College is the fresh start Mackenna Baker is hoping for, but her past follows her from the small town she left behind like a ghost. She does her best to ignore them and no matter how hard she tries, she can never seem to actually let them go. Shovin...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A couple weeks later, I'm awoken by my phone's constant vibrating atop my dresser beside my bed where it charged overnight. Flipping onto my other side, I reach for my phone, finding Dylan's own bed across the room empty, which I shouldn't be that surprised at since it's almost nine a.m. and she has an early class. Luckily, my first class this morning was canceled so I got to sleep in, but I don't have long to linger.
My brother's name is on the screen of an incoming video chat and I don't hesitate to answer the call.
"Happy birthday!" he cheers the second the call connects.
"Thank you," I chuckle at his enthusiasm.
"Shit, my little sis is in the last of her teen years. How are you so old?"
"Fuck off," I laugh.
"Did you get my present?"
"I did," my eyes flick to the box that arrived over the weekend with strict instructions to not open until today in his scrawl once I tore open the shipping box, a gift wrapped box taped under said instructions.
"Go open it then," he smiles, waving me off.
"That requires moving," I groan. "You woke me up."
"I can tell, you look like shit."
"You're an asshole."
"I don't think you'll be saying that after you open my gift."
"Ugh, fine," I roll my eyes at him. I fling back my covers, tossing my phone aside so my brother is stuck looking at my ceiling before I crawl across my bed to where the box is on my desk. Sitting against my wall, I prop him up on my dresser where I have a small stack of books to lean my phone against. "Miles, what did you do?" I ask when I tear the paper from off the box, Miranda Lambert's Idyllwild brand staring me right in the face.
"Just open them," he sighs.
"Oh my God, Miles," I whimper when I open the box, revealing the prettiest pair of boots I've ever seen. "They're so pretty," I add softly as I lift the right boot out and slowly spin it in my hand.
The lightly distressed dark brown leather boots have an white embroidery design on the uppers of the thirteen inch shafts and a white trim design on the collar with pull tabs, round toes and two-and-a-half-inch western heels.
"I'm glad you like them," he speaks, pulling me out of my trance over my new babies.
"I love them. Miles, thank you," I blubber, tears brimming my eyes.
"No, don't do the whole water works thing," he warns. "You know I can't handle it when you cry."
"Then you shouldn't have bought me there! Miles, I've been eyeing these for a while, how did you afford these right now?"
Good boots in general are expensive so I only have a few pairs I've gotten over the years since I stopped growing, and I know these are $200 boots that haven't been on sale since they launched.
