Page 119 of The Other Side

I lean down to brush the tip of my nose over hers, and her smile beams.

I connect our lips in a soft kiss, only to spring us into action again.

Our hands are lightly cradled when she steps back on her right foot. Then I’m spinning her backside into me.

I unravel her from my embrace, her giggles popping in and out against the rhythm. I twirl her so that she’s facing the opposite direction at my side. Our feet side-step a bit, and then I ravel her to our original position.

My arm snakes behind her, her body dipping over my knee. She pops a leg out, and her head tips back. Her berry lips part through her laughter, my nose running along the slope of her throat.

When her gaze returns to mine, I carefully lift us to stand. The dim lighting weaves through her whisked locks, sprinkling joy in her eyes.

And that’s all it takes.

Time rewinds back to that night we sat across the way. When I dipped her over my knee to Rascal Flatts’ “Life is a Highway” under that fateful canopy of stars.

As she spins around me, her hair shortens as her clothes morph into a tank top and denim shorts. Her cowboy boots were on their last breath of life, but she still danced like she owned the night.

Another giggle pours from her as her hair whips around. I hear her. The girl who dreamed of a better life than the one she was given.

The girl who never stopped dreaming.

After all this time, she still wishes for something more. Something better than what she gained on the other side.

I hear it right now.

I swear I do.

And the only thing I hope for is that it’s me. That I was what she wished for when she left Willowhart. That even though she finally reached the other side, there was still something missing.

This place was never meant to be our end.

But it was our beginning. Without it, we don’t exist.

Damn.

I guess there was some charm to this godforsaken place after all.

Chapter 35

Callie Rae

I’m standing by the wall when Brant strolls over with two plastic cups. He extends an ice water to me, and I gratefully accept.

I gulp down the chilly liquid, our eyes meeting over the brim of our drinks. Humor flashes across our expressions when he asks, “What?”

My gaze pinches a centimeter, and I gently tilt my head to search his face. His hair has been carefully styled on top, even though he’s got little to work with. But the copper lighting braids through that classic sandy-brown color. “You’re letting your hair grow,” I finally answer.

“A little bit.”

“I like it.”

He barely nods, lifting the cup to his lips. “Yeah, I remember.” I raise my drink to take another sip, all the while peering up at him. “I sort of got used to the buzz cut after ten years,” he continues. “Low maintenance.”

I chuckle when he pins his smirk to me. We exchange stares, and the soft riff of an acoustic guitar flows from the speakers.

The delicate strumming introduces Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood’s “Remind Me,” the air in the barn calming down.

Normally, I’d jump with elation at the sound of Brad’s voice. But Brant’s eyes suck me into a time machine.