Page 66 of This Broken Heart

“I was going to head back.”

He tilts his head. “Had enough fun for one night?”

“You could say that.”

“It’s like a high school reunion in there.” He says, fiddling with the label on his beer. “Lots of people stuck in the past.”

It occurs to me that the people in there went to school with Josh’s wife. Being around them must be like standing in the middle of a living photo album.

I glance back down the lane and, with a shrug, turn back to sit next to him. He leans over and snags a fresh beer from the ground. “I was double fisting it.”

I accept the beer, settling in as he gently rocks the swing back and forth. He puts his arm around my shoulder, tugging me closer. I can feel the warmth radiating off his body, and despite the cold, it’s kind of nice. The stars are so clear out here. Like glitter and dust tossed across the night sky.

“What were you like in high school?” He asks.

“Me?” I laugh. “Nothing like this.”

“Like what?”

“Popular.” I laugh. “Don’t look like that. The popular kids at my school were rich snobs. Nothing like you guys. I just tried to stay in my lane.”

“Which lane was that?”

“Music nerd, I guess? I was in the swing choir. And I had blue hair.”

“No way.”

I laugh. “Way.”

He peers at me. “I need to see pictures.”

“No, you don’t.”

He tickles my side. “I absolutely do.”

I dig out my phone and bring up Instagram, scrolling past my life. It’s so different from the way the guys live out here. I’ve been entrenched in the art community. My friends have piercings and vintage flare. These guys have Wranglers and cowboy boots. Josh leans in, studying the images as I rush past them.

“Who’s this?” He asks.

I reluctantly stop on an image from a music festival in Kansas City. “That’s my ex. Matt.”

“Huh.” Josh says. He glances at me. “You are way out of his league.”

“If you say so.” I scroll to the next picture and hand him the phone. “Behold.”

He smiles at the screen. “How old were you?”

“In that picture? Twenty.”

My hair is ice blue. I’m wearing a bubblegum pink beret I found at a vintage shop.

He passes my phone back. “It’s kind of hot.”

My cheeks color and I’m thankful for the relative cover of darkness.

His fingers twine in my curls. “I like this color better, though.”

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