kind of crushing sense of abandonment. Or a driving need to find their biological parents either for closure or to discover something about themselves… And I am talking your face off.”
I grinned. “I kind of like it. You don’t, do you? Feel abandoned I mean.”
She shook her head. “I was chosen because I was the missing puzzle piece, and I was loved just for existing. That’s a pretty great start to life.”
“Did you ever look for your biological parents?” I asked. I had. Even though I’d already known that Jonah Bodine was the kind of man to cheat on his wife and abandon a child.
“I did. I met my biological mother when I was seventeen and going through a ‘Yeah, but who am I really’ phase. I exchanged emails with my biological father, too. But there was no connection. There was no history between us. Nothing like what I share with my parents and GT. That history means a lot.”
“I don’t have a history with the Bodines,” I said, slowing our sway down to match the beat of the song.
“You’re building one. You’ve been here, what? A year? How many memories do you now have tied up in your brothers and sister? You’ve been here with them, facing the problems they’re facing. You helped them scare off the press, you gave the whole town something else to gossip about besides your father and his connection to a missing teenager.”
“Jonah Bodine’s bastard son,” I said. But the bitterness wasn’t as flavorful in my mouth anymore.
Shelby grinned. “There’s nothing more fun than an illegitimate child no one knew about showing up in town after a funeral. Not in Bootleg Springs.”
We laughed together. The shame of my background, my father, it had somehow lessened in the time I’d been here. Everyone here knew my secret: Rejected by my father. And everyone accepted it, didn’t blame me for it. There was a balm in that.
“So you fixed me. Whose left?” I asked, twirling her around and pulling her back into my arms. I liked this, I decided. Shelby Thompson in my arms was a new favorite thing for me, and I hadn’t the slightest idea what to do about it. I was so rusty at romantic feelings that I wondered if there were any salvageable moves left in me.
She glanced around the fire. “Well, there’s always Misty Lynn.”
The woman in question was currently wrapped around Rhett Ginsler like a poison ivy vine. Apparently, they’d made up.
“But you know, some people just shouldn’t be unraveled,” she amended.
“What about you?” I asked. I slid my hand down her back, pressing her just a little closer. Her fingers toyed with the hair at the back of my neck. I wondered if she knew she was doing it.
“Me? Oh, I’m easy,” she said cheerfully.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, gosh. I mean. Not that way. Not that I’m a prude. I like sex. Sex is great. I think I’m going to stop talking immediately.” She was talking fast, words tumbling out of her mouth in a torrent. She dropped her forehead to my chest, and I let out a quiet laugh.
“You’re quite a girl, Shelby Thompson.”
“Oh no. Don’t start with the first and last name thing. Did you notice how everyone is all ‘Scarlett Bodine’ or ‘Nash Larabee’? The only way you get out of it is if you already have two first names.”
“Gotta be a country thing.”
“There are so many country things.” She glanced around us, making sure no one was listening. “Sometimes I feel like I’m observing an entirely new culture.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t spend so much time observing,” I said.
She leaned back, looked up. “Huh?”
“You spend an awful lot of time watching.”
“It’s called research, smarty pants,” Shelby argued.
“Research all you want. Just don’t forget to participate.”
“I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that I’m currently dancing with a very attractive man next to a bonfire under more stars than I’ve ever seen in my life. It feels quite participatory.”
“Very attractive, huh?” I teased.
“I had a feeling that part would stick.”
“Tell me something about you, Shelby. Tell me and the stars something you’ve never told anyone.”
She hesitated, and for a minute I thought she’d make another joke. “I work hard to be good enough.”
“Good enough for what?”
“Good enough so my parents never regret adopting me. Good enough so my biological parents might be sad that they missed out on me. Good enough that George is proud of me even though I’m not a well-compensated professional athlete. Good enough