Trevor Philips doesn’t care about wildfires but he cares about you.
“What do you mean, canceled?” He asked, the sound of his trucks engine growling heightening the same sound in his own voice. The phone was picking up the sound of him starting to speed, take a sharp turn and flip a bitch. You could only imagine it was in your direction.
“Yeah, not gonna see fireworks today. Whole county is in the red for fires or whatever.” You sighed on the other line, still drying your hair, bare toes curling on the bathmat as you sighed. “It’s lame. Fourth of July is one of my favorites.”
An impressive string of curses followed, echoing into the sounds of other vehicles honking. “No that’s bullshit. That’s unamerican. Those shitty local officials blew the fireworks budget-that’s what it is. Complete unpatriotic bullshit, pride of country means nothing anymore, it’s all crooked politicians and offshore bank accounts!”
“Maybe. But still. No explosives, no camp fires, no open flame grills. Nothing. Nada.” You lamented to him, cradling the phone between your shoulder and face as you pulled on your jeans, wet legs resisting the tight fabric.
“Fuck! We’ll figure something out. Cookout? Something?” Three honks followed by the crack of a gun. Holiday traffic was going well.
“Nope, propane grills only. Besides who would come? Your friends are probably doing things with their families. Maybe not Wade or Ron… but the others.” You sighed, pacing through your trailer with a shake of your head. “It’s fine, we’ll just do what we do on other nights. No fireworks no big deal.”
The line cut off, leaving you with your thoughts on which shirt to pick out.
Before you knew it the sun was setting. You sat on your front porch, watching the sky. A beer rested in your relaxed fingers, balanced on your knee. You knew no fireworks would come, nothing would light up the sky. You felt almost childish being upset about it, but it had always been important since you were a kid. Not that you considered yourself the patriotic type, but it was one of the few things your parents would do something for during the year.
A familiar red truck peeled into your driveway, disrupting you from your thoughts. You looked up and spared a small smile in Trevor’s direction, more incredulous at the array of bags he was pulling out of his truck than excited at the notion of his presence.
“Hey! Sugar! Go sit on the bed, please!” He called over his shoulder, a sort of boyish whimsy in the little smile painting his features.
If for no other reason then growing curiosity you listened, resting on the bed with a chuckle, swinging your legs back and forth. It wasn’t a moment later that Trevor came around with a few small boxes and a lighter. He pressed his stomach almost into your knees at first and then counted his steps back, glancing at the instructions on the box diligently.
“T, what are you doing?” You asked with a giggle, amused just to watch him work.
“Shhhh! Hold on! Hold on..!” He stooped down, clicking the lighter until the fuse took the flame. He sprinted back to your side after, hopping on the bed with you and swinging his feet.
“No ones gonna stop my girl from seeing fire works on the Fourth of July.” He mumbled, pulling you in as small ground bloom broke out in the gravel of your driveway. Shades of red and orange lit up Trevor’s beaming smile, his eyes sparkling with the shimmering light.
/have fluff. I think Trevor is horribly romantic in the ‘doing small things that mean so much’ way./
