Tumble (Dogwood Lane, #1)(21)

As I walk along the row of hedges, picking out voices I remember, feeling my heart fill with memories, I watch him move. Confidence oozes from every step he takes. Curiosity takes root.

“Dane?”

“Yeah?” He stops at the corner. I can see a little opening where the two fences, each forming a separate wall of the patio, meet. His Adam’s apple bobs, his hands going into the pockets of his jeans as he awaits my question.

I await it too. It was on the tip of my tongue, an inquiry as to what he’s been up to. Not building houses or fishing with Matt or playing poker with Penn, but all the other things—the little things—that make up who a person is. The hours from one a.m. to four. The way you fill an early Saturday morning or a late Friday night. What you do on a rainy Wednesday evening.

I consider his responses and pair them to what I know about him to be true, and how some of those answers will be impossible to shake. I realize I don’t want to know.

“You go first,” I say, nodding to the opening in the fence.

He pulls his brows together. He starts to speak but stops himself short. A realization settles over his eyes, muddling the green that was cloudless only a few moments ago.

With a shrug, he brushes the shrubs out of the way and disappears on the other side.

The little pendant hanging around my neck, a heart my grandmother gave me, vibrates with each breath I take. My shirt clings to my skin. My shorts are suddenly too tight. As I hear a chorus of laughter float through the greenery, I almost wish I hadn’t come.

Taking a deep breath, I grip the metal fencing. “Why are you so nervous?” I whisper to myself. “You’re going to say hi. Trade some stories. And you’ll be on a plane back to the city in a couple of days. Nothing to be nervous about.”

The metal is warm to the touch as I slide between the poles. The brick paver patio is strewn with pieces of leaves and an occasional beer tab as I step through. Instantly, my nostrils are filled with scents of spilled beer and garlic from Mucker’s famous pizza. Adjusting my shirt, getting my bearings, I watch as Dane slips into a seat beside Claire at the long table in the middle of the area.

Standing on the pavers, looking at a table of faces I love so much, all I can do is smile.

“Look who it is.” Matt’s voice rings out above the music playing in the little overhead speakers. His face splits with a wide, handsome grin. “It’s a good thing you showed up.”

“Or what?” I tease. “What were you going to do about it?”

He scoots his chair back and heads my way. Claire, Penn, Dane, and a couple of our other friends are watching us from the table.

“I was giving you until tomorrow, and then I was coming to find you.” Matt’s arms spread and I fall into them with no hesitation. “How are ya, Nee?”

“Good,” I say. My entire body relaxes against him. “How are you?”

“As handsome as ever.” He winks as he pulls back.

“That’s the truth. I’ve been all over this country and have failed to find a guy as handsome as you,” I joke.

“That’s about right.” His chest rumbles as he chuckles. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

He takes his thumb and rubs it on my forehead, right between my eyes. It’s something he started in fifth grade when Penn hit me in the face with a spitball. As I screamed on the playground and threatened Penn within an inch of his life, Matt came to my rescue. Or so I thought. He wiped the area with his thumb to quiet me down, and then, as I stopped yelling and almost felt better, he whispered in my ear he was really rubbing it in.

I kicked him in the shin.

I also opened the door that afternoon to find Matt and his older brother, Dane, on my doorstep so he could apologize. Matt muttered through his apology while I wondered why my stomach felt like it was full of butterflies as I stared at the taller, slightly lighter version of the boy who tormented me. I may have forgotten about the spitball and what Matt’s “sorry speech” entailed, but I never lost the butterflies.

“Okay, okay,” Penn says, gripping my shoulder. “My turn.” He spins me to face him, and then, before I know it, I’m lifted off the ground.

“Penn!” I laugh as he turns a circle with me in his arms. “You’re a brat. Put me down.”

“I’m a brat? What’s that make you? The girl who jets off to the big city and forgets all about us.” He sets me back on my feet. “I’ll be a little pissed at you about that for the rest of my life. Just so we’re clear.”

“Forget about you?” I tilt my head and bat my lashes. “How could I forget about the Penn Etling?”

The corner of his lip lifts, a dimple settling deep in his cheek. “Well, that’s what I was thinking. Forget these other fuckers, fine. But me? Kinda hard to believe.”

Matt shoves his shoulder, knocking Penn off-balance. They both laugh, their carefree lilts caressing me and warming me in a way that starts on the inside—somewhere deep in my chest. The spot amps up a few degrees when I catch Dane’s gaze. Before either of us can absorb it, our attention is drawn to the commotion beside me.

“Damn you!” Matt groans as Penn grabs him around the head. They start a friendly skirmish, bumping a table as they wrestle for control.

“Those two never grew up,” Claire says, coming up beside me.