He stares until my heart thuds in my throat because he’s so handsome. The most handsome man in all of Dallas, in all of North Dakota, and beyond.
“Why is it that when we’re looking for something, it’s always in the last place we check?” he asks. A non-answer I should’ve expected knowing West.
I roll my eyes at him.
This isn’t the time for lame, lovable jokes.
Even so, I say, “I don’t know, why?”
“Because when you find it, you stop looking.”
“Idiot!” My hands clap his chest and I push as hard as I can.
He doesn’t budge. As usual.
I’m not even sure if that was a joke or some weird philosophical observation.
“So is that why you’re going away? Because you’re looking for something you can’t find here?”
“That was just a joke to make you smile, Shel. You’re being too serious.” He grabs me by the waist again and lifts me off the car. “Wanna make yourself useful while you’re here? Get me six quarts off the shelf. I just drained the old oil and need to replenish it.”
I walk to the shelf, unsure that it was actually just a dumb joke meant to cheer me up.
Doesn’t he get it? Nothing can make me truly happy right now unless he says he’s staying.
It dawns on me then.
He knows I’m having a sad day. The same kind of day when I was just a sad little girl on a swing.
“Why are you working on Grandpa’s cars before you leave?” I ask.
“I promised him I would.”
I lift six black bottles off the shelf, dancing around the real question I want to ask, and carry them back to him.
“Weston, will you promise me something?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, he says, “Only if you’ll promise me something else.”
My heart skips a beat, thinking he’s going to ask me to wait for him.
To not fall in love with anybody else and be his when he returns.
“Okay. You first,” I say tensely.
“Promise me you’ll leave Dallas, Shel. Tell me you’ll go to college, you’ll kick ass there, and you’ll see the world. Then you’ll know for sure you’ve found what you’re looking for,” he says, this silver glint in his midnight-blue eyes I can’t quite decipher.
His words stop me cold.
That isn’t what he really wants to say...is it?
But then why does he sound so serious?
My throat thickens, turning any response into mud.
Okay, but how can I promise him that? When I was going to ask him to promise me he won’t leave?
I hate it so much I’m tearing up.