Chapter 18 - Chase Me, Cowboy

I bring her coffee in bed and ask her to stay one more day, for the second time. She draws her knees up, resting the mug on them. Bright blue eyes fix on mine, brows raised.

“And after that?” she whispers.

“What?”

“After that, will you ask for one more day?”

Unthinking, I touch her cheek. The longer she’s here, the deeper I’m becoming entangled. For both our sakes, I have to put down some boundaries.

“No more days after that,” I say.

“Alright,” she says, shrugging like none of it matters.

Triumphant, I lean in and kiss her deep. When I pull back, she gives me a long, soft stare. Is she going to say something? No, she goes back to her coffee and scrolling on her phone.

I make myself some coffee and get out my laptop to work on some emails. I’m not back to work, I tell myself, I’m just sweeping a few things up. Everything goes quiet, save the little click of her acrylic nails across her phone and my fingers on keyboard. It’s oddly…peaceful. Usually, when I have time to work on my computer, I put in earbuds to break the silence. So I feel less alone. With her, I don’t feel the need. I kind of like that noise of her being here, the soft sound of her breathing, having a sip of coffee. The clink as she puts her mug down.

I keep my eyes on my work. When I finally look up, it’s almost noon. I snap my laptop shut and turn to find her lying on her side, phone in one hand, her eyes shut. She’s snoring softly. Last night, she fell asleep in fuzzy knit shorts and her oversized hoodie, both soft pink. She’s curled up in them like a cloud.

For a second, I let myself think my most unhinged thought.

What if…we just started dating? I could give her everything, I could hand over a credit card, and she could have her fill of pink hoodies, nail appointments, and—

My phone goes off, right by my thigh. Her eyes fly open, and I silence it, but not quick enough. She’s wide awake now, pushing herself upright.

I get up. “Sorry, should have turned the ringer off.”

“I’m not tired,” she grumbles.

“Alright, sweetheart,” I say, reaching for my clothes. “If you’re not hungry, want to come into town with me to grab groceries?”

That perks her up. She climbs out of bed and pulls her phone off the charger.

“What’s the town like?”

I shrug, fastening my pants and getting my boots from the closet. “It’s just a little New England town. Kinda rustic, but there’s a grocer and a coffee shop.”

“So, no flip-flops?”

“I wouldn’t, not if you want to do any shopping.”

She cocks her head, eyeing me. “What kind of shopping?”

“Little boutiques ’n’ shit.”

“And who’s paying?”

I walk by her and smack her across the ass, making her jump. “Who do you think is paying?”

In the bathroom, I turn on the sink. Over my shoulder, I can see she’s biting her lip, eyes still narrowed, but she’s as pink as her hoodie. Then she flips me off and goes in search of her sneakers. The thing about Serena is she’s actually pretty damn sweet under all that sour. But she needs to be handled with care. Sometimes that care means telling her what the fuck to do and smacking her ass. It resets something in her brain and gives me a little time before she starts mouthing off again.

I leave the bathroom. She has her matching pink sneakers on, and she’s texting by the door.

“You ready?”

She nods, leaving the room without looking up from her phone. I wonder who she’s talking to, but don’t say anything. I grab my keys and herd her through the front door, locking up, and leading the way to the truck.

“Hop in,” I say, holding the door.

She does, flashing me the edge of her panties as her shorts ride up. I can’t help myself; my arm shoots out and gives the round undercurve of her ass a quick squeeze before I shut her door. She’s scowling when I slide behind the wheel.

“You’re handsy today,” she remarks.

I spin the wheel, backing down the drive. “Well, you are very hot.”

She’s quiet. I pull on the state route and head toward Little Fairmont, a tiny tourist town about eleven miles west.

“Really?” she asks finally.

“Huh?” I glance over at her, where she’s cross-legged, her sleeves pulled over her clenched hands.

“You think I’m that hot?”

She’s not looking at me. I reach out and put my hand on her knee, rubbing the silky skin with my thumb.

“I think you’re very sexy,” I say honestly. “I’m still halfway hard from touching your ass.”

She smiles, pinning her bottom lip between her teeth. I’ve noticed she chews on it a lot.

“Thanks,” she says. “But don’t get too comfortable.”

“I won’t. I’m sure I’ll fuck something up in a minute here.”

She tsks me, lifting a finger. “You’re learning.”

I shake my head. She settles back in the seat and turns on the radio. It’s pop-country, not a song I like particularly, but still a good one. She seems to like it, her fingers tapping on her knee.

“What’s your favorite genre?” I ask. “You never answered me.”

“Like, over any genre?” She leans her forehead on the window. “Cowboy music.”

“Cowboy music?”

She nods. “That includes all kinds of genres. Pop, rock, folk, country. Just about anything can be cowboy music if it’s got the right heart to it.”

I think about that, realizing I’ve never considered it in that light. But she is right.

“Alright, Miss Cowboy Music,” I say. “Makes sense.”

We’re both quiet. She’s picking at her pink nails, and I know her mind is going a mile a minute. Maybe I should have fucked her before we left to wear her out and turn her brain off. But looking at her a little longer, I don’t know whether this is something that can be fixed by sex. I catch a glimpse of her in the side mirror. Her eyes are soft and distant.

I feel a tug deep in my chest.

She seems lost. I clear my throat.

“You like traveling? Or are you homesick?” I ask.

She sniffs. “I’m less homesick when I’m traveling than when I’m home.”

I consider that.

“Care to elaborate?”

She’s pretty quiet, and for a bit, I think she’s gonna stay that way. Finally, she shrugs. “Things changed really fast last year. Coen showed up, then Sabrina was gone, then she came back, and boom—they were a couple. And literally that day, Dad decided to leave and spend most of his time in Portland. He didn’t ask me or anything; he just left.”

She pauses, clearing her throat.

I wait. I don’t want to scare her off.

“Things weren’t the same,” she finishes.

“So you don’t really want to go home, huh?” I say, turning off the state route and heading down a country lane just wide enough for a car and a half.

“No, not really.”

“Maybe you should stay with your mom.”

Her jaw works, lips pursing. “Yeah. Maybe.”

She doesn’t seem to want to talk. That’s alright because we’re coming up on the coffee shop, and I know it’ll put her in a good mood. Everything feels lush after the rain. We crest a hill, deep green trees and foliage leading the way, and there it is on the other side. A log cabin with a green porch and rocking chairs. Everything is decorated with blue-and-white flowers. I look at her as I pull in, wanting her reaction.

“Ooh, this is cute,” she says, lifting her head.

The mood in the truck shifts. Before I can get to her door, she opens it and jumps out, scrambling up the porch steps.

“You’d love it in the fall,” I say.

She’s not listening as she steps through the swinging doors. I go after her, and the faint scent of wood and candles hits my nose. It reminds me that, while I recognize it, I’ve really only been here a few times. Most people know their local barista by name. Not me. I doubt anyone in Little Fairmont recalls who I am. I could be a stranger who passes through every six months or so.

I pause by the door, watching Serena duck through the shelves. She starts sorting through a rack of locally printed sweatshirts. Of course, she goes right for the soft pink.

Again, my brain gets ahead of me. It starts thinking about what it would be like to ask her to keep seeing me. Really going out. I’d like to buy her a nice dress and heels, take her out to my favorite spot in New York City. Order her favorite wine, discover the world through her fresh eyes. Kiss her on the neck in the street, not caring if someone takes a photo and posts it online. Then, bring her home and fuck her until the first pale blue broke over the city.

I clear my throat.

“Can I get you anything?”

I turn to face the peppy redheaded barista behind the counter.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, reaching for my wallet. “Serena, what do you want?”

“I’m not done shopping,” she calls.

I squint up at the board. “I’ll have a black coffee.”

The woman taps it into the register. “Sure you don’t want the maple? That’s our signature.”

“I don’t like sweetener, but thanks.”

“It’s not sweet. It’s roasted into the beans,” she says, offering a bright smile.

“Okay, I’ll try it.” I pass over my card. “Just keep it for a second, she’s gonna get some stuff.”

The cashier nods, swiping it and setting it behind the counter. She fills up the coffee, and I take it, bringing it to my face. The scent stops me in my tracks. Sunday mornings with my dad, just the two of us, having pancakes. Dad always watched cartoons on Saturdays and reruns of baseball games on Sundays. When I was little, we’d go back and forth over who got the TV. Then, for my tenth birthday, he got me my own from a garage sale. It had a single sliver of static that used to make it so Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck were constantly getting decapitated, but he never heard a word of complaint from me. After that, he’d sit in his chair in the kitchen. I’d curl up on the far left side of the couch with the TV on the coffee table.

We did that every Sunday until I outgrew cartoons.

I take a sip. It burns my mouth. My attention comes back to the present day and falls on Serena.

From talking to Coen, and my dad’s relationship with her father, I know some basic details about her family. How her parents split after her father cheated. That her mom went to New York after the divorce and got remarried. And they really only saw each other once a year for the holidays. Briefly, I wonder if she feels motherless the way I did.

Then, I shake my head.

This isn’t about the sad parts of my life. Today is about giving her a good enough time that we both feel satisfied when I put her on that plane.