CHAPTER EIGHT: LOVE FEELS LIKE A RODEO
song of the chapter: training season, dua lipa

Indiana is dreaming.

That is the only explanation for the sight in front of her, honestly. It feels like a mirage, like it might disappear if she blinks too hard. She reaches for the water glass on the table and expects it to melt under her touch, but the glass is firm in her grip and the condensation coats her fingers like a bandaid.

OK, so this isn't a dream. Cool. That is totally fine.

Then why the hell does Indiana feel like she's been to heaven and back?

They are at Yoko's, a family run cafe about thirty minutes from where they usually reside. It's somewhat of a journey for a cup of coffee, especially when you consider the fact that there's four coffee shops on every street you turn onto in Los Angeles, but none of them are Yoko's.

The acacia wood seating outside, canopied underneath the sun umbrellas, made of tinted plastic and painted with small patterns- like stained glass, with the way it reflects onto the light brown of the table when the light hits it just right. Hints of red and yellow dance across Buck's face, painting his complexion into a work of art worthy of Van Goth.

"Jesus christ," Buck groans, gasping for air after a long gulp, his nose scrunched in disgust. "What do they put in these? I feel like I've been resurrected from the dead, and I'd like to go back."

Indiana laughs, "It's a wellness shot, Buck. It isn't supposed to taste good."

Buck shakes his head, smacking his lips together, "Nothing that's good for you ever tastes good."

"Yet, you eat it anyway," Indiana states, gesturing her hand to the small pile of greens on Buck's plate. "Except for cilantro, apparently."

"Tastes like soap," Buck replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Besides, if I didn't eat the things that are good for me, I wouldn't have these."

He flexes his arms at her, raising an eyebrow, and presses a kiss to each of his pecs. Indiana scoffs, reaching over the table to smack his arm gently. "Put them away, I'm eating."

A grin takes place on his face as the smouldering look he was directing at her before disappears, "What, not enjoying the show?"

Indiana swallows her bite, waving her fork in protest, "Save it for another time, maybe when I'm not halfway through my lunch."

With a heavy sigh, Buck lowers his arms and sets his gaze on Indiana, studious, his lips pursed like he can't decide whether he wants to speak or not. Eventually, he says, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Always," Indiana replies, because it's the truth. Full transparency- that's what the agreed upon. "Hit me with it." Buck sits in silence for a moment longer, pondering his thoughts, as if he's trying to figure out how to phrase his words. Indiana sighs, "You won't offend me, Buck. Ask the question."

Indiana knows what it's going to be before the words have left his mouth, because there's only a few select things he could ask. He could ask her how her bagel was, but the few crumbs left on her plate answer that question for him. He might ask if she's told anyone about them 'dating', but they both agreed that they would discuss that before they went spreading the news.

So, there's only one option, really. They need to discuss the elephant in the room eventually- no time better than the present, Indiana guesses.

"Is Hugo still in love with you?" He says, with a slight edge to his tone. The frown is gone from his lips, now, and a grimace greets Indiana as she stares at him blankly. "Like, I know you're over him, but you said he was getting married."

"He is," Indiana confirms. "He's marrying my cousin, Annabelle."

Buck nods, though it's accompanied with his still confused expression. "Forgive me if this sounds dumb, but if he's marrying your cousin, why was he on your doorstep this morning begging you to take him back?"

That, Indiana does not have an answer for.

The thing with Hugo is... complicated. Not on Indiana's part, she has made her opinion and choices on the matter abundantly clear more than a few times, from the day that they split up to this morning when she turned him down for the hundredth time.

Why does he keep coming back? Indiana doesn't know. Maybe it's stupidity, or it could be desperation. Perhaps he's just trying his luck. Either way, Indiana knows that nothing will ever come of the situation when she has a say in it.

The simplest answer to the question is the truth.

"I don't know," Indiana answers, truthfully. "It only started after he saw us together at the restaurant; he hadn't bothered me for years before that."

"So, what?" Buck responds. "He didn't want you, but now that he can't have you, he suddenly wants you back?"

She shrugs, "I don't know, Buck. What I do know is that I don't want anything to do with him- it's over and done with. Has been for years."

Still, an unsatisfied expression sits on Buck's face. Indiana hates to see him like this, to see his beautiful face all crumpled and confused- especially when she knows the reason he's like this is because of her.

"You have to tell me the truth, Indiana. It's the least I deserve."

His statement is blunt, and there's no room for error in Indiana's response. She can't hide behind blurred lines, or disguise herself in misinterpreted words. There's no hidden meanings for her to explain her way out of.

All or nothing. All cards on the table.

Buck deserves the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Indiana just isn't sure that she knows what that actually is.

"I don't know how Hugo feels- he's hard to read, and he acts irrationally when he isn't thinking clearly. As far as him being in love with me, I don't have a clue, also don't particularly care."

He purses his lips, pushing the small pieces of cilantro around on his plate with his fork aimlessly. "Can I give you my opinion?"

"Always," Indiana promises, drumming her manicured fingernails against the table anxiously.

"I think he's just jealous," Buck theorises, reaching a hand over the table to place atop of hers, bringing her nervous fidgeting to a stop as he threads their fingers together. "He sees you with me, and he wants what he can't have. It's textbook narcissism."

"You get a psychology degree when I wasn't looking?" Indiana jokes, smiling at him teasingly.

Buck rolls his eyes, "You're very funny, Indiana. Did your students vote you as class clown last year?"

Indiana's free hand comes up to clutch at her chest, a pained noise passing her lips. "You're bringing my students into it, Buckley? Low blow."

Buck's lips part as he goes to say something else, but he's interrupted by a very enthusiastic nine year old bounding up to their table, shrieking, "Hi, Miss Carter!"

Immediately, Buck's retracts his hand from hers, and the cold rush of air that hits Indiana's skin feels like a thousand little needles piercing her at once. She misses the warmth the moment that it is gone. Still, she barely has time to look at Buck before she has no choice but to pay her full attention to the child standing next to her. She recognises the girl immediately, because her students mean the world to her, and she'd be able to pick them out of a lineup even if she lost every one of her senses.

"Hello, Stella," she greets, smiling politely at the young girl. "Did you come here for lunch with your parents?"

A grin splits Stella's face, her pigtails bouncing ferociously with the force of her nod. "Yup," Stella responds, "and we brought my brand new baby sister. Would you like to meet her, Miss Carter?"

"I would love to, Stella, but maybe some other time? I'm having lunch with my friend at the moment."

For the first time since her sudden arrival, Stella seems to notice Buck's presence. Her mouth works itself into a tiny, adorable, very scrutinising frown. "Who are you?" She demands, her voice every bit as bitter as the lemon wedge discarded on Buck's plate.

"Stella," Indiana admonishes. "That is not how we greet somebody new, and you know that."

Stella sighs, "Sorry, Miss Carter."

Buck speaks, extending his hand out towards Stella, "I'm Buck, it's very nice to meet you, Stella."

"Are you Miss Carter's husband?"

Indiana shoots up and out of her seat like spikes just sprouted from the bottom, gripping Stella by the shoulders gently, "Alright, that's enough talking for today. How about you introduce me to your baby sister after all?"

This seems to pacify Stella, because she allows a red-faced Indiana to steer her away from the table and towards her parents, who have been too preoccupied with a tiny baby girl to notice their daughters absence. Indiana turns her head back, shooting Buck an apologetic look, but he just shook his head and smiled.

Indiana deposits Stella into her seat next to her father, has a very brief meeting with Stella's brand new baby sister, and excuses herself back to her table with a promise to see Stella bright and early on Monday morning. Then, finally, she is back at her table and sitting down with a sigh so heavy she's surprised it doesn't materialise and thunk down on the table like a brick.

"So," Buck says, "Husband, huh? Would it have killed you to buy me dinner, first?"

Indiana picks up her napkin and throws it across the table, and Buck's laughter is so bright that she thinks it might it bask the entire city in sunlight.