Shimmy Bang Sparkle(64)
Her mouth fell open slightly. “For sure.”
We’d take it slow; the radiator would be fine. We had plenty to eat and plenty to drink. We had one another. We had everything we needed. “To the Big Wide Open it is.”
31
STELLA
The Big Wide Open was even more beautiful than I remembered it. Though I hadn’t been to the ranch in ages, I hadn’t forgotten the old shortcuts that Grandpa had shown me. We took a frontage road that ran parallel to the highway, then an unmarked farm road by a rock that I’d always thought looked like a sleeping dog. We rumbled over the ancient cattle guard, and in the distance the house came into view, poking up from a shallow valley, low and plain with a red tin roof. It hurt my heart to imagine peeking through the windows without being able to go inside. So I had him turn left, on an old rutted washboard road that made everything in the RV squeak as we went down it. A few minutes later, he pulled in underneath the old grove of apricot trees, studded with fruit. Nick set up the generator as I changed out of my bad-girl outfit and back into my normal Chucks and jeans. Then I helped him level the RV. Though helped him was a pretty generous word for it, really. I sat inside and supervised a potato as it rolled around on the table, calling out directions, but he did say it was helpful, so that was good at least. He cupped his hand under his T-shirt and pressed the fabric to his face, showing off the ripples of his abs.
I actually whimpered. Right out loud.
From a storage compartment near the door, he took out a small grill. He caught me staring. “You OK?”
“Totally!” I said. “Just . . .” Oh for God’s sake. The man knew everything about me. I didn’t have to lie about anything with him. “Honestly, I was just watching you.”
He gave me a hey baby lift of his chin and looked me up and down. “I like you in disguise, but I like you just like that even better.”
I looked down at my rumpled T-shirt and my jeans and my old shoes. I’d never felt beautiful wearing this. Until now. I lifted my toes. I was trying to smile, but I think maybe I was cringing. I wasn’t used to all these compliments. “You do?”
“Oh yeah,” he gasped. “One hundred fucking percent.”
He winked, then turned his attention back to the grill. It was brand new, still with the label stuck to the outside. He carried the grill outside and filled it with charcoal. Then, as if all this playing house wasn’t swoony enough, he lit a match using the edge of his boot for the lighting strip. For a second, I just stared at him with a potato in one hand and a fork in the other.
Poke the potatoes and carry on, Stella! Even if he does make you swoon, he’s just a guy. Just a guy covered in tattoos who brought you to the Big Wide Open. Just a guy who knows all your secrets and is totally good with all of it. Just a guy.
Using a little roll of foil that I found in the tiny drawer by the sink, I wrapped up the potatoes and put them on a tray to go outside. I salted and peppered the steaks, and Priscilla walked around the kitchen with her nose up in the air. Realizing the time, I quickly put her dinner in a bowl, then turned my attention to project sangria. I dumped some ice, the peaches, the OJ, and half the bottle of wine into a huge plastic pitcher that said, ENJOY YOUR HONEYMOON!
The smell of burning charcoal wafted in from outside; Nick pushed it farther away from the RV using his boot. He studied the flames with his jaw flexing and finished off the rest of a bottle of water. But not entirely. What remained, he dumped into his huge palm and splashed on his face. His stubble glistened in the setting sun.
Behind him was the ranch that I had always ached to own. In front of me was the man who made my heart ache. And I realized that even though he was no rancher, even though he wore motorcycle boots instead of cowboy boots, and even though he wasn’t at all what I’d imagined for myself, he looked like he belonged here.
Like he was always meant to be here. With me.
The thunderstorm went around us, and we spent the evening outside on the lawn chairs. We ate, we talked, we laughed, and we ate ripe apricots right off the tree. Nick built a fire in the clearing, rimmed with old river rocks we found by the creek and using dead branches for kindling and old logs split by the dry air for fuel. Priscilla exhausted herself by chasing lemon moths around the clearing, sticking her fanny up in the air and barking at the breeze, finally collapsing in a heap at Nick’s feet, with her tongue lolling out onto his boot.
He took my plastic tumbler from my hand to top up my sangria. I couldn’t help but admire the contrast of thick, strong fingers and the glittery gel between the layers of plastic.
A peach toppled out of the pitcher and plopped into my glass. “So I was thinking about the payout again,” he said.
“I knew it.” I gave him a playful nudge on the side. “I keep telling you, I don’t need a knight, and I don’t need a hero. Fifty-fifty. It’s the best way. Equal pay for equal work.” My goodness. I sounded like some sort of feminist slogan machine. But I wasn’t kidding around. “It’s the only thing that make sense.”
“Stop that with your fifty-fifty,” he said. He set the pitcher back down on the ground between us and put my glass and his beside it. “I’m not talking about money.” He hooked his boot under the leg of my chair and pulled me close to press a kiss to the side of my head. I wrapped my arms around him and felt the steady, strong beat of his heart. And I felt his chest rumble as he said, “I’m talking about something way bigger than that.”