when he smiles—which under normal circumstances is often.
“Did the beer go flat because of the fly, or did the fly find the flat beer?”
I shake my head, matching his smile. “I have no idea. It’s just something my Meemaw used to say when someone was grumpy.”
“Your meemaw?”
“My grandma.”
“Meemaw,” he says again, his eyes turning brighter and warmer as that familiar happy glow returns to him.
“Rough day?” I ask him.
“Rough day,” he confirms. “I went to Jade’s for closure, which was messy as fuck, pardon my French, and it ended by her running me over by telling me I’d never make it to the NFL. Then my check engine light went on…”
“And you got cut,” I point out.
“By a sign with my jersey number on it.” He drops his head back and makes a growling sound, then drags his hands over his face. “I swear, this curse is real. Nothing else can explain how shitty my life has become since I got injured.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I saw that woman again last weekend while I was with my dad, and he claims every native Seattleite knows she’s a fraud.”
“She might be a fraud at telling fortunes, but she seems proficient at hexes.”
“Maybe we could find what broke and just replace it? I’m wondering if your bad luck could just be your guilt?”
“My guilt?”
I nod. “You feel guilty, and therefore you’re more aware of everything happening. Maybe it’s messing with your outlook or something?”
He scoffs, but then sobers. “Where do I find a magic ball?”
“I have no idea, which is why it’s a great thing we have the internet. Also, our neighbor is a mechanic, and he’s on vacation this week because his daughter is visiting. She lives in Idaho, and I know his entire life story. If you want, you can come over tonight, and I’m sure he won’t mind looking at your car.”
“Pretty sure I’m getting way more out of this relationship,” he says, his tone light, verging on teasing, but his shoulders slump with defeat. “I can fix it, though. I know cars nearly as well as I do football.”
“He has all his tools and might be a good set of helpful hands.”
“Are you sure?”
I smile. I’ve barely seen Arlo in the past week and have missed his presence. “Positive.”
“I owe you.”
“Well, if you’re offering your services, I have two boxes of photos I need to go through. I’m looking for an old picture.”
“You’re a cheap date, Liv.”
I smile, his nickname for me warming my cheeks. I shut the medical kit and close the clasp. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“So, why’d you decide not to get back together with her?”
He pauses for a moment, and something flashes across his features, something I can’t place, before he says, “Because she’s not what I want.”
His gaze is electric, lighting up everything inside of me like a Christmas tree. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Do I want him to be saying what I think he’s saying?
I’m not sure how long we sit there, his words still hanging in the air, but since I still haven’t spoken, I stammer out, “So, what you want is to run and jump again?”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” he says, shaking his head. “I want that because my life sucks without football.”
“Isn’t spring season about to wrap up soon?”
He nods, releasing another heavy sigh.
“You’re working with Whitney today. She chatters a lot, but she’s good at her job—just don’t tell her I told you that.”
He grins sheepishly. “Two secrets. We’re on a roll.”
“If you’re ready to run, she’ll tell you.”
The parking lot basks in a rosy glow as the sun begins to set, casting shadows and making the wet ground appear to glitter as I step outside after work. Arlo walks beside me, so close our knuckles accidentally brush. “Sorry,” I say, taking a step to the side.
“Relax, Liv. I don’t mind your cooties,” he says playfully, waggling his eyebrows. He tugs me back beside him by hooking his arm around my neck. Normally, I’d way overthink this situation, trying to figure out if his actions hold some hidden meaning, but it’s so easy being around Arlo that I’m able to enjoy the moment, for whatever it is, as we make our way to the parking lot.
“It’s pretty tonight,” I say, appreciating the simpler side of life.
“Wait. Did you just say something good about Washington?”
I shove him. “I didn’t say it was prettier than Texas.”