Page 91 of Between the Lines

“Ha-ha.” I grip the back of the riding mower, antsy to move.

“I’m calling because I’m having a little get-together next weekend at my parents’ beach house. And before you say no, I really want you there. I’m proposing to Morgan, so it’s going to be a surprise engagement party.”

The humid air in the garage stills, and my jaw slackens.

“Holy shit, dude.” I run a hand through my wind-tangled hair, turning to look out at my expansive yard. “I had no idea you two were that serious.”

“You haven’t exactly been around much to know.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. “You’re right, that’s on me.”

Matt laughs though. He sounds genuinely happy.

My vision blurs as I zone out. “I’m happy for you, man.” Even though I hate the idea of mingling with people, there’s no way I’d miss this moment of my best friend’s life. “Of course I will be there.”

“Thank you! That means a lot to me.”

I toss the empty fuel container into the corner.

“Hey,” Matt starts, “how’s it going with Fia?”

I’ve divulged as little detail to Matt as possible. Not that I don’t trust him. I naively thought if I didn’t discuss my relationship with anyone, I would worry about it less.

Clearly that’s not going well for me.

“It’s good.” I clear my throat.

“God, you’re like a brick wall.”

I bite my cheek, not sure what else to say.

Matt breaks the silence, as always. “Well, if you want to bring her to the party, I’d love to officially meet her.”

“I’ll think about it, thanks.”

I think back to the awards dinner, how she came alive socializing with everyone. Hell, she’d probably love the engagement party, and I’m sure bringing her would make it better for me too.

But then we’d be public, totally exposed.

Matt whispers something to someone in the background. “Sorry, my client just walked into the gym. Anyway, think about it. It’s going to be chill, and you can’t hide her from your best friend forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” I reply.

We get off the phone, and I shake out my limbs.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say to myself in a piss-poor attempt to pump myself up, knowing I’m about to bake in the sun.

I mount the mower, starting it up, and pull my beat-up baseball cap on. The tractor rumbles to life and I exhale a bit.

Matt thinks I’m insane for mowing five acres myself when I could easily hire it out. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment—I enjoy the deafening hum of the work and the smell of fresh-cut grass clinging to my skin.

It’s forced silence for my mind, a chance to not think.

The mower vibrates beneath me as I begin cutting lines back and forth, sweat trickling down my neck.

I’m about halfway done with the yard when Fia’s car comes whipping around the corner, into the driveway. She rolls down the window and flashes me a heart-stopping smile.

I should keep going, finish the job, but like I said—I’m a glutton for punishment.