Page 32 of The Other Side

Now, who’s asking the stupid questions?

We’re trekking over the driveway when I respond to her. “Maybe I wasn’t clear with my first question, so I’ll rephrase it. I was wondering, between reading and gardening, when I could see you.”

There’s an incoherent mumble before her words sharpen. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea, Brant.”

I wag my head, lips tucking as we stroll closer to my pickup. “Yeah, see, I didn’t ask if it was a good idea. I’m very well aware that it’s not.” Our legs idle when we reach the passenger door, and then I’m facing her. “I just don’t care all that much.”

Shock flashes over her eyes, my flippant tone causing her eyelashes to flutter.

She shakes her head, a few more jumbled sounds ejecting from her perfect lips. “W-well, I don’t know what you expect me to say to that.”

“You can just answer my question.”

Her slender neck works through a knot as she peeks around my truck. “I don’t know, alright?”

“Do you need my phone number again?” I fire back, unlatching the truck door handle. “I didn’t hear from you, so I considered maybe you lost it.” When I swing the door open, I toss my binder and measurer on the seat, knowing she’s squirming inside.

“Brant, stop it,” she mutters.

“No, Callie,” I challenge. Planting a palm on the top of my truck, I finally grant her my attention. “I asked you a question, and you’re giving me some run-around, bullshit answer.” I step aside to slap my door shut, her eyes scurrying up at me. Then my voice lowers, face relaxing just as my tone does. “But if you’re not going to give me what I want, then I guess I’ll just ask you a different question.”

She remains still.

Mute.

Here goes nothing.

“What’s your favorite type of flower to plant?”

Her brows knit. My heart races against my chest, beating on me like a hammer as I await something from her. Anything from her.

And then her lips, even just for a split second, tilt up.

It was the last question she would’ve predicted me asking.

I want to know.

I need to know.

“I like to plant all different kinds,” she eventually whispers.

I nod, a soft smile gracing my face. It’s not the answer I originally craved from her, but I think it’s more satisfying.

No.

I know it’s much more satisfying.

“Out of all the reasons to spend time with you, seeing your garden is at the top of the list. Before anything else,” I clarify. “Second would be to listen to all your stories. Third would be to find out how your taste in books has changed.” I gulp, my eyes tracing her awed expression until I continue. “I’ve been waiting for ten years. I don’t think about you and immediately want a body on me. You’re putting yourself in the same league as other women, failing to remember that I put you in another from day one.”

Our gazes stitch together, crocheted in a past only we see.

Because we lived it.

Us.

Me and her.

Her and me.