She smirks. "But you've read the newspaper or seen the news, talked to one person in town about that poor girl out in the Ranch Lands with the crazy mom and all those kids?"
I nod. "Yeah, something like that."
"Well, you don't have to feel sorry for me," she says, sitting up straight in the car. "I don't feel sorry for me."
"I never said I felt sorry for you."
She laughs loudly. "That's funny."
"Is it?" I say. "I wasn't trying to make you laugh."
"No, it’s just, everybody always says they feel sorry for me or they pity me or they feel bad or here is an extra bag of groceries or here is an extra-large tip or a free pair of shoes or a free month of ballet lessons, which is all amazing and incredible and I'm so grateful for that, and honestly, we probably couldn't get by without it. But sometimes I just wish we were not the freaks with the mom who burned down our house and almost killed us all because she was drunk out of her mind and high as a kite."
She groans, dropping her head and rolling down the window, looking for a music station and giving up, clicking off the radio altogether.
"What?" I say, looking over at her.
"This is why I don't go on dates. I say too much, too fast."
"That wasn't too much for me," I tell her.
"Who are you, Holt Stone?" she laughs. "Because most guys in the sound think I'm way too much. Everything about me is. My opinions, my family, my standards."
"Hey," I say, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. "Don't change any of that for anyone in this town, for anyone anywhere. You got to stay true to yourself, Paisley Cassidy. Isn't that what makes you you?"
She smiles, looking over at me. "Yeah, but sometimes–"
"What? Sometimes what?"
She swallows as I pull the truck into the Tipsy Cow parking lot. "Sometimes I just wonder what it would be like to be somebody else."
Paisley
I have no idea why I said that, that I wish sometimes I could be someone else. It's too honest to tell a stranger that kind of truth, but I did and it's out there, and now we are walking through a parking lot into a bar.
A bar. I've never even been in a bar, and he has his hand on the small of my back, and I don't want him to move it, not even an inch. I mean, maybe an inch, but not away. I want it to stay right there. I always say I don't need a man, but right now I want one. Him, right here, next to me, because walking into a bar by myself seems altogether terrifying.
Why would I want to anyways, when I have the opportunity to walk into this bar with this man?
I definitely overshared on the ride over, but he met my entire family before we even went out for dinner, so I suppose it kind of fits.
Besides, the moment he read my name tag at the diner I knew he knew who I was, at least enough. Now, he knows it all. Well, not it all, I never tell anybody it all, but enough to know that my life is a tragedy, and I still don't know much about him. Why he's here, why he wanted to go out with me when he could literally go out with anyone, and Cherry Falls has plenty of beautiful women. The Ranch Lands has plenty of lovely ladies. This bar has its fair share of females too.
The bouncer looks at my ID and I flash it to him proudly, smiling extra wide. "It's my first time," I tell him. He laughs, letting me through after stamping my hand. "Was that another overshare?" I ask Holt.
He shakes his head, "No, it was cute. Your first time, huh?"
I roll my eyes, "Yeah, I think you're going to learn all about my first times tonight."
At that, my own cheeks go pink realizing how that might have sounded, and honestly how true it is. I haven't done much of anything at all, and I guess admitting I've never been on a date might have told him that already, but the truth is I've spent my life making sure everything was taken care of, and I've never spent any time making sure I was taken care of.
Tonight, I'm taking care of me in a way I never have before. I smile. There's music playing and Holt takes my hand. I know we're both not much for drinking, but Holt says, “I think if this is your first night out as a 21-year-old, you've got to order something.”
I agree. I say, "I feel like it's a right of passage."
"Agreed, so what do you want? Are you savory or sweet?"