Page 8 of Channeling the Flannel with the Mountain Man

five

John

By Saturday, I’ve changed shirts four times. I keep telling myself the choice matters because it’s my first date ever. The real reason is harder to admit—I want Paisley to look at me and light up, just as she does when she sees something beautiful. Wanting that gives her power over me. I almost pick my oldest shirt to protect myself, but then I curse under my breath and put on the green one that makes my eyes look a little less tired. This is humiliating because all four shirts are flannel.

I button the shirt and look at my reflection, hoping it will tell me what to do. At a fire, I always know where to stand and what to say. But with Paisley, even the smallest choice feels important. Should I tell her she’s beautiful right away, or would that make her uncomfortable? Should I try to hold her hand? I’m grateful that she’ll let me know if I mess up. Then I remind myself that my job is to listen when she speaks, and that thought helps turn my nerves into something useful.

I put on the dark green flannel, drive down from my cabin, and see that Temptation Ridge has changed. Orange lights are strung between the maple trees, and hay bales line Main Street. The air smells of kettle corn, woodsmoke, and apples. Kids with painted faces run by as a bluegrass band tunes up on the courthouse steps.

Paisley waits beside the cider booth in a lavender sweater dress, brown boots, and a cream scarf. Her curls are loosely pinned, with strands drifting around her cheeks. She spots me, and her face lights up. That smile does dangerous things to my priorities.

For a moment, I forget the rules I set for myself on the drive down—don’t crowd her, don’t act like I’m owed a kiss, and don’t let my feelings take over. All I can think about is that she waited for me. Paisley could have spent her evening with anyone in town, but she chose the guy still figuring out how to slow down.

“You came,” she says, a genuine smile lighting up her face.

“I said I would.” I smooth my clothes as I gather my thoughts.

“Some people say things they don’t mean.” Paisley steps closer.

“I don’t.”

Her face softens. I want to kiss her right away, but this is a date, and I’ve never kissed anyone before—never wanted to until Paisley. She deserves more than being pulled behind a booth just because I’ve spent a week thinking about kissing her.

I hand her a paper cup. “Cider, extra cinnamon.”

“Jade told you again?” Paisley takes the cup, her fingertips brushing mine.

“I pay attention.”

“That might be even better.”

We walk past booths selling quilts, carved bears, honey, and handmade soap. Paisley seems to know everyone. She calls toddlers by name, hugs older women, and compliments a teenager’s uneven pottery, making him stand a little straighter. At first, I thought her cheerfulness meant she was carefree. But watching her, I realize it’s something she works at. She chooses to make people feel noticed.

At the fire department booth, Haugh spots us and nearly swallows his tongue. “Captain,” he says. “Ms. Parker.” He straightens at the booth.

“Haugh.” I pause, keeping my expression steady.

Paisley looks between us. “Captain?” She glances at me.

“He hates it when we call him Captain Downward Dog.” Haugh wisely shoves a raffle sheet at her before he says anything else to embarrass me. “Would you like to win a smoke detector?”

Paisley laughs. “Tempting, but John owes me a stuffed animal.”

The ring-toss booth offers an enormous purple unicorn as its grand prize. I pay for five rings but miss them all.

Paisley presses her lips together, trying not to laugh at my failure.

“You can laugh,” I say. Her laughter fills the air as I buy five more tries. “The bottles are too close together.”

“You run into burning buildings, but glass soda bottles have bested you.” Paisley laughs harder.

“I’m calibrating.”

“Of course you are.”

On the third round, I land three rings. The teenage attendant surrenders the unicorn with obvious regret.

Paisley hugs it to her chest. “I love him.”