Page 9 of Believe in Caloosa Springs (Caloosa Springs #3)

Christian

“So, what’s the deal with this farm guy?”

I pulled the black pencil away from my eye to snort. “Farm guy? He’s your employee.” I watched Mandy flip a page in the magazine she was reading by way of the mirror's reflection.

“Well, I guess that’s technically true, but he’s still a farm guy. And, you said it yourself, he looks like he just stepped out of church choir practice. So, like, what’s the deal?”

“There is no deal ,” I retorted after I’d connected my bottom lash line with the top with charcoal liner. “He invited me to hang out, and I accepted. Besides, it sounds like half the town is going to be there. I don’t understand why you are so opposed.”

“I’m opposed because half the town is going to be there,” she said dryly. “And you are changing the subject. Since when do you entertain any man with less than three tattoos and two misdemeanors?”

I laughed. “I don’t know. He’s cute, and he’s trying really hard.”

“That’s for sure. He’s like a lost puppy. He is kinda cute though. You could do worse.” She looked reflective. “Who the fuck am I kidding; you have done worse! Remember Jeremy?”

“Oh, fuck you! We are not talking about Jeremy!” I put the liner down and swiped my finger across my highlighter, haphazardly sweeping from the corner of my eyes down alongside the bridge of my nose. That way, when the light caught it, I'd have a shimmery tear stain. I picked up my cologne and began to spray the mist into the air all around me as I turned in a circle.

“Actually, I take it all back,” Mandy said after a moment. “Fall in love with him so badly you can’t even imagine leaving, and just stay here and have lots of babies! Then, I don’t have to worry about you leaving.”

I choked on my spit. “Ewww, Mandy! No! No babies. Gross.”

She chuckled and turned another page.

“And I’m not staying here forever,” I continued. “I already told you that. My happily ever after consists of more than four businesses and a community cow.”

“There’s like… twenty cows here,” Mandy countered as the doorbell rang.

“You have a doorbell?”

“Apparently?” Mandy shrugged. “No one’s ever used it before.”

When I opened the front door, Porter smiled. “Hi.”

Why the fuck did I just get goosebumps? I smiled back. “Hi.”

“Um, these are for you,” he said, pushing a small bundle of flowers and greenery into my hands.

“Thank you.” I could feel myself beginning to blush. I’m not sure I’d ever gotten flowers from a guy before. Well, a guy I was going on a date with, anyway. I’d been sent bushels of exotic bouquets and hundreds of roses, but they were all from middle-aged internet weirdos, and I somehow felt like that didn’t count.

I held the bundle close and took a sniff. They smelled like dirt, but I didn’t care.

“That’s so sweet,” I said. “I just have to grab my coat, and we’re set. Do you want to come in?”

Porter followed me into the living room as Mandy came down the hallway.

“Hi, Porter,” Mandy said with a quick wave.

“Do we have a vase or anything” I asked, holding the flowers up.

Mandy’s eyes went wide for a split second, and then she smiled.

“Those are so beautiful, you shouldn’t just leave them in a vase. You should take them with you and show them off.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” Mandy said, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s not every day a cute guy brings you flowers.”

“Uh, okay...” I said, more than a little confused.

I grabbed my coat that I’d slung over the back of the couch, and followed Porter down the driveway. Overhead, the stars danced in the clear night sky.

“Great sky out here,” Porter said, breaking the silence for the first time since we’d left Mandy’s.

“Yeah, it’s kind of incredible. I feel like I’m watching a movie, or something.”

“So, what am I in for tonight?”

“Pardon?” I wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking. Was he asking if I planned on having sex with him?

“With meeting the townsfolk?” Porter prodded. “What are they like?”

“Oh…” I began, slightly relieved. Not that I was opposed to having sex with him, but I didn’t want to make the commitment at this point in the evening. “I honestly have no idea. I just moved here. Got here,” I quickly corrected.

“Oh, I thought you were a local. You seem so comfortable. I guess I just assumed.”

I laughed. “That’s kind of amazing, because I’m the exact opposite of comfortable. But glad I’m masking well.”

“Masking?” Porter repeated, glancing over at me as he turned onto the main drive for Baker Farms.

“Well, yeah… you know, when you are having a hard time or feeling awkward, and your brain just kind of takes over, and you act normal.”

“Like… pretending to be something you’re not?”

“Mmm, kinda, but it’s more of an unconscious thing. And not so much pretending to be someone else. It’s more about pushing things down to better fit in with societal norms, whatever the fuck those are.”

“So are you masking right now?” he asked curiously.

“A little…” I replied honestly.

“How so?”

“Well, I guess you are just going to have to figure that out on your own.”

“You are gay, though, right?”

I huffed a laugh as Porter eased the car to a stop just outside the main barn. I could already see a bunch of people I didn’t recognize mulling about around the barn’s expansive entrance. “Yes, I’m gay. You have nothing to worry about on that front.”

Porter breathed out an exaggerated sigh of relief before killing the car's engine. “Good.”

As I got out of the car, I could see a small crowd of people holding up flashlights several yards away from the barn. The second my brain asked what they were doing, a large plume of flames erupted in the center of them. The guys around the fire began to hoot and holler as several people began to clap and cheer. They made their way closer to the warmth of the flame.

“Folks sure do seem to get pretty excited around here,” Porter commented, coming up to stand next to me.

“Right? Imagine what they would do if they ever saw a professional firework show or something.”

“Want a drink?” he asked.

I shrugged, “Sure. I’ll have whatever.”

Porter laid the flat of his hand on the small of my back, and we made our way into the barn.

Tyler was the first person I laid eyes on that I recognized. He smiled and gave a friendly nod as we passed each other. He was carrying a stack of folding chairs. I smiled back and waved.

“You need any help?” Porter asked. He was so quick to offer assistance. It was cute.

“Nah, I got it,” Tyler said. “Grab a drink and relax.”

Porter walked over to a large ice chest and pulled out two bottles. A Coke and a longneck with a label I’d never seen before. Not that I was a beer connoisseur or anything. I enjoyed them now and then, but I preferred to smoke unless it was a holiday or special occasion. What better occasion to drink beer than at a small-town bonfire in the middle of a farm?

A few more vehicles had pulled up and parked haphazardly around the barn, their occupants greeting each other with cat-calls and slaps on the back.

I was suddenly uncomfortable, and cursed myself for agreeing to come. These were so clearly not my people. I reached up and scratched at the skin between my wrist and palm. My skin always got itchy when I was nervous. A terrible flaw—I’d have preferred just about any of the other nervous ticks that plague people. Sweating, I could deal with. I wear enough deodorant and cologne to choke out a dime-store hooker. With the uncontrollable itching, it looked like I was having some kind of psychotic break, scratching at myself like a werewolf trying to claw my own skin off or something.

Stuttering would have been fine too, as I didn’t want to talk to most people, anyway. A speech impediment would have probably kept my ass out of trouble at multiple points in my life so far, come to think of it. I was just so quick-witted and had negative amounts of patience, so my brain-to-mouth filter had never been able to keep up. Then again, not being able to get words out would be fucking frustrating. I saw this news report a few months back about some young guy getting kidnapped by a killer freak who was stalking him. The only thing anyone seemed to be able to say about the kid was that he had a really bad stutter. That was, like, the only identifiable characteristic anyone seemed to recall.

I cringed thinking of that poor guy, and wondered briefly if they'd found him, or if he was even still alive. Fucked-up stalking stories always hit kinda close to home, being someone who, very much against their will, had a bunch of creepy fans. A healthy fear of obsession was a big part of what brought me to Caloosa Spring: to lie low.

I shifted the beer from my right hand to my left so I could grate my palm against the side of my jeans. I was so itchy. My hands felt like they were on fire. God, I needed to get my shit together.

“You okay?”

I stood stock-still before willing myself to bring my hand back up to a normal position.

“Yeah-h-h,” I drawled nervously. “My hand just itched.” Turning slightly, I brought my beer up to my lips.

Once Porter looked away, I used the end of the bottle to scratch down the side of my nose and cheek as we made our way towards the fire. We walked through a few groups of people clustered in little packs, all laughing and catching up. Porter and I took a seat on two folding chairs, and I was immediately grateful for the warmth the fire was giving off. It was downright frigid outside. It had that bitter, icy feel that made me wonder if it was going to snow. That would be shitty. Not that the snow wasn’t beautiful to look at, but once it got anywhere near the fire, it was just going to melt into an icy rain shower for anyone close to the flame.

I took a few more pulls off the long neck in my hand and looked around awkwardly. I didn’t recognize anyone, except the few Baker Farms employees I’d seen in passing.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight.”

I looked over to see Porter gazing at me with a big, goofy grin on his face. He was pretty damn cute.

“Thanks for inviting me,” I replied.

He nodded and glanced away long enough for me to scratch at the side of my face and then down my wrists. Shit, I was a nervous wreck. What the fuck was wrong with me? Porter had made it pretty obvious that he was pretty into me. I wasn’t concerned with impressing him, or anything, so what was my deal?

Within a few minutes we were all called back to the barn to grab plates near-buckling under the weight of hotdogs, pasta salad, and chips. The smell was heavenly. It was almost enough to make me forget my misery for a second. The franks were grilled to plump, juicy perfection, and the salad, laden with creamy dressing and fresh veggies, was piled high.

As I turned from the long table back towards the exit, plate in hand, Porter stopped me.

“Hey, hold up a second,” he said, his lips pursing as he raised an eyebrow. He reached up and gently tilted my chin towards the light. “Tian, your face is all red.”

“It’s probably from me scratching. I do that when I’m nervous.”

“Tian, are you okay? What’s going on with your face?”

I turned to see Tyler staring at me from across the table. I hadn’t even noticed him standing there.

I reached up and touched the side of my face. It was burning like crazy, now.

“And your hands!” Porter exclaimed.

I set my plate down and held my hands in front of my face. They were as red as beets and had little blisters starting to form all over them. Uh-oh. That usually wasn’t a nervous sign. Not one I had ever experienced.

“What the fuck?” I muttered.

“Mom!” Tyler beckoned. “Come over here and look at Tian’s face and hands. Something’s wrong.”

Mrs. Baker had just pulled a tray of hot dog buns from the oven. With a concerned expression, she set the tray down on the counter and crossed the space as she wiped her hands across the front of her apron.

“Oh, dear,” she tutted, holding my chin between her fingers as she turned my face to and fro. “It looks like an allergic reaction. Do you have any serious allergies, dear? Actually, it looks quite a bit like poison oak or poison ivy, come to think about it.”

“Oh, no ,” Porter groaned, bringing his own hands up to examine them.

“What?” I asked.

“I think I messed up,” he said sheepishly. “The flowers I brought you…”

“Flowers?” Tyler asked blankly, looking between the two of us.

“Yeah…” he began, his face flushing in embarrassment. “I tried to get some from the store, but they didn’t have any. So, when I was on my way to your house, I passed by a big field that was full of flowery plants. I just picked some I thought were nice and brought them to you.”

If my face and hands didn’t feel like they were on fire, this whole thing might have been comical. Now, having the realization my date had unknowingly poisoned me, I was itching like a madman.

“Goodness,” Mrs. Baker murmured. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it so bad, you poor thing?”

“What do we do?” I asked her between gritted teeth.

“We need to get you out of those clothes and into a warm tub. We need to soak as much plant oil off your skin as we can. Porter, you too… come on. Then we’ll get some cortisone cream on you and keep an eye on it for the next couple of days. Don’t want any infections.”

Next couple of days ? Fuck.