Whispering With You

39. What could have been, what almost was, what was just within reach.

Kelly

THE MIDDAY SUN WARMS THE TOP OF my head, and I remove my baseball hat to run a hand through my hair, a tic that gives away my nerves should anyone be paying attention. A breeze ruffles the crispy leaves around my feet, the coolness of the wind a direct contrast to the heat of the sun. I scan the crowds of people at The Anderson Farm, my eyes searching for the one person that's been on my mind nonstop all week.

I wasn't looking forward to the annual fall festival before my fight with Sutton—having to continue with the pretense that she's only my friend's sister not high on my favorite things list—but now that she's held up the big STOP sign, I'm even less thrilled to be here. In fact, I debated skipping it altogether. If it weren't for the overwhelming need to see her, I would be holed up somewhere sulking. Or forcing my body into physical labor to quiet my tormented mind.

That's how my week's gone. I've put in as many extra hours working on the new house as my body would allow, working late into the night. Except now the house feels haunted. All the memories of her following me from room to room. I'm not sure which is worse: the ghost of Past Sutton detailing her design ideas or Future Sutton whispering what could have been, what almost was, what was just within reach.

I walk past a wagon full of colorful mums for sale, and I imagine Sutton setting up the display, getting everything just right for the festival. I didn't realize I paused in front of the flowers until I hear her voice; and, for a second, I wonder if I'm imagining it like all the other times this week where I've had conversations with her in my head. But when I turn toward the voice, I see her. My girl.

Sutton's hair looks even lighter highlighted in the sun, a golden halo, but it's her eyes that pull me in. The blue sparkles as she stares at me, worrying her lip between her teeth. Once she yanks the apron over her head, I notice the familiar white and black checked flannel dwarfing her body. The sleeves are rolled up a few times, but they still hang past her wrists. Seeing her in my shirt is like a jolt of caffeine, and I inhale a sharp breath to regulate my breathing.

"Kell?" Her soft, questioning voice brings me back to the present, and I take a few steps toward her.

"Shit, baby girl. I think you got prettier since the last time I saw you."

She looks away, her hand absently finding the heart necklace, gliding the pendant back and forth on the chain. "It's only been a few days," she finally says, returning her gaze to me.

"Feels like lifetimes," I grumble, fighting the urge to touch her. To plant my hands on her hips and draw her body into mine where she belongs.

"When did you get so dramatic?"

I risk another step closer to her, watching to see her reaction, and then when she doesn't move away, I take another until we're standing nearly toe to toe. I trace her facial features with my gaze, noting the dark circles under her eyes. She ducks her head under my perusal, and I yearn to lift her chin, demand she face whatever she sees when she looks at me.

"I just really fucking miss you, Sutton."

Her head shoots up at my admission, her eyes locked on me, and we simply stare at each other for several long moments.

"Kelly..." she begins but is cut off when someone calls her name. I look over my shoulder to see a group of people walking toward us and I groan realizing our private moment is being commandeered by the whole Anderson clan. Sutton takes a few steps away from me, holding up her hand to wave at her family.

"You ready?" Jensen asks, draping an arm around his sister. "Oh, hey, Kelly." He makes a big show of looking around the crowds of people on his farm and I immediately want to put my fist through his mouth to prevent what I know is about to come out of it. "Is she here? Hiding behind the flowers? Or did you stash her somewhere? Maybe the haunted house or the corn maze?"