Page 30 of Rootbound
“I’m positive. I have the dual pack ofGrumpy Old MenandGrumpier Old Menon DVD and have watched them a million times. That is the first and only other time I’ve heard the sayingcolder than a witch’s tit.”
“ANYchance you guys could stop saying ‘tit’?!” Grady chimes in.
I look over at Emma to find her wearing the same “oops” expression as me, and we shrug. I turn up the music a short while after, and we ride along in relaxed silence.
My mind drifts back to Henry, to his quiet, formidable presence. Sometimes, there’s a melancholy in his expressions that doesn’t add up. Maybe I just haven’t beenattracted to anyone in a long time? Most of the sexual encounters I’ve had in the last couple years have been born out of curiosity and boredom more than anything. I don’t really know, but I find myself warming up to the cranky cowboy. It was—dare I say—niceto have him around at the store. And I now feel a kinship with him, how he understands my shade of heartbreak.
The jolts of lust that accompany being around him aside, it felt comfortable… until that last bit when it didn’t. Each time I’ve been possessed to be a little flirty with him, he’s shut down immediately or basically fled like today. Jesus, he practically peeled out the first day I barely touched him, and I wasn’t even flirting that time.
Clearly, I need to get my attraction under control. My hormones and baser needs are continuing to betray me as far as he’s concerned. I’m somewhat ashamed to admit to myself that if he showed returned interest, I would definitely be willing to explore that lust.…
The same time that thought occurs to me, anxiety bubbles up and over because it’s a terrible, terrible idea. He is more a part of the Logan family than I am. Whatever connection I’m reluctantly building over here with them would get tied up and jumbled up with him, too. I need to tread carefully and not muddy the waters.
I can have afriend.If it was just friends with benefits, sure. We are both adults and can keep that separated…
At least, I think. I’ve been able to before, that is…
Something tells me that it would prove a little more difficult with him, though.
“Oh my god, you do theexactsame thing as Dad!” Grady suddenly exclaims.
“What? What are you talking about?” I reply, confused,adrenaline-spiked from being yanked out of my machinations.
“You wear your entire internal conversation on your face!” He laughs, and then mimics some of the expressions I must’ve been making unflatteringly, cocking his head side to side.
I feel twelve again, annoyed with Ava stealing my clothes, or with her honing in on my deepest insecurities (like only a sibling can). I reach back and smack him in the back of the head, just as Emma does the same thing from the other side.
“Alright. I’m just going to nap then if you two are going to be all in cahoots and shit.” He pouts, but closes his eyes to do just that.
Sometime later, I feel Emmaline’s eyes on me. I look over to her wistful expression.
“I have a nice Canon you’re welcome to use until your camera comes in, Tait.”
I feel myself chipped further, that offer so much more meaningful than I could make her understand. I don’t want to feel trapped here, forced into this. Being able to do my work will be my saving grace. “Thank you, Em—um, Grandma.”
I feel her reach out and hesitate for just a second before she gives my shoulder a squeeze.
The rest of the ride home is quiet, apart from one of us girls occasionally humming along to the music, and Grady’s soft snores.
Seventeen
Tait
When we finally pull up to the main house, I find myself easily agreeing to come over for breakfast again tomorrow. I don’t recall actually buying anything in terms of breakfast foods, anyway… I internally shake my head at myself.
When I pull up to my cabin, I note another truck parked out front. Henry’s truck not in front of his, so I can’t help but wonder?
As soon as I park, though, I notice Charlie on the porch. He stands abruptly from the rocking chair and bolts down the stairs a bit clumsily.
“I went and grabbed these fans from my mom’s place so that you’re more comfortable during this heat wave we’ve got rolling in.”
“Oh. Thank you. Won’t the eighty-something-year-old woman probably need them more, though?” I say, letting a smile pull up my lips.
He laughs as he grabs a few of my grocery bags. “No, she shouldn’t. Her deal with Satan means he keeps her core temperature regular.” I raise an eyebrow at him but can’t stop a small laugh. “And,we installed central heat and air in her place when it was renovated ten years or so ago. Figured we’d get a lot more years out of her if we did,” he adds. “She threw a fit at the time. Said all these places needed was heat—never AC, and not even heat since she always heated her place with the wood stove. And she built her own fires, chopped her own wood, yada yada. She must not think we notice that she hasn’t had a wood pile there since.”
“Or that summers have gotten longer and hotter?”
“Something like that, yeah. But, summers aren’t usuallythishot even still, so the need for central air is rare. Global warming and all that.” He looks at me apologetically.