I force myself not to laugh as the woman instantly tosses her hand to her heart and shakes her head.
“I swear, I’m not asking any more questions. I don’t even want to know how many times you kids could have killed yourselves growing up.”
“They were kids, Diane,” the older woman chimes in. “They survived. You don’t want me to get started on half the shenanigans you and your sister put me and your father through when you were little.”
Jorgen’s mom hardly bats an eye at the older woman, but she does smile at me before she goes back to kneading her dough. I can only guess that smile confirms the truth in the old woman’s words.
“Why were they lookin’ for that old thing anyway?” Jorgen asks.
His mom pats the dough and then lets out a breath. “Oh, they want to ‘restore’ it.” She uses her fingers to make quotation marks. “You know, paint it, oil it, whatever they do.”
“A toy tractor?” Jorgen asks.
“Well, it was yours when you were little,” she says, bringing a plate of brownies to the table and setting them down in front of us. Jorgen takes the plate and pushes it aside.
“We’re getting dessert at the fair,” he whispers to me.
He winks then, and I just smile to myself.
“So, why are they fixin’ it up again?” Jorgen asks.
His mom stops and touches his shoulder. “They’ll never admit it, but they miss it sometimes.”
“It?” he questions.
“You’ll understand when your kids are grown someday, dear.” She walks back to her station behind the counter. “God knows your father and grandfather didn’t worry half as much as I did about just getting you and your sister to adulthood in one piece.”
Jorgen narrows one eye at me, and I just snicker. I’m beginning to see that our childhoods really weren’t that much different.
We finish our meals a few minutes later, and Jorgen takes my plate.
“Mom, where’s Dad?”
“We sent him outside,” the older woman puffs.
Jorgen looks at me and then at his mom. “Okay, well, we’re going to take off so we can get there before they shut the fair down.”
We say our goodbyes and then head out a back door off a little room attached to the kitchen.
“Dad.” I hear Jorgen say before we’re even out the door. “Truck’s in town. Can I borrow yours?”
“Sure, Son.” The man squeezes Jorgen’s arm but continues toward me.
“Victor,” the man says.
“Ada,” I say, meeting his outstretched hand.
“Well, now I can finally say that I’ve met someone famous.”
My eyes dart to Jorgen. He just smiles, and I shake my head.
“And Son, you didn’t warn me of how pretty she is.”
My smile quickly turns bashful, and heat rushes to my cheeks. I pray that I don’t turn beet red right in front of him.
I manage to find Jorgen’s stare again through my hooded eyes. It’s locked on mine, and for the first time, I notice a certain softness in his eyes that I don’t think I’ve ever noticed before.
“You meet Grandpa yet?” Jorgen’s dad asks me.
I start to shake my head. “No, not yet.”
“Where is he?” Jorgen asks.
“In his rocking chair,” his dad says.
Jorgen takes my hand. “Okay, we’ll head over there. But then, we’re takin’ off.”
“Ada, it was so nice to meet you.”
I smile at his dad and then feel Jorgen tugging me along toward a big, unattached shed or garage or something. Its bay doors are open, and the first thing I see is a little, old man sitting in a green, wooden rocking chair.
“Ada, this is my Grandpa E,” Jorgen says, gesturing toward the aged man.
“Hi,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“No, no, dear, the pleasure’s all mine,” the old man says with a sweet smile.
“Grandpa E, how’s it going?” another younger voice calls out from behind us.
“Still vertical,” Grandpa E shouts over his shoulder and then goes back to his rocking.
“Did those women kick you out of the house again?” the younger man asks.
“No, I left on my own accord.” The old man chuckles to himself.
The younger man laughs too and then sets his eyes on Jorgen and me.
“Hi,” he says, planting his feet in front of me. “Marcus.”
He holds out his hand, and I habitually place my hand in his.
“Ada,” I say.
“Ada, this is the buddy that plays on the softball team I think I mentioned before,” Jorgen says.
I take a second, remembering.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, starting to nod my head. “How are you guys doing?”
Marcus immediately lowers his head.
“Well, we’re 2 and 4, but I think we’re still all trying to get used to playin’ with each other, you know? We’ve got a bunch of these newbies, and Jorgen over here up and left us.”
He stops then and puts a finger to his chin.
“Hell,” Marcus goes on, “I think Jorgen has been here the two times we’ve actually won this season.”
He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Maybe you could convince him to get back here for our next game,” he says, sending me a wink.
I laugh and find Jorgen’s stare, already on me.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say.
Jorgen smiles at me and then turns his attention to Marcus. “So, what are you up to?”
“Oh, I’ve got a tree that was hit by lightning a while back. I’m finally gettin’ around to cuttin’ it down, and I’m borrowin’ your dad’s chainsaw.”
“Aah,” Jorgen says, rocking back on his heels and catching my gaze again.
“So, you guys going to the fair tonight?”
I hear Marcus’s voice, but everything else about me is stuck on Jorgen’s stare.
“Yeah,” Jorgen eventually says, making sure to keep his eyes on mine. “We’re headed out there now.”
“Okay,” I hear Marcus say in the background. “I’ll see you out there then.”
I press my lips together and finally lower my eyes. He’s killing me. He has to know that with those eyes and that forever crooked smile of his, he’s irresistible. Any other guy, I don’t think I’d be here right now. In fact, I know I wouldn’t be here right now. It took him to get me here.
I look up and catch his awaiting smile. God, he’s beautiful.
“You ready?”
I think it takes me a second, but I eventually force myself out of my trance.
“Hmm?”
“To go?” he asks.
“Oh. Yeah,” I say, nodding my head.
“I’ll just have to get the keys to my dad’s truck. I’m not quite sure Ol’ Red will make it into town.”
I laugh softly, as my eyes suddenly get stuck on something in the corner.
“What about that?”
I point to a motorcycle in the back of the garage and watch Jorgen’s eyes follow my gesture to the bike.
“Oh that?” he asks.
I nod my head.
“That’s my old Harley. I bought that before I even got my license and fixed it up. It runs pretty well.”
He stops and shoots me a sideways smirk.
“Do…you…want to take that?” he asks, timidly.
I think about it for a split second. Then, before I have the chance to change my mind, I nod my head.
“But you’re in a dress.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Well, technically, it’s a skirt, but I’ll make do.”
I watch his smile carve a wide path across his face.
“All right, let’s go,” he says.
He disappears into the garage for a second and comes back out with two old, black helmets. My heart jumps at the helmets’ color.
“Come on,” he says.
I slowly follow him over to the bike. There’s a part of me that can’t believe what I’m about to do, and then there’s another part of me that just can’t wait to feel the wind on my bare arms and legs again.