Page 130 of What We Brave
fine
but I'm complaining the whole time
and if my back goes out ur paying for the chiropractor
I show the screen to Laine. She laughs, loud and bright. The sound hits me right in the center of my chest.
"He caved fast."
"He always does." I pocket the phone. "The second he finds out something's for you, all his complaints disappear."
"That's sweet."
"That's Reid." I grab her hand, pull her toward the next aisle. "Come on. We still haven't finished our lap."
She threads her fingers through mine. Swings our joined hands between us as we walk.
"Best day ever," she says.
"Be better if you lost that thing." I nod toward her bag where Margaret is stuffed, one dead glass eye peering out from under the flap.
"The haunted doll is part of why it's the best day ever." She pats the bag protectively. "Speaking of which, we need to figure out the camera situation. I want multiple angles."
"Reid's going to get us back for this."
"I know." She grins up at me. "Worth it."
We walk through the last few aisles, hand in hand. Laine finds a set of vintage salt and pepper shakers shaped like lobsters. I find a hand plane from the 1940s that's been neglected but not ruined. We argue about whether a painting of a sad clown is "outsider art" or "a cry for help." Laine wins by pointing out those aren't mutually exclusive.
By the time we load the dresser and the rocking chair into my truck — the vendor helping me lift while Laine directs from the tailgate like a tiny, bossy air traffic controller — the afternoon light is going golden. That Oregon autumn light that makes everything look like a painting.
Laine climbs into the passenger seat, Margaret on her lap, and leans her head back with a contented sigh.
"Thank you," she says. "For today."
"You already said that."
"I'm saying it again." She turns her head to look at me. "I mean it, Blake. This was exactly what I needed."
I start the truck. Don't trust myself to respond to that without saying something stupid.
She reaches over and rests her hand on my forearm as I drive. Light. Warm. Just — there.
I keep my eyes on the road and let myself have this.
Three weeks. I'm in love with a woman who might love me back someday. I'm not destroying anything. I'm not hurting anyone. I have a workshop full of projects and a group chat that makes me grin like an idiot and a haunted doll in my passenger seat that we're going to use to psychologically torment my best friend.
It might fall apart. My track record says it probably will.
But right now? Right now I'm just going to enjoy it.
26
LAINE
My car makes a sound like a dying animal and lurches to the right.
"No. No, no, no?—"
