The small crowd’s spirited laughter drifted over to them on the backs of fluttering monarchs as they flitted between the tables on their way to fresh sprigs of bright purple flowers that were potted around the edges of the dance floor. Foster closed her eyes for a brief moment, listening to the gently tinkling wind chimes hanging around the red barn’s storefront, all lit up with sparkling strands of lights.
A soft gust swirled up from under the wooden table, and Foster pressed her hands more firmly against her thighs. She wasn’t used to having to be so vigilant about keeping her goodies hidden from the outside world. That’s what pants were for.
“See, you look like a girl. A pretty girl. Especially when you don’t do that.” Sabine waggled her finger across the table at Foster’s face. “Frown all annoyed and pee pantsy like that.”
“I’m not frowning,” Foster huffed, realizing she was indeed frowning. “And I don’t have to wear a dress to look pretty or like a girl.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Look at me,” Sabine stood, did a sassy little twirl, the fringed edges of her crop top lifting from her jeans to join in her spin, and sat back down. “I’m not wearing a dress and I look good enough to eat. I only meant that a change in clothes can make you feel like a completely different woman. So can a good wig or a pair of thigh-high faux leather boots, but I don’t think you’re ready for either of those things.”
“Not ready for what?” Finn asked as he and Tate set down the drinks and he took a seat on the bench next to Sabine.
“For these moves!” Sabine grabbed Finn’s hand and practically pulled him onto the dance floor. “See you two out there.” She winked before galloping over to where Finn was standing, snapping and tapping the toe of his boot to the beat.
“So, what do you think?” Tate shoved his hands into his pockets and removed them just as quickly. “Would you like to dance? Again?”
“Well, yeah, but this is a slow song, not a swing-me-around song.”
“Hey, no worries. I can do slow, just follow me. I got ya. Again.”
“You won’t drop me this time?”
“Never.”
Foster felt kind of drunk as Tate offered her his hand and guided her to the makeshift dance floor. Bubbles of excitement popped throughout her body, making her dizzy and fizzy and giddy. The only other time she’d felt like this was after half a bottle of cheap champagne in at, well, space camp.
“Fucking space camp,” she mumbled.
“What was that?” Tate’s eyes were the same endless blue as the sky, and Foster thought, for a moment, that if he never looked at her again she might just die.
“I’m having a great time. It’s wonderful, really.” If Past Foster could see her now, she’d smack her and tell her that the world was unraveling and people needed saving and she hadn’t spent nearly enough time being depressed. But Present Foster didn’t much care for her former prickly, grumpy self. She wanted to bottle this girl, this moment, this feeling, and be this new person forever. Foster lifted her hand from Tate’s broad shoulder, flipped her hair, and giggled.
“You’re laughing.”
“I am.”
Tate moved her slowly, confidently around the dance floor. His hand lowered to the small of her back as his thick fingers spread wide and he held her more firmly, pressing her to him, squeezing the air out of the space keeping them apart.
And she let him.
Foster never thought she wanted to be that girl, the one who melted into someone else and called him happiness, but if this is how it started, it sure felt damn good.
The music changed to a dreamy, jazzy melody and Foster’s eyelids hung heavy as she closed out the world around them and reveled in Tate’s earthy scents of hay and horses and the way each muscle of his chest firmed against hers as he maneuvered them around the dance floor.
“You’re okay?” It was less a question, and more a release of tension, but Foster answered anyway.
“Yeah, why?”
“You seem … different.”
She was. She could feel it. It was as if she’d been living inside someone else this whole time, waiting, incubating, until the space around her was safe enough to occupy—safe enough to call home. Her entire world might not be safe, but Tate was. Her Tate.
Foster’s nerves fizzed with warmth.
Could he actually be hers?
“Tate—”
“Foster—” they blurted simultaneously.
Tate brushed a stray hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear as he guided them to an empty corner of the dance floor. “Go ahead.”
“Right now, with you … This is the only place I want to be.”
And then his breath was all she knew, like he’d peeled the air from the clouds, stored it in his lungs, and brought it to her as a gift. His mouth covered hers, searching for answers and releasing soft, patient prayers with each flick of his tongue.
The earth beneath Foster’s feet stilled as if she and Tate controlled the entire planet, and at this moment each of them poured their energy into the other and there was nothing left to keep it spinning.
Then someone screamed.
Not a bloodcurdling shriek. More of a confused and frightened squeal for attention.
The music stopped.
And then there were gasps followed by chairs scraping the pavement and rushed footsteps beating into the gravel in sharp, staccato crunches.
Foster didn’t want to pull away, didn’t want to stop the sweet exchange that had her nerves alight with the promise of their future. But she had to. Something was wrong. She could hear it in the way the people ran through the parking lot and the yells coming from behind them—coming from Sabine and Finn.
Keeping her tucked against his side with his arm snuggly around her shoulder, he turned them to face the fields behind the barn-like store. And there, descending on them against an angry red setting sun, was a wall cloud spewing the hollow point of a deadly funnel—a funnel that was coming directly at them.
18
TATE
“Fuck! No no no no no. This shit is not happening again!” Tate’s voice was strong and serious, and didn’t shake at all—even though his insides were spinning around in a weird rush of ohmygod I just kissed Foster and fucking tornado is going to kill us all!
“Tate! Foster! You gotta do something!” Finn spoke fast and low.