Page 98 of Cattle Stop
“Is this about finding someone for the farm? ’Cause I told Drew, that job won’t be hard to fill.”
Hell, knowing Whit, he’s probably interviewed a half-dozen people already. A dozen, maybe, and has some sort of horribly overdetailed spreadsheet outlining their pros and cons. Not Cooper, reads one column, he’s sure, a tidy tick next to each and every name.
“It’s not about the job.” Whit rips off another bite from his sandwich but sets it down. He brushes his fingers together, crumbs falling into the center of his plate. “It’s about, well, the job and—and you kissed me?”
“What?”
“That summer? All those years ago, you—” Whit stares somewhere past Cooper’s shoulder, deep furrows pinching his forehead. “And then everything this summer, but on the phone you told Drew that you thought I—” Quickly, Whit scratches at his neck. “I don’t care about you?”
Blood pulses in Cooper’s cheeks. “Drew told you that? That I said that?”
“No, he told Penny, and she—” Whit closes his eyes and pulls in a deep breath. When he opens them, he spreads his hands on the table, his fingers gripping the flat surface until tendons stand out.
“He wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
“No, I know, I just…” Whit’s throat bobs on a swallow. “I’ve had this ridiculous thing for you for years and I’ve been trying to get over you and then this summer was just—I just couldn’t believe it, and then—” His tongue presses into his cheek, a bulge under the thin skin. When he looks up, his eyes are bright. “You’re really not coming back to Two Pines?”
Cooper blinks. “You don’t even like me.”
“Cooper,” Whit says softly.
“You can barely stand me.” Cooper’s whole face feels hot. His chest, too. Tight and pounding.
“No, I—”
“What the hell, Whit?”
Whit sniffs. His eyes are red. “I can stand you.”
“Since that summer?” Cooper asks. “That was fucking years ago. You’ve liked me since that summer?”
“Before that,” Whit says softly. “Since—since high school. I can go, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“High school?” Cooper’s voice sounds too high.
“Drew said—Penny said that Drew said that you—you don’t want to come back again because of me and—” Whit draws in a deep breath, his chest expanding on it. “I wanted you to know.”
Whit sits back in his chair, and with his tongue touched to the corner of his mouth, he stares at the window and the drops of rain rolling down. Cooper stares at him. Blinks. Watches Whit swallow again, his thumb rubbing quickly over his knuckles.
“I’m sorry, is this real?” Cooper asks.
Whit nods, still not looking at Cooper.
He got on a plane, Cooper thinks, turning each word over in his mind.
He must’ve gotten the address from Drew. And just…came. All this way. I had this ridiculous thing for you, he hears again in Whit’s voice. Cooper’s face is burning. It’s something he himself would say, not words that should be metered out in Whit’s deep, even voice.
Say it again? Cooper wants to ask. He inhales sharply. He can’t think right, his mind buzzing and the rain tapping on the windows and Whit so close, right there across the table from him. Cooper blinks. His eyes feel hot. And his nose is tingling. Cooper clears his throat. Then, he clears it again. This room is too damn small. “I need a minute.”
“Of course.”
Cooper gets up, puts his soggy boots back on, and goes out into the rain. Whit trails after him, head ducked and his hood pulled up. Cooper can still see the angle of his chin, the curve of his nose. Cooper yanks the brim of his hat down. His stomach is twisted over and around, something like hunger sitting deep in his gut.
Whit’s here. He came all this way, just to see Cooper. Because Cooper wasn’t going to come back again. He wanted…wanted Cooper to know how he felt.
He tugs on the brim of his hat again and turns slightly, and Whit’s still there next to him, sloshing through the puddles.
That summer they kissed was so long ago. Years and years and years ago. And Whit, since then…Cooper squints at him. All that time stuck in the same room. In bed together, wrapped up in each other. Whit’s hands on him. He’d been…Cooper shakes his head.
