Page 39 of The Influencer and The Introvert
“A lot,” he admits with an honesty that shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Colt sighs and stretches up to kiss me softly. “Yes. Over ice cream?”
“A man after my heart with ice cream. I’d love that.”
“I can woo you with Dairy Queen? I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“I mean…it wouldn’t hurt to try.”
After I finally removemyself from his arms, we exit his apartment. On the sidewalk, Colt takes my hand in his. “Can I hold your hand? Is that okay?”
“Very okay.”
He nods and squeezes my hand tighter.
We walk down the street on an early Saturday evening with Colt nodding and saying hello to many people. He has an explanation for who each person is, and I’m so fucking charmed by it. It’s not just, ‘that’s Don from the post office.’ It’s ‘that’s Don, he helped me change my tire once. Good guy, he works at the post office.’
It’s such a different experience from my past city living, where most people don’t even make eye contact with others on the street. Or your neighbor. Trevor’s condo neighbor never said hello or even waved.
I tried so hard to get to know him and Trevor’s co-workers and never made an ounce of progress. I constantly felt like I was simply looking through a pane of glass at a life I lived in, but wasn’t quite part of. I know more about Cathy at the Laughing Fork in a few weeks than I ever did about my ex’s coworkers and his neighbor in a year.
Here in this small town of Chance, I feel something different. It’s not just a rapidly growing fondness for the man next to me, either.
Colt smiles at me as we cross the street to Dairy Queen, and I think it’s the first time in years that I truly feel seen.
Chapter 13
Colt
Icould talk to Ethan for hours and never run out of topics to talk about.
After walking to Dairy Queen, we ordered and took our ice cream outside to a picnic table. Ethan ordered a peanut buster parfait with extra caramel and pecans along with the peanuts. My usual has always been a hot fudge sundae, but I followed his lead and topped it with pecans today.
“I see why you love it here,” he says as he scrapes at the bottom of his cup with a spoon. “It’s like living here is always being wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blanket. There’s such comfort here.”
“Most of the time, yeah. It has some bad stuff too, but we’re a tight community.”
“Is that why you don’t want to leave? Someplace new might not be as welcoming?”
Ethan has quickly picked out most of the things about me that others ignore or attribute to my shyness. I like that more than I thought I would. It’s rare to meet someone who immediately makes you feel comfortable in your skin. I can say anything to Ethan, and he doesn’t judge me. He usuallyunderstands immediately, and that helps when I don’t know the right words I want to say.
“When my mom died, this town was here for my uncle and me in ways that I can’t put into words. Every single person was there. I didn’t realize it at first, but it was like they all stepped in to help my uncle learn how to parent.” I finished my ice cream a while ago, but I told Ethan I wanted to talk, and it’s taken me this long to figure out how to say it.
“A community to raise a child?” Ethan says softly, and I nod.
“Sort of. But it was more. One of my teachers took me to the cemetery every Mother’s Day and on her birthday. He even gave me a flower to place there. It was funny because most of those visits were wordless.” I laugh softly at the memory. “He’d pull up, and my uncle would say, ‘Mr. Worth is here.’ I’d put my shoes on and just get into his car. He’d pass me a flower, and when we parked at the cemetery, he’d say, ‘Take as long as you need.’”
Tears form in my eyes, and I quickly swipe at them. “He did that for three years, and it wasn’t until he transferred that I learned this whole town had my back. The florist, Ms. Moody, always gave him the flower, and then she started showing up when Mr. Worth left. Then it was the librarian inviting me to the boys’ activity nights at the library when my uncle had to work and promised him they’d get me home afterward if he couldn’t.”
Ethan’s soft gaze remains steady, and I continue. “The ranch hired me when they needed labor, but also because my uncle needed to do something with me, you know? There was a ranch hand there my uncle knew, Hasting Brown, who would drive me home, and he’d always say he had to stop at the Mercantile. He didn’t, but he’d come out with a cream soda and then bring me home. Every weekend without fail.”
“Is that how you learned to love cream soda so much?” Ethan asks, and I smile.
“I already loved it, and my uncle didn’t buy it often. Mr. Brown knew that and treated me.”
A silence falls between us, and Ethan reaches for my hand.
