“The sky here isn’t surprising?” I thought about what might be meant by a surprising sky. I was usually inside all day, working at the bakery, and likely missed any sky-related events that might qualify as surprising.
“Not usually. Sure, it’s pretty.” He shrugged. “But pretty is boring. Give me the startling shades of an Alaskan dusk over the prosaic prettiness of a Tennessee sunset. That’s what I like.”
His description had me grinning wider and taking a step closer to him; I liked how his face lit up as he spoke about the Alaskan sky. “What do you mean, startling?” Really, I just wanted him to keep talking.
Cletus tilted his head back and forth in a considering manner. “In the spring, the sunsets are red and orange. But in the fall, they’re dark purple with streaks of lavender and indigo, the most beautiful color I’ve ever . . .” Cletus’s frown was subtle as he trailed off, and his eyes grew distant, like he was silently debating weighty matters.
Suddenly, he announced, “Your eyes aren’t purple. They’re blue. Dark blue.”
I squinted then, blinked rapidly, feeling suddenly self-conscious of my eyeballs and stumbled back a step. “I know that,” I stammered. “They just look purple sometimes.”
Cletus charged forward and secured my chin with his fingers, stepping close and holding me still. He examined my irises. “They’re reflective.”
“Pardon?” I’m sure I now resembled a startled animal.
“They reflect the opposite color that surrounds them. You wear green or yellow, they’re purple. But if you wear orange, they probably appear sky blue.”
I nodded lightly, careful to hold his gaze, not wanting him to stop touching me, not wanting to miss the opportunity to look at him up close. Or maybe I just wanted to be close to him. Either way, I liked the way his nearness made my tummy flutter and my chest feel tight.
“Something like that.” My voice cracked; I cleared my throat silently. “But if I wear black or white—”
“Then they’re true. Then they stop telling falsehoods.” His stare refocused, probed deeper, moving beyond the surface color of my irises to the person inside.
The full weight of Cletus’s piercing gaze, especially this close, was . . . unsettling. I flinched, just a little, but held my ground. Even so, a betraying blush rose to my cheeks. His eyes skimmed over my face; I saw him take note of my high color, the side of his mouth hitching in a subtle, almost imperceptible movement.
“Why’s your face so red?” he whispered, his eyes now hooded as they moved to my mouth.
“It’s hot out here,” I croaked, willing my legs to hold my weight.
At least, I was hot.
“Am I making you nervous?” His voice lowered an octave.
“Yes,” I answered with complete honesty.
His grin hitched higher as his fingers released my chin. Cletus’s thumb skimmed lightly down my neck in a purposeful slide, making me swallow reflexively, and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. But when he moved completely away and back to the picnic table, I felt the loss of him. I felt dizzy with it. And the dizziness was disorienting.
“I told you, you’re going to have to stop being scared of me sooner or later.” Cletus picked up his sandwich again, took a big bite, then spoke around the food, “Eee em nomon ealk anesis redklos.”
I narrowed my eyes, the acute dizziness and lingering goosebumps easing as I tried to decipher his gibberish. “What did you say?”
He shook his head, chewed, swallowed, then said, “I’m not scary, I’m ridiculous.”
I scoffed, moving back to the table and sitting across from him. “You are many things, Cletus Winston, but nothing about you is ridiculous.”
“Really?” He gave me a searching look, the side of his mouth lifting. “What about my hair?”
Unbidden, my attention moved to his hair. His crazy, long, clean but untamed hair.
I love your hair. “What about your hair?”
“My hair is ridiculous. It’s been misbehaving since birth.”
That made me laugh and I grinned at him, at the picture of baby Cletus with disobedient hair. I imagined his hair wasn’t the only thing about him that was naughty.
“It’s true,” he said, as though my laughter contradicted his earlier statement. “I’m the only one of my siblings to have inherited Grandmother Oliver’s curls as well as her distichiasis.”
“Distichiasis? What’s that?”
“It’s a genetic mutation that causes a double row of eyelashes.” He pointed to his eyes and leaned forward. I followed his lead and leaned across the table, studying his eyelashes. Sure enough, he had a second row.
“That’s amazing. I’ve never heard of that before.” It certainly explained the thickness.
He took a small bite of food, nodding, chewing, then swallowing before adding, “Ashley and Billy also have distichiasis, but not the curly hair. And I’m the only one who had blond hair when I was little.”
I studied him, thinking about this new information. I knew Cletus when he was younger, but—since he was some years older than me—obviously not as a little kid.