Manny Rios, 58, retired cattle auctioneer with a scar splitting his left eyebrow and a habit of talking in rapid, rhythmic half-chants when he’s flustered, leaned against the dented aluminum beer cooler at the annual Westworth Volunteer Fire Department fish fry and tried to look invisible. He’d only shown up because his 12-year-old grandson was part of the junior firefighter cohort manning the lemonade stand, and the kid had begged him to come see him in his neon vest. Three years out from his wife Elara’s sudden stroke, he still hated crowded events, hated the way people either tiptoed around him like he was made of glass or tried to set him up with every widowed woman within a 20 mile radius. He’d spent most of the last hour sipping lukewarm light beer and making quiet small talk with old auction regulars, half planning his escape back to his porch and his two snoring blue heelers.
He spotted her across the picnic tables first, her dark hair streaked with sun-bleached copper, wearing a faded 1980s Willie Nelson tour tee and cutoff denim shorts, bare feet stuffed into scuffed white sneakers, laughing so hard at something the guy next to her said she snort-laughed and spilled a splash of sweet tea down her front. Lila Marquez, Elara’s second cousin, 52, who’d moved back to town two months prior to open a native plant nursery out on the old county road. He’d only met her a handful of times over the 27 years he was married to Elara, usually at weddings or funerals, had always thought she was quiet, a little standoffish. That snort changed everything.
She looked up before he could look away, caught his eye, and waved, already heading his way before he could duck behind the cooler. He froze, his hand still wrapped around his beer bottle, as she closed the distance, stopping close enough he could smell coconut sunscreen and fried catfish and the faint, earthy tang of potting soil clinging to her clothes. “Manny, right? I heard you had that knee replacement back in January. How’s it holding up?” She leaned in a little when she talked, the sun catching the small silver hoop in her left ear, and her bicep brushed his where he was leaning against the cooler, warm through the thin cotton of his work shirt. He felt a jolt go up his spine, sharp and unfamiliar, and immediately felt guilty, like he was cheating on Elara just by feeling it.
He mumbled something about the knee being fine, about how physical therapy was a pain in the ass, and she laughed, reaching out to hand him an extra hush puppy she’d stuffed on her plate. “I grabbed two, remembered you liked them from Elara’s 50th birthday cookout. You ate like six of them that day, said they were better than any steak you’d ever had.” Their fingers brushed when he took it, her thumb calloused at the tip from digging in dirt, and he fumbled the hush puppy half a second before he got a grip on it. The grease was warm through the paper napkin, salty when he bit into it, exactly how he remembered.
The band switched to a slow, syrupy cover of “Always on My Mind,” and couples started drifting onto the patchy grass between the picnic tables and the stage to dance. Lila tilted her head at him, a little smirk on her face, and held out her hand. “C’mon. Your knee can handle one slow dance, right? I won’t step on your feet.” He hesitated, his eyes darting from her hand to her face, half of him screaming that this was wrong, that he was betraying the life he’d built with Elara, the other half buzzing, alive for the first time in years. He took her hand.
She was soft when he pulled her close, his hand light on her waist, her hand on his shoulder, their fingers laced together between them. She smelled even better up close, the coconut sunscreen mixing with the faint scent of jasmine perfume she was wearing, and when she rested her head on his shoulder for a second, her breath was warm on his neck. “I’ve had a crush on you since I was 20, you know,” she mumbled, so quiet only he could hear it. “Came to Elara’s wedding, saw you up there telling dumb jokes to the groomsmen, thought you were the hottest thing I’d ever seen. Never said anything, obviously. You were happy.” He didn’t say anything for a second, just swayed with her to the music, the rough fabric of her tee brushing his arm, and realized he didn’t feel guilty anymore. He felt light, like the weight he’d been carrying for three years had lifted a little.
When the song ended, she pulled back, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners, and kissed him quick on the cheek, her lips warm against his sunburnt skin. “I got a cooler of that hazy IPA you like in the fridge at the nursery. Got a whole new bed of cacti I planted yesterday, if you wanna come take a look. No pressure.” He paused for half a second, glancing over at his grandson, who was busy chasing a friend around the bouncy house, holding a half-empty cup of lemonade. The kid would be fine for a couple hours, his mom was there to pick him up later.
He slung his worn leather work jacket over his shoulder, laced his fingers through hers, and followed her across the grass to her beat up rust-colored pickup truck.
