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“And what do I do, Michael?” she asked with the bite of acid in her tone.
“Read,” he said. “Listen to your podcasts. Text your friends.”
Tag liked how much they loved each other, but how they also knew each other well enough to banter back and forth. He wanted to get to know Opal like that, and he hoped he could.
“I’ll get this blown up,” Keith said. “It’ll give us more seating.”
“A third reason we wanted it,” Mike said, throwing Tag a smile. Tag nodded at him and faded out of the spotlight again. That was just fine with him. He didn’t need everyone looking at him, that was for certain.
The party progressed; he sang Happy Birthday to Opal with a goofy grin on his face; he ate dinner with Kyle and Carrie, the three of them sort of minding their own business while Mike and Gerty played host and hostess to everyone who’d come to their home.
Sooner than others, Tag had had enough. He stood and took his plate, along with Gerty’s grandparents’ over to the big trash can that had been set up just for this. Opal currently sat on her neon purple couch, laughing with Molly Hammond and Britt Hansen about something.
She was beauty personified, and Tag told himself to get over there and say good-bye. She’d be upset if he didn’t, and that alone got his boots moving in the right direction.
Opal looked up as he approached, and her smile slipped slightly. “You’re leaving already?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.” He cut a look over to Molly and Britt. “Up before the sun and all that.”
She stood as he spoke, and Tag felt it only natural to lean in and tell her happy birthday, maybe skate his lips across that velvety cheek. He had no idea where to put his hands, as it had been far too long since he’d been out with a woman.
Especially one like Opal.
Somehow, he managed to cup his hand around her elbow as he leaned in. He did not kiss her, his brain misfiring mightily at him. “Happy birthday, honey,” he said, really drawing on his Southern roots. He barely touched her, because he didn’t trust himself to put his arms around her. “I’ll see you later.”
With that completely proper good-bye done, he stepped back. He nodded to the others there, turned, and left.
Outside, he let the door fall closed behind him and he paused on the small stoop that led out of the kitchen. He drew in the deepest breath the chilly night air would allow, and then blew it all out.
“You didn’t set up a date,” he told himself, and now he wanted to go back inside, interrupt the party, and hash it all out regardless of who overheard or who saw.
Instead, he went down the few steps to the dirt, because it was too cold to be standing around outside doing nothing. His cabin was a good ten-minute walk from the farmhouse, and Tag had had a busy day—and he had another one tomorrow.
Text her, he thought, but he didn’t pull out his phone to do that until he’d reached the side of the barn. It provided some relief from the wind, and he pressed his back into the wood and started typing.
He read over the message once, then again. For some reason, he couldn’t get himself to send it.
“Hey.”
Tag looked up from his phone, his flight or fight response kicking in, though a woman had spoken. It took his eyes a moment or two to adjust from looking at his bright screen to the country darkness, and then another moment for his brain to tell him that voice had belonged to Opal.
He shoved his phone back in his pocket, finally seeing her as she neared. “Hey.”
“You…left too fast,” she said.
“I was just texting you.”
“Oh?” She wore a huge coat that obviously didn’t belong to her, and Tag wondered what she’d said to get away from her own party. “What did you say?” She settled only an arm’s length from him, and that was too far away.
“Did you mean that earlier? About us going to dinner?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
Tag reached for her and caught hold of one of her sleeves. Her hands were all bundled up inside, but he managed to pull her closer anyway. “I was asking you when we could do that. I’m really interested in that.” He looked down at her, standing right there in front of him, the soft light from the moon or the house or maybe heaven itself illuminating her face enough for him to see her.
“Whenever,” she said. “I’m not busy at all.”
“Mm, yeah.” She’d quit her job in California, but she hadn’t told anyone in her family yet. She’d told Tag a couple of months ago, before the horse-kicking incident.
