Page 8 of Teach Me How
We both sit at the table at the far end of the little conference room. We’re the first to arrive, despite my shenanigans.
She sits back, crossing her legs. Her skirt slips up her thigh a little, and I do my best not to notice how long those legs are.
She waves a hand. “So date someone from farther away.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing, but nobody wants to move back to Silver Bend.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “You’ve asked them?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“Like… right away? A first date question?”
“Sometimes, yes.” My ears heat up. “Why waste time if they’d never consider it?”
She laughs, loud and heartily. Wiping a tear away, she shakes her head. “Oh, Skyler. For such a handsome guy, you are totally hopeless.”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence.”
Our clients file in and all conversation about dating dries up.
Thank the lord.
I can’t take any more heat from Terry.
Because the truth is, she’s spot on.
I am hopeless.
How am I supposed to convince some woman to move to Silver Bend when I didn’t ever want to land there? I have my friends, that’s my saving grace. They all farm, they love the land, and they love Silver Bend. Me? I’m only there because my brother isn’t.
When a farmer has sons, there’s an expectation that one of them will carry on the legacy. One of them has to stay.
I’m the older son. And what’s more, I owe a debt to my dad. The kind that can never be repaid.
Walking away isn’t an option.
5.
Reese
Sheila is busy balancing all the registers, whisking around behind me, humming old country classics. She’s a firecracker. Twice my age, witty and subversive. I love her and her spikey haircut. Her ice blue eye shadow. Working with Sheila is the only good thing about this job.
I’m staring at a thick binder, trying to memorize a dozen different handguns.
Apparently, it’s part of Thorne County Bank’s policy to have tellers know which type of gun they were held up by.
Really instills a lot of confidence.
I’m staring at the pages, but my mind is crafting a detailed hypothetical robbery. It would be the perfect time to rob the bank, because I’m not paying any attention to my surroundings.
That’s why I jump andyelpwhen a fist knocks on the counter. Pressing my hand to my racing heart, I look up and find myself staring into a pair of laughing gray eyes.
“Reese Olson.” He stretches out my name, lingering in it.
“Tyson Kyle.” I know him in passing. He was in my brother’s class and on the basketball team. One year, they made the dance team hand out roses to the varsity team and I got paired up with Tyson. He towered over me then, and he towers over me now.
In reality, we’re probably only a year apart in age. Maybe two, but he will forever be an upperclassman in my mind. And avarsityball player.