She tsks. “Ah. That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“The lack of southern hospitality.”
“I’m plenty hospitable. I made you a sandwich.”
“And you’ve grunted and puffed every minute of every day just because I’m sharing the same air as you.”
That's exactly what’s bothering me more than I’d like to admit. Her existence is rattling me, the urge to get to know her better and find out what makes her this happy, find out how she’s this light and airy and positive before the sun even comes up. She’s like a happiness windmill.
“It’s not you.”
She narrows her eyes, calling my bluff. “Really? You’regiving me the whole it’s-not-you-it’s-me talk? Listen, I don’t need you to be nice to me, but I do need you to be cordial, and maybe if you’re going to kidnap me, at least don’t be a jerk about it.”
“I didn’t kidnap you.”
She smacks her hands on her thighs, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You. Did. You know what? Never mind. I’m gonna run back.”
“Don’t.”
I rush to catch up with her as she tries to walk away from me, grabbing her hand. “I’ll take you back. But first, I want you to see it.”
“See what?” she asks, turning to catch the vibrant sky. “Fine!” She playfully rolls her eyes and pulls her hand away, striding to the forgotten blanket in the pasture.
I continue working on the fence, the sounds of nature playing in the background as the sun paints the sky a myriad of pastel colors. I don’t turn to look at Riley. I don’t ask her any questions either. I just work, letting her bask in the moment.
Only when time has passed, with the sun beating hot above me, do I dare to look back. I’m expecting a wide-eyed Riley taking it all in, like that night I met her on the top of her Jeep, but what I find is the complete opposite, and it warms my heart in ways that are difficult to describe.
She fell asleep.
I fight the urge to wake her—partially because I don’t know if she’s going to be snappy, but mostly because she needs rest. She’s always on the go, but there comes a time when our bodies can’t take it anymore, and we snap. I would hate for that to happen to her, so I let her be. It’s not like I don’t have things to do either way.
10GRUMPY OLD MAN
Riley
The amountof drool I have to wipe from my face every time I wake up should be studied. Maybe we can measure it and see if the reason I wake up thirsty ninety percent of the time is that I’m my own dehydrator. Writingthaton my resume.
I’m unusually sweaty, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Why is it so damn bright? I squint, opening my eyes little by little until the view shocks me; not because it’s not beautiful, but why am I in the middle of a pasture? And why was I sleeping?
I look around, putting all the pieces together. And then, it hits me like a freight train. I fell asleep watching the sunrise, with Dom just, what? Watching me?
I hop up to my feet, startling him from his fence-fixing activities. “You let me fall asleep?”
“Good morning, Riley.”
“You already said good morning to me when it was actually morning. What time even is it now?” I look at my watch. “Oh no, no, no.”
“What?”
“I missed it. Come on. We have to go.” I grab the blanket and rush to the truck, tossing it into the back seat and climbing in. I hit the side with two loud taps. “Come on, old man. Chop, chop!”
He walks like he has all the time in the world, long strides with sturdy steps, his face down and dark, intense eyes everywhere but on me. I’ve only known him for a few days, but damn it if he doesn’t piss me off.
He tosses his tools in the back, climbing to the front and going in reverse ever so slowly.