Finding Focus (31 page)

“Yeah, Piper and I came down here for spring break our senior year of college, but that was like four years ago.”

“How crazy would it be if we were here at the same time?” I ask, my mind running wild with what ifs.

She sighs, holding my hand a little tighter for balance as her foot slips in the sand. “I’m glad we weren’t.”

“Me too. Sometimes, it’s all about the timing.”

“Yeah, it is.”

We walk along the beach, listening to the waves crash against the shore. The way the moon glistens off the water reminds me of the pond.

“Wanna sit for a while?” I ask, pointing to a spot in the sand. There’s hardly anyone out tonight.

“Looks like a good spot to me.”

I spread the blanket out and fall down on it. Dani pauses for a second, like she’s trying to decide where to sit, before settling right between my legs.

Equally the best and worst decision she could’ve made.

I take deep breaths, forcing myself to remain as calm as possible, but her sweet and spicy scent isn’t helping. “Uh, tell me something . . .” I say, trying to have something other than her extremely close proximity to focus on.

“What do you want me to tell you?” she asks, her voice calm and quiet.

“Anything. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Haven’t we talked about me enough today?”

“Not even.”

Dani exhales deeply. “Okay, um . . .” She pauses while she thinks. “Well, this is embarrassing, but . . . I never learned how to ride a bike.”

“Are you kidding me, Chuck?”

“Nope. And if you tease me about it, I’ll slip Ex-Lax into your coffee.”

“Holy shit. Are you sure you’re not related to my brother?”

“No, and I’m glad I’m not because this would be weird. Even worse, I couldn’t do this,” she says, turning around and kissing me.

Sheridan

I LOVE MORNINGS AND THE
feeling of a fresh start when I wake up. I especially love waking up happy. Lately, it seems like every morning I wake up, all I can think about is everything wrong in my life. It’s not like there haven’t been bright spots. I just haven’t been able to see them for the clouds. Before this week, I honestly can’t remember the last time I woke up truly happy. However, that’s changed. Every morning since I flew back to Louisiana with Micah, I’ve woke up with a spring in my step and anticipation. The dread and weight is gone. I feel alive and free and like my life is going somewhere.

I know I owe a lot of this to my current project with
Southern Style,
but more than that, I owe it to Micah.

Micah.

I can only imagine how amazing mornings would be if I woke up next to him, and believe me, I’ve been imagining it . . . a lot. Sometimes, it’s all I can think about—being with him. My body begins to flush—again—and I know that’s my cue to hit the shower.

As the water heats up, I inspect my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I smile when I see my lips are still a little pink from all the kissing Micah and I did last night. Technically, it’s from all the kissing we’ve done this entire trip. It’s been ages since I’ve acted this way—making out like a teenager without a care in the world—but that’s what I feel like when I’m with Micah. Carefree. Alive. Maybe even
loved.

I refuse to get ahead of myself or jump into anything too quickly, but I know my feelings for Micah are changing. How could they not? He’s such an amazing man, and he’s trying so hard to be good enough for me. His words, not mine. But, I do appreciate him trying to take things slow. He’s more of a southern gentleman than he gives himself credit for.

After I shower and get ready for the day, I gather my things and head for the door. When Micah insisted on being in charge of picking our hotels, I grumbled at first. I may have also accused him of being spoiled, which he didn’t deny. In all truthfulness, his hotels are much better than the one I got us in Florida, but I’m not ready to admit that to him just yet. I think I may be getting a little spoiled, too.

Just like every morning this week, Micah is waiting for me outside my room so we can check out and get breakfast. I don’t even try to hide the way my eyes travel over him, appreciating the snug t-shirt and well-worn jeans covering his body perfectly. And he’s doing the same to me. At first, it made me self-conscious when he looked at me this way, but now, I practically crave it.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” He steps forward and places a sweet kiss on my mouth before taking my suitcase out of my hand. There are times when the modern city girl in me wants to protest against his chivalry, but I know it makes him happy to do things for me, so I stay quiet. It really is sweet. I’m just not used to it.

Someday I will be, I bet.

After breakfast, we load up the car and start heading toward Hattiesburg, Mississippi. We spent all day yesterday in Mobile, Alabama, hanging out at the beach some more in between our visits to two local diners. We even stopped at their Carnival Museum. I was shocked to learn Mardi Gras actually originated in Mobile. Micah claims it took the people of Louisiana to turn Mardi Gras into the major party it is today. He also took that opportunity to invite me to experience Mardi Gras in New Orleans with him, and it makes me wonder whether he realizes he’s making plans for us
seven months
from now.

Of course, I accepted.

When we cross the Mississippi border, my stomach starts tensing in anticipation. Knowing we’ll be in my hometown soon creates a blend of nervousness and excitement with a little bit of sadness thrown in. I’m sure it’ll be a true test for Micah to see me like this, but I’m not going to hide my emotions from him. He’ll either accept them or he won’t.

Trying to distract myself, I ask Micah to tell me another story about him and Deacon growing up, and he easily obliges. I swear, we could write a book about their adventures and mishaps. It’d be like a modern-day Tom Sawyer story.

“One time, when Deacon was about fourteen and I was twelve, we rode out about ten miles away from the plantation. Deke was on a four-wheeler, I was on my dirt bike, and we were joy-ridin’ around the swampland, just goofin’ off for a few hours. After a while, my bike ran out of gas, and we didn’t know how we were gonna get it back to the house. Of course, lookin’ back, we should’ve driven the four-wheeler home, gotten some gas, and brought it back to the bike, but we were young and stupid, so that thought never crossed our minds.”

“Oh, no. What did you do?”

“Well, Deacon had rope with him, so we tied the bike to the back of his four-wheeler and I rode the bike while he pulled it home. The problem was we tied the rope to only
one
side of the handlebars. I had to fight like hell to keep the bike straight.”

Micah cracks up with laughter, and he’s so adorable, I can’t help but laugh with him.

“We were such dumbasses. It’s a wonder my mama didn’t get rid of us for the hell we put her through.”

I love how his face lights up when he talks about Annie.

“So, we’re movin’ along and Deke’s doin’ a good job of goin’ slow since we’re still around swampland. But once we make it to the road leading back to the house, I guess he forgets he’s towin’ me because he takes off like a bat outta hell. I’m holdin’ on to the bike as hard as I can while it’s bein’ dragged across the gravel. When he finally remembers me, he looks back, and the bike is on its side, still tied to the four-wheeler, but I’m way back on the ground down the road ‘cause I couldn’t hold on any longer. He was so freaked out. I can still remember the look of panic on his face as he ran up to me.”

“Were you hurt badly?”

“Nah, I had some scrapes and bruises, and the wind was knocked outta me, but I was fine. The bike, though, looked like shit. Once Deacon realized I was okay, he really got scared thinkin’ about how we were gonna tell our parents what’d happened.”

“Oh, shit. I bet Annie was pissed!”

“Hell, yeah, she was! So was my dad, but he just let Mama chew us out while she doctored my wounds. Of course, we were grounded for a few weeks, but that never stopped us from actin’ up for too long.”

Micah’s story works like a charm, and soon, I’m relaxed in my seat. My stomach is a little sore from all the laughing, but it’s so worth it.

When I see the Jones County sign, I know we’re close. Sensing my anxiety, Micah reaches over and grabs my hand, saving me from biting the last of my nails off. A smile crosses my face and I reach down, grabbing his phone from the cup holder. It’s been playing a mix of Tab Benoit, Micah’s favorite, and Miranda Lambert, my favorite. The song I find on YouTube starts filtering through the speakers and Micah loosen his hold on my hand.

“NSYNC?” he asks, chuckling and shaking his head. “Really?”

I hold his hand tighter as I give him his first lesson of being in Laurel, Mississippi.

“It’s a rule. When you’re in Laurel, you
must
listen to NSYNC.”

“Is this a rule you and your friends came up when you were nine? Some rules are meant to be broken, you know?”

“Don’t hate, Micah. NSYNC is still great music. I mean, if nothing else, that band gave us Justin Timberlake. But, if you must know, I’m not the only one who has to listen to NSYNC when I drive into town.” I smile, looking over at him as we drive into the city limits. “This,” I say grandly, sweeping my arm out in front of us Vanna White style, “is Laurel, Mississippi, the hometown of
the
Lance Bass.”

“Really?” Micah asks, sounding surprised. “And here I thought the biggest thing to come out of Laurel was sitting right beside me.”

“You don’t have to kiss up. I already like you.”

“Only speaking the truth.”

I take in the sights, which aren’t much, but they’re home . . . or at least, where home once was. Technically, home was my granny, but this is as close as I can get to her and her memory. I glance over at Micah and see him mouthing the words to the song still playing.

“You like them,” I tease.

“Shut up.” He smiles widely. “If you make fun of me, I’ll slip Ex-Lax into your coffee.”

“Damn. You play dirty.”

“Learned from the best,” he says, pulling our joined hands up to his mouth and placing a kiss on mine. That simple kiss shoots throughout my entire body like electricity. “Where to? I have no idea where I’m going.”

“I want to stop by my storage building first. There’re a few things I need and it’s been a while. I just need to make sure it’s all still there.” Peace of mind. That’s another thing I’m after today. “Turn left at this next stop light.”

“You need me in there?” Micah asks, pointing up to the storage unit in front of us.

“Uh, no. I think I’ll be good.”

“Well, I’m right here if you need me.”

I nod and hop out of the car. After I try the combination on the lock a few times, it finally pops open. The combo is my granny’s birthday, but I forgot I put the year first and the day and month last to switch things up. Not that anyone wants to break into this place. The items in here are only valuable to me. Besides, there aren’t many people left on this planet who care enough. When the door of the unit rolls up, I’m hit with sensory overload. Her old rocker from the front porch is front and center, and the dresser I used to sit and play dress-up at is against the back wall. Something about this place smells like her. I don’t even know how that is possible after all these years, and it might be my imagination, but it’s like she was just here . . . like I just missed her.

I inhale deeply, closing my eyes, trying to make this moment last just a little longer.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper, walking over to the rocking chair and gently sitting down on it. There’s a storage bin to my left labeled blankets, so I open it and find the last quilt she made right before she died. Taking it out, I shake it open and wrap myself in it.

It’s a hot day in the middle of the summer in Laurel, Mississippi, but I don’t care. Pulling my feet up into the chair, I kick off the floor and sit, rock, and remember.

When I open my eyes, a familiar box catches my attention. It was one she kept in her kitchen—the jackpot I’ve been thinking about. Quickly, I fold the blanket back up, put it back in the storage bin, snap the lid down, and set the bin outside the storage unit. It’s coming with me.