Page 67 of The Other Side

For just a moment, my eyes close. I see those two kids sitting under a cluster of loblolly pine trees right beyond that trailer park.

And for the first time in ten years, I wonder what it’s like now on that side.

Brant

Callie and I met in my office parking lot to drive to the arboretum in my Tacoma. My elbow is planted on the sill, palm curled around the top of the window frame as the wind brushes my skin.

A smirk creeps over me when I look over at Callie in the passenger seat. Her legs protrude from the flowy hem of this floral, satin dress she’s wearing under her jean jacket.

My attention turns to the scenic backroad lined with farms and vineyards. The Spotify shuffle lands on “Freedom Was A Highway” by Jimmie Allen and Brad Paisley, and Callie’s already reaching for the volume knob.

“I take it you’re still a huge Brad Paisley fan?” I quip.

She leans her forearm on the center console, the floral notes of her perfume braiding with the wind. “How could I turn my back on him after all those years of pining? Seems pointless,” she teases.

I grin as I quickly pivot my gaze to her. The lax waves of her half-up, half-down hairstyle dance around her face with the breeze streaming through my open window.

Her fingers brush a strand out of her eye before she beams a smile my way. “Of course I am.”

Redirecting my focus, I drop my left palm to the steering wheel. My right elbow falls next to her arm on the console, and our warm skin collides.

I tap my hand on the wheel as Callie sinks back into the leather seat. She rocks her body to the beat of the chorus, and my fingers catch the brim of my snapback. I adjust it on my forehead before joining in on the car karaoke, our random chuckles slipping between the lyrics.

My teeth ghost my bottom lip, palm now tapping on my denim thigh through the music. The second verse enters, and Callie’s dropping her head as she raises her arms.

I slump my back farther into the seat, fastening my grip around the wheel. The line, “and love was the girl next door,” hums through the truck stereo, and my fingers ghost the underside of her chin. My attention remains averted, but I catch her bright smile out of the corner of my eye.

As we drive down the backroad, open fields of green invade our line of sight. Warmth infiltrates my chest, my heart pumping with newfound adrenaline as we sink seamlessly into old habits.

As it turns out, time never progressed in our years apart.

It stopped.

Only to pick back up right where we left off.

Chapter 21

Brant

I’m opening the passenger door before Callie hops out of my Tacoma. Her white slip-ons hit the gravel of the parking lot, and I’m shutting the door.

“You ever been to an arboretum before?” I ask, turning my snapback backward.

Her teeth nip her glossy lips as she shakes her head. “No. Never even heard of one until you mentioned it this morning.”

My eyes dip to the way her fingers toy with the princess-cut diamond on her left hand. She twists the gold solitaire band back and forth around her digit, only to sneak her arms behind her.

“You’re allowed to hang out with a friend,” I say. “Especially a good one.”

Her brows gently hike, uncertainty woven across her face. “Really?”

“Today isn’t going to be like last night,” I assure her.

“It can’t be like that,” she amends.

I inhale on a nod, slipping my hands in my pockets. Then I pivot my head to the landscape as I ask, “Do you still want to see the garden?”

Her brows scrunch. “Yes, I want to see the garden,” she responds, almost bothered that I would ask such a rhetorical question.