Missing Dixie(18)

“You’re welcome.” He continues staring out the windshield as if driving requires every ounce of his attention. “And nah. I’m good.”

“You sure? ’Cause you seem a little . . . off.” I vaguely recall Gavin saying something about Jag and Cassidy but I was slightly distracted during that conversation.

He clears his throat, probably to buy himself some time. I wait patiently, deciding to start the long, arduous process of removing bobby pins from my wedding hairdo.

“I’ll just sit quietly over here untangling my tangled rat’s nest while you decide if you want to tell me why you seem so bajigity.”

“Not even a word, Lark.”

“Don’t care, McKinley.”

Houses blur and I don’t even bother trying to count them. I’m not actually able to focus very well at the moment. He’s adjusting himself in his seat, so whatever he’s stressing about obviously is having an effect on his man parts. If he tells me he wants to get back together I might punch him in the throat. He knows a little about my Gavin drama and that the last thing I need right now is him wanting to be more than friends.

“So . . . your friend Cassidy . . . she’s single?”

Oh, thank God. I breathe an audible sigh of relief. “Yeah, as far as I know. Why? You got a crush?”

“Something like that,” he answers low, but the corners of his mouth quirk up.

“She’s a sweet girl. Got a raw deal in Nashville and had to come home to deal with stuff. Her parents moved away years ago, though. Basically said that if she moved to Nashville instead of going to the Ivy League college she was accepted to, she was dead to them. She crashed with Robyn at one point and now . . . huh. Now I don’t actually know where she’s staying.” I make a mental note to ask her the next time I talk to her.

“Wow. Ivy League. Smart girl.”

I nod, becoming increasingly curious about Jag’s new love interest. It’s nice to have someone else’s complicated situation to focus on. I can always analyze the relationships of others so much better than my own. Go figure.

“She is smart. She’s also super-impulsive and kind of overly trusting. Or at least she used to be. Life has a way of sucking the hope and trust and free spirit out of some of us.”

“Including you?”

I don’t answer right away because he already knows from our talks in the garage. Seeing Gavin in the bar that night, realizing he’d been here the whole time and hadn’t bothered to so much as shoot me a text to let me know, it changed me. Not that I’m ruined or anything but it hurt and I know I’ve become more careful and withdrawn. Jag and my brother have both pointed it out and Robyn is pretty much constantly on my case about it. “Talk to him,” she says. “Tell him how you feel. Demand answers.”

Right. If only it were that easy. I talked to him for five minutes tonight and look how well that turned out.

“Especially me,” I say quietly into the darkened car interior without checking to see if Jag heard me.

In my head, it’s black-and-white.

Gavin and I had a fling. One I pushed him into. He got me out of his system and moved on with his life without any further thoughts of me. Sadly, I’m not quite that detached and I was hurt and, well . . . heartbroken. But I’m a big girl. I’m no stranger to pain. Just wish I understood the purpose behind it sometimes.

In my heart, though, it’s one big Technicolor mess.

I love him with everything that I am and there isn’t much I wouldn’t give to make him love me back. In that way. The reason I don’t push him for answers is that I know what he’d say. Or something close to it.

I care about you, Dixie. You’re like family to me.

Basically, “I love you, too, but not in that way.”

My Nana used to say for everything there was a season. My season with Gavin wasn’t a season at all but more like a sunny spring day that appears too early, promising sunshine and warmth, only to tease you before an avalanche falls on your head and buries you in the cold, unforgiving snow for the foreseeable future.

“So, um, who was that guy? The singer that showed up and sang and then monopolized all of your friend’s attention?”

It takes me a second to catch up. My friend meaning Cassidy.

“Afton Tate. He’s a nice guy. I met him in Austin, and Dallas toured with him for a bit. Robyn’s a big fan.”

Jag’s mouth twists into a sneer. “I gathered that when she nearly fell over. Nice of him to come all this way.”

“Mmhm.”

The silence feels heavy and suffocating. I’ve kept quiet about so much for so long and I feel like I’ve outgrown the need to be a weed in the breeze. I want to sway and move of my own accord. I want to grow. So here goes.

“Jag?”

“Yeah?”

“True or false, you have a thing for Cassidy?”

Wide hazel eyes regard me as if I am a foreign species in his vehicle. “Um . . . true. I guess. Sort of.”

“No. Man up and grow a pair. It’s simple. I’m super tired of half-ass answers and folks hemming and hawing around. You’re either interested in her or you aren’t. Which is it?”

“I am,” he answers, like a soldier on command.

“So. What are you going to do about it?”