Colson grins, “You know her?”
“Yes, and you all look nothing alike.” Then I add, “And you act nothing alike.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot. Cutest little hacker you’ll ever meet.”
“Are you all close?”
Colson nods, looking down at his bag of pretzels, “She’s one of the most important people to me.”
I have to smile as I study him from across the table. He’s so nonchalant about everything, but I can tell a lot about what kind of relationship they have just from the way his tone softens when he speaks about her.
Colson glances up from his pretzels, changing the subject, “You read a lot, right?”
I nod, licking the last bit of yogurt from my spoon.
“Did you ever read that book, The Outsiders?”
Goosebumps skitter across my arms.
“It was my favorite book in middle school,” he begins, seemingly oblivious that I’m looking at him like he has three heads. “There’s this greaser named Dallas who dies in a shootout, so my friends and I started calling her Dally. Got a lot of her friends to start doing it, too.”
Dallas is a unique name, and Matt Dillon made Dallas Winston famous in 1983. Anyone can make that reference to her name. I’m just not sure that includes Colson Lutz.
“I bet she hated you,” I snicker.
“She did. That’s actually why she named my dog Pony. His full name is Ponyboy.”
Of course, it is.
“So, she finally got her revenge and then convinced me to move back here,” Colson leans on the edge of the table and looks me up and down, “and here you are.”
“I’m not immune to the algorithm.” I arch an eyebrow, alluding to the intrusive nature of social media, “How could you not know I worked here?”
Colson shakes his head, “I haven’t really been on socials since Alaska. I—” he hesitates, almost like he realizes he’s about to say something he shouldn’t, “had a lot going on.” He says the last part slower and with more intention.
I take a swig from my water bottle, “I imagine there’s a lot that’s happened since I last saw you.”
“I could say the same about you,” Colson gives a nod to my hand propped up under my chin, “married woman, and all.”
“Almost,” I glance down at my hand and touch the underside of my ring with my thumb. “I’m currently engaged.”
“Congratulations,” he smiles, tapping his finger on the table, “how’d you meet?”
It’s such a bizarre story. I look down at the table, wondering where to even begin.
“Um,” I can’t suppress my smile, “he called a wrong number. I went to Salt Fork by myself to write and this guy called my room looking for the front desk. The lines got crossed…whatever. And the next morning, he walked past me in the lobby and he recognized my voice from the phone call. It was wild. Then he asked me to go hiking with him, and the next day I met his entire family because they were camping at Salt Fork. And, here we are.”
I like telling the story. It sounds like something out of a romance novel rather than a horror story. I might write about really dark and unhinged things, but it doesn’t mean I want to live them out in real life.
“Wow,” Colson arches his brow, “that’s some story.” He gazes across the grass for a few moments before turning back to me, “Talk about a coincidence. Set a date?”
“No, not yet. I have to—” I hesitate for a moment and glance down at his finger, still tapping away, “I wasn’t going to until I finished writing my book. But I just finished it, so…” I trail off again.
A wide grin spreads across Colson’s face, “Yeah?” He doesn’t sound surprised. It’s more like he already knew it and he’s just been waiting for me to work up the nerve to say it.
“Yeah,” I suddenly realize what a big deal this is, and that maybe I should start owning it, “I guess I have to finally start talking about it like it’s a real thing,” I scrunch up my nose, “but I’m not good at hyping myself. I have no PR skills.”
“Eh,” Colson gives a shrug, dismissing my insecurities, “don’t sell yourself short. You have more skills than you realize.”
“How do you know?” I scoff. “You’ve been gone for three years.”
“True,” he tips his chin up slightly, “but I know what you’ll do to get something you really want.”
I inhale a sharp breath, ready to lob some witty comeback at him. Instead, I just purse my lips and looked across the table, unamused. He just sits there, smirking at me and burning holes in me with those pale blue eyes of his.
So, this is how it’s going to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Brett
One Year Ago
I round the bend to the stretch along the creek, pumping my legs and picking up speed. I really hope a coyote doesn’t dart out across the trail like it did last week. This part of the trail isn’t paved and I’d probably end up skidding out and ending up in the trees.
Coyotes also freak me the fuck out. It’s irrational, I know. But they’re intelligent and sneaky and fall somewhere between dogs and wolves and that creeps me out. It doesn’t help that I already didn’t like them before moving in with Bowen, and then I find out the woods behind his house is filled with them. When it’s warm out, I hear them late at night, erupting in a cacophony of yipping and howling that sound like it’s right outside my window. It only goes on for about 30 seconds before it just…stops.
Coyotes as road hazards only distracts me for a minute before my mind returns to the cryptic conversation I had with Dallas Barrera. I decided today was exactly the right time to wander across the building to her office and ask her to renew my Adobe license for another year.
