Page 23 of Beautiful Crazy
Is she a sweet tooth or a savory type of girl?
What’s her opinion on pineapple on pizza?
Does she believe in any silly conspiracy theories?
What makes her tick? Does she have any pet peeves or things that get her riled up for no good reason?
And piggybacking off that last one, what does she look like when she’s riled up? Do her cheeks flush a beautiful shade of crimson? Do her chocolate eyes narrow and sharpen? Does her breathing pick up, her chest rising and falling with rapid succession?
I want to know it all, and considering I only met the woman a couple weeks ago, that’s a little alarming, but I can’t help it. She’s a beautiful, captivating force that I want to be utterly consumed by. And if she has me this enthralled now, how the hell will I be once I know even more about her?
Changing into a pair of blue athletic shorts and a heather gray t-shirt, I grab my earbuds off the dresser, deciding to go for a little afternoon run around my neighborhood. It’s a beautiful afternoon, the sun shining, and there’s even a nice, cool breeze. I’m not the only one who decided to get a little fresh air and exercise today. I pass several of what I assume to be my neighbors, walking, running, or playing fetch with their dogs.
Back at my house, I strip out of my clothes and climb into a cold shower, rinsing off before gettingout and starting dinner. It’s right there in the front of my mind to call my mom and check in, but… I don’t know. Something is stopping me, and I have a feeling that something is my father. Fridays are his work-from-home days, so he would more than likely be home with her if I called, and she’d want to have him join in on the call, and I’m just not in the headspace to deal with his shit again. Not after the last time we spoke and it went horribly.
Over the last week, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. A lot of trips down memory lane, if you will. Growing up, my dadalwaysprioritized work over everything, including family. Work was number one to him, and he had no problem making that known. It’s something my mother has long since accepted, and most of the time, I think she prefers it this way. She gets to do whatever she wants without having him around, like shopping or trips with her friends.
But as a kid, it was hard. Especially as an only child. I remember the sadness and frustration I would feel when I so desperately wanted my dad to come to a baseball game, or take an interest inanythingI did. Our relationship has always been strained because I was left wishing for my father’s love and approval while he was too busy working.
Just before I finish making dinner, my phone buzzes with a text where it’s sitting on the counter.
Conway: Hey, just confirming my guys will be there to start work around 8am Monday.
Me: Sounds good. I’ll be at work, but I’ll leave the back door unlocked when I leave in the morning. They can come in that way.
Conway: Perfect.Still coming out tonight?
“Ah, shit.” I completely forgot that he had invited me to go out with him and his friends. It was supposed to be last week, but it got pushed to tonight. I’m not really in the mood to go out and socialize, but I have to admit, it would probably be good for me. And it wouldn’t kill me to get out of the house for a few hours.
Me: Yup, I’m still down. Just let me know where to meet you guys and I’ll be there.
Conway: Meet us there at 7:30pm.
Then he sends the address, and I don’t know whether to feel anxious about meeting people I don’t know who know each other or feel relieved that it’s only been a couple of weeks and I’m already making friends. As I crack open a beer and sit down with my dinner, I decide to go with the latter.
“A chili cook-off?” I drawl, bringing the lip of my beer bottle up to my mouth, letting the crisp liquid slide down my throat as I listen to Davis, one of Conway’s buddies, explain this annual Blossom Beach tradition.
He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty. “Oh yeah. The townsmen and women of Blossom Beach areveryserious about their chili.”
I look around the table, seeing if they’re fucking with me, because I’ve never heard of something like this. “So, what, everybody just cooks up a batch of chili?”
“It’s a contest, basically,” Davis explains, scratching ahand over the stubble lining his jaw. “A lot of the families here have years-old family recipes they make. There’s a panel of judges who try each one, and then the winners are announced.”
“What does the winner get?”
“Bragging rights,” Conway grunts out before he takes a swig of his beer.
My brow furrows as I glance around the table before laughter bubbles up my throat. “That’s some real small-town shit, you guys. Do any of you participate?”
“My wife does,” Sam, Conway’s other buddy, says. “It’s her great-grandma’s recipe.”
“I do not,” Conway adds at the same time Davis shakes his head.
“And it’s, like, a public thing?”
“Oh yeah.” Sam nods. “It takes place at the annual Blossom Beach carnival in a couple months. The whole town will be there. I know it sounds kind of wack, but it’s actually a fun time. I was skeptical when I first moved here too.”
“When did you move here?” I ask him, liking that I’m not the only outsider at the table.