opportunity and yet now appears to be preaching caution.

The bottle of mash is in a canvas satchel over your shoulder alongside a halter looped through the strap, and you go up past the byre, past the yard and past the gate to the middle field before turning in at the gate to the top field. Closing the gate behind you, you walk an acre and a half until you come at last to the boundary fence at the top of the field where it runs along the lane on the far side.

The same place you had been that day.

The same spot overlooking the airfield where, now, you can see a row of B17s standing in cold silence with no sign of any activity.

There’s also no-one at the fence.

Your breath fogs white in front of your face, and there’s no lieutenant of the Eighth Air Force anywhere in the whole of the top field or the whole of the lane beyond it.

Your heart goes down the count of an inch.

You put your hand on the top strand of the wire and tell yourself that it’s not quite ten-thirty yet, so, you stand at the fence and wait. Five minutes become ten and then fifteen and you begin to think that he’s not coming. Perhaps he’s thought better of it or hasn’t been able to get away. After all, what excuse could he possibly make?

Then, you suddenly hear what sounds like boots on stone in the lane on the other side of the hedge. Your heart starts pounding faster, but you don’t turn. You simply stand at the fence with your hand on the top strand of the wire, look out across the top of the hedge and wait.

The boots come closer then stop and suddenly, you hear your name said quietly from the other side of the hedge.

You close your eyes and feel a shiver run through you.

"Frankie?"

"Come round to the gap."

You move to the gap in the hedge where the wire hangs lower and the two of you meet in it – you on the field side with grass under your boots and Frankie on the lane side with mud under his – and for a count of a breath neither of you move.

He’s wearing the same uniform he had on at the dance, accompanied by his overcoat and cap, and he stands with the cap in his left hand at his side and his other hand open beside him and looks at you whilst you look at him.

Neither of you say anything. In the whole of the lane and the whole of the field, there’s no sound but that of a bird somewhere above his head, and the two of you look at each other for a count that’s longer than a count of politeness and not uncomfortable.

Frankie clears his throat. "I don't…I haven't done this."

"No."

"I mean I don't…I don't know what I'm meant to say even though I’ve thought about nothing else since last night. I walked down here saying things to myself and none of them…none of them sound right now that I'm looking at you."

You nod wordlessly.

"I thought…I thought I should probably ask you something about yourself. Because we…we don't know each other, do we? Not really. We danced last night and we kissed behind a hedge, and I don't know what your middle name is or whether you take sugar in your coffee or what your… "

You’re not entirely sure what possesses you, but you start to move whilst he’s still speaking and he trails off as you lightly hop the wire, get closer, put your hand at the back of his neck above his collar and pull his face down to yours.

You kiss him the way you kissed him last night and the way you’ve been wanting to kiss him ever since. He makes the low sound against your mouth that he made the night before, and his cap falls out of his left hand onto the mud of the lane at your boots as his hands come up and cup your jaw briefly before they start moving elsewhere.

They’re at your ribs through the wool of your coat then the small of your back and then, after a further count of a breath, they’re at the waist of your jumper which comes up under his hands. They slide up under the jumper and up the vest under it and up where the wire of your brassiere runs, and then he stops there with his palms flat against your ribs and makes another sound at the back of his throat that’s almost a word.

You make a sound too as your own hands move – one at the back of his neck and one at the front of his tunic, your fingers at the buttons, working until the tunic comes open and you put your hand flat inside the tunic against his chest through the cotton shirt he’s wearing, and you feel his heart fast against your palm.

He draws back a fraction of an inch and looks at you.

"I…"

"Don't stop."

"Someone will…"

"There's no one here."

"But…"

"Frankie, kiss me."

He needs little more encouragement to kiss you again and, this time, the kiss is not careful. It’s the kiss of a man who’s been living on nothing but the thought of putting his mouth on yours again, and his mouth is hungry.

His hands move under your jumper, one sliding up your ribs over your brassiere a small, further inch over the plain white cotton cup, his palm dragging over your nipple which draws tight at his touch. You make another sound into his mouth, and he swallows it, the heat of his palm burning against you.

Then he shifts his hand, his thumb moving to one, hard peak, sending a line of heat straight down through the middle of you to between your legs where you feel desire pooling, hot and insistent.

You move your own hand down the front of his tunic to the waist of his trousers and further, your palm passing over the front where you suddenly find him hard, and he breaks the kiss with a groan and presses his forehead to yours.

"God…”

"Frankie…"

"You can't…you can't touch me there or I'm…"

“You’re going to what?”

"I'll put you down in the grass and I don’t want to…I mean, I do want to, but not like this."

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, heat filling your face again.

"Don't be sorry, don't be sorry…Christ, don't be sorry. Just…a minute…give me a minute…"

You take your hand off him and put it flat against his chest inside the open tunic on top of the shirt, letting it rest there. He keeps his own hand at your ribs under the vest, and the two of you stand on the boundary of the top field with your foreheads together and your breath in white clouds mingled between you, and neither of you move.

After a moment, you lift your forehead off his just an inch.

"Frankie…if anyone…"

"I know."

He draws his hand slowly out from under your jumper and it falls back down over at your waist where his hand has been, and your coat settles back down over the jumper, and you are, on the outside, a Land Army girl in a coat at a hedge on a Saturday morning again.

But on the inside, you’re anything but.

You take a careful step back, and Frankie takes a careful step back, and the two of you look at each other across the piece of ground you’ve been standing on together.

His cap is in the mud at his feet and he picks it up, brushes the mud from it and holds it again in his left hand. His hair is mussed at the temple where your hand was, his tunic open and his mouth is the mouth of a man who’s been kissed. Quickly, he rebuttons the tunic and runs his hand through his hair before he looks at you again.

"I have to tell you something."

"Yes?"

"I don't know how to say it."

"Say what?” You ask, heart thumping now in your throat.

"I have…I have to say it now because if I don't say it now, I’ll have to walk two miles back up this lane not having said it and…”

"Say it, Frankie."

"I love you."

You look at him and feel your body do things it’s never done before.

"I’ve loved you from that day I saw you at the gate and every day since. And I’ve not…not felt like this before, with any girl. There’s not been a girl I’ve walked two miles down a lane in a cold morning to stand at a gap in a hedge with. There’s not been a girl I’ve thought about the way I think about you every night. I want you to know that before anything else…before we…I want you to know that."

You can’t speak. All you can do is look at him in the grey light of November and know that the thing you’ve been telling yourself about Henry being steady and Henry being known and Henry being a good man and you being in love with him is a thing you’re not going to be able to keep telling yourself.

"I love you too," you say softly.

His eyes widen.

"I love you too, Frankie. I’ve loved you since that day at the gate and at the first dance and at this very fence when I saw you by the plane and in the jeep and then last night…” You take a breath. “I love you right now.”

He takes a step towards you, and you take one back.

"But you know about Henry – I’ve told you about Henry and I can’t…I…I have to tell him first, before anything. I have to tell him that it’s over between him and I before we can…” you swallow. “It’s only fair to him. You understand, don’t you?”

"Of course,” he nods. “Of course I understand."

"I want…with you, but I won’t do anything more until I’ve spoken to him. I can’t break his trust in me, not fully. I have to tell him. I have to…”

“I understand,” he says again.

"Once I’ve done it…I’ll come to you. Wherever, however…I will because I love you.” The words come out fast now, your mouth unable to stop them spilling. “I love you and I want to be with you, I know I do, but I have to do this first.”

"Yes."

You feel your stomach turn over. "Will you wait?"

He looks at you for a count of a breath.

"I’ll wait the whole of this war if I have to."

You inhale sharply.

"I’ll wait the whole of this war. I’ll wait until Christmas and Easter and the year after that if that’s what it takes to be with you. I’ve waited these weeks not knowing you love me back so I can wait longer knowing that you do."

"It won’t…it won’t be that long. I’ll tell him this week, I promise you."

"You don’t have to promise me anything,” he says softly.

"But I do, and I will – I swear it.”

He exhales and nods, his eyes never leaving yours. “I should go now. Tom wasn’t prepared to let me take the jeep and I had to make up some excuse about…” he breaks off and shakes his head. “I don’t even remember what I said, but I know Santi will. He’ll keep me right – he usually does.”

You suddenly think about Margery.

“Margery likes Santi.”

A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “He likes her too, even if he won’t admit it. Perhaps our first task, once it’s you and me, can be to bring them together.”

You and me.

The words land and sit there in your chest. Because it will be you and him. Once you tell Henry – once you tell everyone – that’s it. People will talk, you know they will, and you’ll need one another.

He shifts slightly "If I don’t go now, I’m not gonna go at all and..."

"I know."

He nods and gestures at the fence. “I assume you have a fence you need to repair.”

“Actually, a sheep that needs looking at,” you reply, motioning to the satchel at your feet. “I’ve got some mash for her.”

“Which one?”

“I have no idea.”

You laugh – a small, startled piece of a laugh – and he laughs too, then looks at you a moment more. “Come here.”

You move without even thinking about it and the two of you meet once more. This time, he doesn’t put his hands under your coat. Rather he puts one hand at the side of your face where your jaw meets your ear, and he puts his thumb on your cheek under your eye, and he bends and kisses you.

It’s not the hungry kiss of five minutes ago or the open-mouthed kiss of last night. It’s the kiss of a man who’s going to walk two miles back up a lane and is giving you the piece of the kiss he wants to be walking back with. It’s warm, and slow and lasts three breaths before he lifts his head, rests it gently against yours for a moment, then steps back.

"I’ll see you soon then.”

“Yes, you will.”

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He puts his cap on his head and touches the brim of it in a small salute that’s not quite a salute and not quite not one, then he turns and walks back the way he came.

You watch him go and find yourself thankful that he doesn’t turn around before he disappears from view. Because, if he had, you know you would have gone after him.

You stand and count one minute then two, then cross back into the field and walk back across the acre and a half with the satchel and halter back on your shoulder. By the time you reach the farmyard you can see Margery waiting for you, a small smile on her face that pulls wider as you draw closer and you realise you’ll have to sort yourself out before anyone else sees you.

“How’s the sheep?” she asks, loud enough for Mrs Hadley to hear if she happens to be just inside the kitchen door.

“Very well,” you reply with a satisfied nod. “Very well indeed.”

She steps closer and lowers her voice. “So, did he…?”

“He did.”

“I knew it!” She skips a little then stops, remembering herself. “So now…?”

“Now I have to tell Henry,” you reply, the warmth of your time with Frankie slowly being replaced with a cold feeling of dread. “And I’ve no idea how.”

“Tell him straight and plain,” Margery nods. “Don’t tell him about Frankie, but just tell him that you don’t think things are going to work out between you.”

“But won’t it be obvious afterwards?”

“What are you planning to do, parade around the streets with him?” Margery shakes her head. “No, you need to be a bit more discrete than that, old girl. You need to give it some breathing space before you make it public.”

“But I said I’d go to him one it was done.”

“And you can, but discreetly.” She wipes dust from her hands. “Give it some time and then you can tell everyone that you’re going to America.”

You freeze in the doorway of the barn and put your hand on her arm. “America?”

“Well of course. He’s hardly going to marry you and leave you here, is he?” Margery beams as Mrs Hadley pokes her head out from the kitchen and declares that lunch is ready. “Coming! Come on, old girl, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Without waiting for a response, she pulls off her boots and traipses into the kitchen, leaving you standing in the cold and realising that the future – a life after you and Frankie declare yourself publicly – is something you haven’t thought about at all.

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰🇺🇸➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

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Your safe and sensible Subaru pulls into the driveway just after 8 AM on move-in day, and the cul-de-sac is peaceful in the autumn late morning.

You know some renovations need to be taken care of… the bathroom is ancient, showing its age with bright pink tile and a toilet to match, the carpet in your bedroom is still shag, and the backyard garden is only growing weeds. But, step by step, you’ll get everything cleaned up and make this house into a home. After six years in Dallas, you’re back home, back where you started, and you’re trying to tell yourself it’s not failure.

Your old boss, Stu, called at the right time, needing your help at the record store. It was a simple decision… a job you already knew how to do, your parents close enough to help you with Layne, and a fresh start. God knows you needed it.

“We’re home,” you happily chirp to Layne in the backseat, who’s already wriggling with excitement in his car seat. You get him out, hoist him onto your hip, and kiss the crown of his head, letting this small moment with your little boy help heal you from the past year.

You unlock the door to your home with a proud smile on your face. You’re going to make this work.

—-

"I think our new neighbors are here,” Sarah beams, purple backpack slung across her shoulder.

“Oh yeah?” Joel asks, tossing his tool belt into the back of Tommy’s truck, squinting against the morning sun.

He follows her eyes as the front door of what once was the Marleys’ house opens. You step out, your hand holding the small hand of a smiling little boy whose mouth is moving a mile a minute. You’re… beautiful, and he swallows thickly, stopping in his tracks. You’re looking down at the little boy grinning and nodding along to whatever he says. Joel recognizes the way you look down at him, like he’s your whole world. He can’t look away, even as he opens the door for his own world.

Tommy grins, leans in, and lets out a low whistle. “She’s cute as hell,” he whispers to Joel, with an elbow to the ribs.

His eyes stay on you, and all he can afford is a nod and grunt.

“Go ahead, introduce yourself,” Tommy teases, “or I’m gonna go over ‘n introduce myself.”

Joel shakes his head, eyes wide, lips together in a firm line. He’s not going to let Tommy anywhere near her if he can help it. “Gotta… Sarah’s gotta get to school now,” he says as an excuse, as if Sarah is ever on time when he’s depending on his little brother for a ride.

Tommy slides into the truck, and the ignition rumbles to life. You’re now kneeling in the grass, wiping something from the boy’s cheek. He wonders what brought you to this street, if there’s a dad still inside the house or already at work, or maybe your story is similar to his.

—-

Your parents arrive around noon, your dad manning the small U-Haul while your mom’s car holds a couple plants and more fragile items.

You and your dad team up to unpack the truck, and you’re a sweaty mess by the third trip. At least it doesn’t take long, and by the time you’re done, your muscles ache with an accomplished pain. You’re going to do it all yourself.

You have no other choice.

Your life changed only ten months ago, a week after Layne’s second birthday. Devon couldn’t “deal with” being a father any longer… or he fell in love with his band’s pretty new singer. Either way, he no longer wanted you… nor Layne.

You left your perfect downtown Dallas loft the next day, drove the three-hour trip to your parents’ home, and became the sole parent to your little boy. You promised yourself that night, lying in your childhood bedroom, holding your world, that you’d make it on your own. Move home, pick up the pieces, heal from the past, and start again.

Now, the blue house on Goldenrod Lane will be where your son will grow up happy and healthy. He’ll go to good schools, play in the park a street over, and only be ten minutes away from grandma and grandpa. Layne will always know he’s wanted.

It doesn’t take long to unpack and set the house up, it’s not like you have much furniture. The IKEA in Round Rock is calling your name. You take care of the most important room first… Layne’s. Your dad’s putting together Layne’s new bed, complete with sheets covered in construction vehicles. Your mom helps unpack and put Layne’s books and toys away as he “supervises” in the specific way a toddler can. You hang the decals of cars and trucks on the wall, and you note to yourself to draw roads, buildings, and the sky around them one day.

After your parents leave, the closest pizza place turns out to be good enough for dinner. You and Layne eat it on the new couch—your parents’ housewarming gift and watch a DVD of Elmo episodes. It’s certainly not a housewarming party, but it’s just right after a day like today.

That night, when you tuck Layne in, he tells you, “I love my new house, Mommy.”

You snuggle him a little longer than usual. At the end of the day that had the chance to be so much sadder, lonelier, or worse, you let yourself be okay and happy. You kiss him goodnight, and he’s asleep before you finish closing his door.

It’s so quiet now. The house is unfamiliar in the dark, full of new noises. The ancient thermostat ticks, the fridge compressor whirs loudly, and the wind occasionally rattles the back door. You walk the rooms, checking the locks, then head to your room. You’re used to an empty bed now, and sleep comes quickly.

—-

Joel’s sure the lawnmower’s been trying to die for three straight summers. He knows every trick to get the battered red thing to keep it limping along. Today, he chooses to swear at it. It stutters, hacking up the smell of grass and gas. He wants to lift the damn hunk of junk up and toss it into the Colorado River. This is the last thing he wants to be doing on a Saturday morning. He wipes sweat off his brow and grumbles.

Sarah bounds out the front door, oblivious to any type of strife, skipping down the step. She pauses, watching across the street, and Joel follows her gaze. The new neighbors are outside.

You’re standing in the sun, bare-legged in cut-off jean shorts and a baggy black tee, a coffee mug in your hand. Your kid’s on the grass, trucks splayed out in front of him.

Sarah sighs a little. “She looks so cool. We should go over and say hi. C’mon, Dad.” She yanks him by the wrist, and he has no other option than to be dragged into the street before he can protest.

You look up at the sound of footsteps, and you grin a tired but wide smile that Joel couldn’t look away from, even if he tried. Up close, he can see you’re in a tee with a Soundgarden logo in the middle of the chest, tiny holes across the worn shirt, because of course you like one of his favorite bands.

“Hi!” Sarah says, more to the boy than you. “I’m Sarah. From across the street.”

“I’m Layne!” the kid introduces, then points at you. “That’s Mommy.”

You laugh and introduce yourself with your actual name, and Joel lets your sweet voice repeat in his mind, until he realizes he’s just standing there in silence. “Joel,” he blurts. “I’m Joel. Also from across the street.”

You hmph a sound like you’re entertained by his nervous antics. “It’s nice to meet you, Joel,” you say, and he knows he’s blinking like an idiot.

Sarah’s already got Layne enthralled, squatting down to play truck versus tractor with him. Joel’s fingers patter at his thigh, trying to think of something, anything, to say. He’s not so good at the small talk stuff, especially when it’s with someone as pretty as you.

“It’s a good neighborhood,” he finally offers. “Safe. Quiet. Been here since Sarah was four.”

“It seems it,” you say. “We’re back in Austin from Dallas. It was never quiet there.”

“It’s quiet here,” he repeats. Christ, this is close to the first normal adult conversation he’s had outside of work in… years, and he’s pretty sure he’s screwing it all up.

“So, I’ve heard,” you jest.

Joel lifts his hand to the back of his neck, feels how hot it is when you smile. His eyes drop to your mouth, but snap right back up. Sarah was right. There is something cool about you. Maybe it’s the way you lounge on the step in the bright patch of sunlight, your smooth legs on display, your oversized shirt giving him a glimpse of your shoulder. Maybe it’s in the way you talk, quick and bright, but a bit of reserve there too.

“Well, uh, should go back.” He clears his throat. “Got yard work.”

“Aww,” Sarah groans disappointingly.

“You can stay over here, if it’s okay with your dad,” you offer.

“S’fine with me. I, uh, better get back to mowin’ the lawn. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks, Joel.” You gift him an amused smile, and he responds with a dopey, uneven nod.

His feet can’t move fast enough as he rushes back across the street, feeling like a damned fool.

—-

Sarah doesn’t stop talking. She’s fourteen, a Cancer, plays soccer, and loves butterflies. She can’t wait to be a counselor at the summer camp she’s been going to since she was eight, is into X-Men, and is amazing with Layne. Her giggle is high-pitched, and her comedic timing is sharp and a little sarcastic. She instantly charms you.

And yet, all you can focus on is her hot dad. Joel’s keeping busy in the front yard, mowing the lawn. You pretend to be present and listen to Sarah tell you all about Beyoncé’s VMA performance. Still, you’re locked on across the street watching her dad and the way his forearms flex on the mower handle, the way the sheen of his sweat shines under the sunlight even all the way across the street. You’re thankful for your dark-lensed wayfarers and how they block out your eyes following him and the steady back-and-forth as he turns at the end of each row. He stops to wipe his brow, pulling up his shirt to his face, gifting you a peek of golden belly, and you hide your gasp with an “oh wow,” to Sarah. The mower sound begins to fade as he makes his way to the backyard, and you mourn the loss of your show.

“Lemonade?” you ask Sarah.

The first thing Sarah does when she gets in your house is make a beeline for the small CD tower you have by the TV. She spins through it, fingers running down the spines of each jewel case.

“Pearl Jam, my dad’s obsessed. He has like, all their tapes.”

“I didn’t know Nirvana had this many CD’s.”

“Jeff Buckley! I have a picture of him on my wall.”

Sarah’s high-pitched squeal makes you jump as you put away the lemonade. “Oooh!” She pulls a CD out, Combat Rock by The Clash is thrust up into the air, her smile beaming behind it. “Can we listen to this?”

You walk into the living room with two glasses of lemonade and Layne’s lidded juice cup tucked under your elbow. “Of course.”

The opening chords blare.

This is a public service announcement with guitars!

“My dad loves them too,” she says, her head bobbing along to the jangly guitar and drum beat. She grabs Layne’s hand, and they spin in awkward circles, both laughing, and it’s genuinely the happiest and most alive your house has felt since you moved in.

Sarah still talks your ear off, even as the Clash plays. She tells you about school, her favorite movies (Legally Blonde, The Brave Little Toaster, the first Curtis & Viper), and her secret hope to one day dye her hair neon blue, but she’s pretty sure her dad will kill her if she does.

Layne toddles over, climbs on the couch, and lays his head in your lap, too tired to keep up with Sarah. You smooth his hair and wonder if he’ll end up a music nerd or a soccer kid. Sarah’s the kind of older kid who makes you hope he’ll end up like her one day.

Sarah tells you she should head home after “Overpowered by Funk” fades out and you tell her not to be a stranger. You watch from the front door as she crosses the street and talks to Joel, who's now bent over his lawnmower that’s flipped over in the driveway. She looks back at you, and his eyes follow. He holds a grease-stained hand up and waves. You return it and close the door, wondering what it would be like to listen to Joel’s favorite songs with him.

—-

“You’d love her CD collection. She’s so cool, Dad!”

“Oh! And she went to school for business management! She could probably help you get Miller Contracting even more established!”

“Layne’s named after the lead singer of Alice in Chains!”

Sarah doesn’t shut up about you all day. Not from the moment she plopped down on the grass after leaving your house while he struggled with the lawnmower, to eating the slightly burnt Stouffer’s Lasagna he forgot to set the timer for. Hell, even when he said goodnight to her, she had to mention that you also love the Curtis & Viper movies.

The inner quandary of whether it’s good or bad luck that his dream girl has moved in across the street from him makes him toss and turn in bed. He faces the dead plant that sits on his side table, then turns his back to it, staring at the exercise machine stroke closet, and the cluttered dresser. One day he’ll get his life, and this bedroom, together.

Can’t sleep. Stupid. He’s too old to be lying awake thinking about somebody he’s seen for all of five minutes.

You just looked like someone he’d like to know.

—-

“So, new records usually come in on Thursdays, the day before release, and they’re delivered in—”

“I got it, Stu, I worked here all through high school and my summer breaks, remember?”