Javi Mendez, 53, retired wildlife biologist turned native plant nursery owner, leans against the gnarled live oak at the edge of the town 4th of July cookoff, cold Lone Star in one hand, calloused thumb picking at the peeling label. He didn’t want to be here. Six years since his wife’s sudden passing, he’s perfected the art of dodging community events, avoiding the sad half-smiles and unsolicited “you should get back out there” lectures from neighbors who still see him as the grieving widower instead of the guy who spends 12 hours a day covered in dirt planting milkweed and blaring old Tejano CDs in his greenhouse. His 19-year-old niece begged him to come, though; she’d spent three days smoking a brisket for the contest, and he couldn’t say no.
The air hums with the smell of charcoal, burnt sugar, and jalapeno salsa, the sticky heat sitting heavy on his forearms even after the afternoon thunderstorm rolled through. A kid with a neon green water gun runs past, squirting a city council member square in the chest, and Javi snorts before he can stop himself.
“Took you long enough to acknowledge I was standing here.”
The voice comes from a foot to his left, and he turns to see the woman he’d noticed 20 minutes earlier, leaning against the same oak, faded 1987 Dolly Parton tour shirt stretched over her shoulders, cutoff jean shorts showing a scar running up her left calf, canned margarita in her hand. She’s the new head librarian, moved to town three months prior, made the front page of the local paper last week when she defied the school board’s ban on LGBTQ+ YA titles, putting every pulled book back on the front display of the children’s section. Half the town is side-eyeing her like she’s a contagious disease, the other half whispering about her like she’s a rebel hero. Javi had avoided her so far, not wanting to drag himself into the local drama, not wanting to give the gossips more to talk about.
She holds her hand out, and he takes it, her palm soft but calloused at the fingertips from turning pages, the oak leaf tattoo on her wrist brushing his skin. “Lila. I stopped by your nursery last week, bought three flats of milkweed. You were so busy yelling at a guy for trying to buy non-native wisteria you didn’t even ask my name.”
He laughs, the sound rougher than he expects. He remembers her now, the way she’d leaned against the counter holding a stack of poetry books, smiling while he ranted about invasive species. He’d thought about her once or twice that week, had even set aside a rare native orchid he thought she might like, but had talked himself out of dropping it off at the library, too nervous to make the first move.
A gust of wind blows her wavy auburn hair into his face, the smell of coconut sunscreen and lime mixing with the smoke from the grills, and he brushes it back off his cheek, his knuckle accidentally grazing her jawline. They both freeze for a beat, eye contact holding longer than polite, the noise of the cookoff fading for a second. She doesn’t pull away. She leans in a fraction of an inch, her shoulder brushing his bicep, the heat of her skin seeping through the thin cotton of his flannel shirt, the one he still wears even in 90 degree heat, old habit from years of field work in the Big Thicket, warding off mosquitoes and thorny underbrush.
The MC’s voice booms over the speakers, announcing the brisket contest winners, and his niece’s name is called for second place. She screams from across the field, waving him over, and Javi acts before he can overthink it, lacing his fingers through Lila’s and tugging her along with him toward the stage. She doesn’t let go, her hand squeezing his tight as they push through the crowd, a few neighbors doing double takes when they see them holding hands, the gossip already starting to spread like wildfire. He doesn’t care. He’s spent six years hiding, six years letting other people dictate what he should or shouldn’t do, six years pretending he doesn’t want someone to laugh at his bad jokes and help him carry flats of plants out to customers’ cars.
They stop at the edge of the crowd, his niece hugging him tight before running off to celebrate with her friends, the first firework bursting overhead in a shower of red and blue, painting Lila’s face pink. She leans into his side, her head resting on his shoulder for a second, before tilting her face up to look at him. “I figured you’d be too scared to be seen with me. Half the town thinks I’m a troublemaker.”
