isn’t purely about sexual attraction. It’s also curiosity. I’d always wondered what happened to Rickie. Almost three years ago he made a big entrance into my life. Then he exited it just as quickly.
And now—this is the truly crazy part—he seems not to remember how we met, or the outrageous things he said to me. It’s probably an act. Maybe he never expected to see me again, and doesn’t want to admit that he blew me off. Or maybe I’m just that forgettable.
Ouch.
Rickie, however, is not easy to ignore. He’s magnetic. My family is captivated by his stupid tale about the bear, even if they’ve seen bears dozens of times before.
“See, I never planned to die before I could hike the Inca Trail, so as it stalks toward me, I’m pretty bummed…”
My family laughs like they’re paying guests at an exclusive comedy club.
“And I'm waving at Daphne, like, Saaaaaave yourself!”
More uproarious laugher.
I’m so over it. “Can someone pass the apple jelly?” I ask.
But nobody does, because they’re all still listening to Rickie.
“Daphne runs into the tractor shed, so at least I have the satisfaction of knowing one of us will survive to eat that pie Ruth was baking.” Again with the hilarious laughter. As if Rickie is the best thing that ever happened to them. “And then Daphne reappears—like an avenging angel in cut-off jeans—and fires that gun into the sky. That’s when the bear gets religion. He drops the bucket and waddles his fat ass off toward the woods. Funniest thing I ever saw.”
Everyone around the table wears a look of pure joy, from the youngest—my one-year-old nephew Gus, who’s sitting on my brother's knee—all the way up to Grandpa, who’s wiping his eyes with his napkin.
I’m irritated. But I get it. Rickie is both entertaining and magnetic. He’s got that X factor that draws people in.
Been there. Done that. I’m never falling for his charms again.
“The apple butter?” I repeat.
Only Rickie seems to register the request. He picks up the jar and passes it down my side of the table. And, damn it, I can’t help but notice the flex of his forearm muscles.
It's just unfair how ridiculously attractive some people are. He has the look of a European model between gigs. The slightly overgrown hair. The languorous body. The expensive clothes. Farm work seems to agree with him too. His color is better than when he arrived a couple weeks ago.
Not that I'm keeping track.
“So, listen,” my brother Griffin says, finally changing the subject. His eyes move from Rickie to me. “Can you head out tomorrow morning at ten? I’ll have the truck loaded.”
I’m just about to answer, when Rickie beats me to it. “No problem.”
My brother’s gaze swings back to our summer guest. “It's about an hour into central Burlington. There’s an alley behind the wine shop that can sometimes be a tight fit.”
“Hey, wait a second,” I argue. “I’m the one who’s driving the cider into town. We had a deal.” Griffin assigned me the restaurant deliveries so that I could have a few hours to do some work for a social sciences laboratory at Burlington University, where I'm transferring in the fall.
“Oh, you’re both going,” my brother says.
“Why?” I demand. “I can do it by myself.”
“I’m taking a summer class that meets on Wednesdays,” Rickie says.
“A class? Can't you just Zoom into that?”
Rickie shrugs. “It’s better in person. And now I can help you make the deliveries.”
“That's nice of you,” my twin brother, Dylan, says without taking his eyes off his girlfriend, Chastity. They’re probably holding hands under the table. Or feeling each other up, maybe. Those two are like a walking hormone. I’m surprised Dylan can even follow the conversation.
“It’s no trouble,” Rickie says with a shrug. “I have things to do in Burlington. And I can check on my house, do a little shopping, that kind of thing.”
I take a bite of my cornbread so that I won’t say anything rude. But I’m not happy about this development. Not at all.
In the first place, Wednesdays in Burlington are supposed to be my escape day. Solitude is rare when you have a big family.
And now I’m supposed to ride an hour each way with Rickie and his flirting eyes?
God, he’s nice to look at, but I don’t want to spend more time with him. It’s hard enough sharing a bathroom for the summer. And it’s already a lot of work to avoid him in my own home.