"Your car is absolutely terrible, you know that, right?" Greg's old Chevy had once again broken down in the middle of nowhere.
"Shh…She'll hear you."
"Greg, it's a car."
"Jorja is more than a car!" She giggles and shoves him. "C'mon, it's beautiful out. I have a blanket, in the mood for some stargazing?" He pulls her into the back of the truck, spreading a blanket in the trunk. She puts her head on his chest as Lake Mead gently laps against the shore.
"The stars are beautiful."
"Your eyes are more beautiful."
"That's a lie. He grins, and the radio begins to play an old country song.
"This is my favorite song!"
"Never pegged Miss Sara Sidle as a Taylor Swift girl." She pushes him, giggling. "Care to dance?" He extends his hand, and she takes it. The humid summer air surounds them as they slowly dance.
"I love you." He says, and she smiles.
"Love you too."
"I was talking to Jorja." She giggles. For the first time in their lives, happy doesn't feel like a dream. It's a reality. Their reality.
He said the way my blue eyes shined
Put those Georgia stars to shame that night
I said: "That's a lie."
Just a boy in a Chevy truck
That had a tendency of gettin' stuck
On backroads at night
And I was right there beside him all summer long
And then the time we woke up to find that summer gone
She sighs as she remembers the summer. It had seemed like those wonderful months would continue forever, but eventually, summer ends. The end of August brought the end of Sara and Greg. Not that Sara wanted it to end. She still wears the engagement ring, the one with a sapphire, not a diamond, because Greg said it was different, like her, that the blue stone would remind her of those blue nights. She moved to Maine as soon as he told her it was over. It was as far as she could get from Vegas. She wonders if he ever thinks of her. If he does, she hopes he thinks of those nights near the lake, dancing to country music. She wonders if he still thinks of the black dress she wore to his birthday. He said it was his favorite. Does he think of looking at the stars, her head resting on his chest? Does he think of her faded jeans she wore camping?
September saw a month of tears
And thankin' God that you weren't here
To see me like that
But in a box beneath my bed
Is a letter that you never read
From three summers back
It's hard not to find it all a little bittersweet
And lookin' back on all of that, it's nice to believe
She's so glad he wasn't there for September. That was rock bottom for her. She would spend her nights in bed crying over him. She remembers something and walks into her bedroom, pulling a red shoebox out from under her bed. She opens it, and pictures of her and Greg fly out. Working a scene, making funny faces, eating ice cream. She smiles as the tears fall down. Her figures brush against a worn envelope and she pulls it out. Written in her chicken scratch handwriting is his name. It's a letter she wrote him so long ago, in the beginning of that fall. She never got the courage to send it. She looks back at the pictures, and can't help but laugh a little. It's so bittersweet, the happiness and the tears.
When you think Tim McGraw
I hope you think my favorite song
The one we danced to all night long
The moon like a spotlight on the lake
When you think happiness
I hope you think that little black dress
Think of my head on your chest
And my old faded blue jeans
When you think Tim McGraw
I hope you think of me
She sits in her car on his street and tries to work up the courage to put the letter on his front porch. She's back in Vegas for the first time in a few years, and laughs a little at how familiar everything is. She's about to open the door, but another car pulls into his driveway before she can. A perky, tall blonde with big blue eyes emerges. She pulls a set of keys out of her purse and unlocks the door. Of course he moved on. She shuts her eyes, trying to stop the rush of tears. With a burst of adrenaline, she gets out and places the letter on his doorstep. The perky blonde comes back out and stumbles over the letter. She picks it up as Sara drives away.
And I'm back for the first time since then
I'm standin' on your street
And there's a letter left on your doorstep
And the first thing that you'll read is
"Greg!" The blonde calls.
"Yes, Megan?" Greg emerges from the kitchen to see Megan standing in the hallway, looking confused as she holds a letter.
"This was on the doorstep. It has your name on it, but no stamps, no return address." He picks it up and walks into his office. He recognizes the handwriting immediately, the letter even has her scent. Lemon, a little perfume, and vanilla. He opens it slowly and begins to read.
When you think Tim McGraw
I hope you think my favorite song
Someday you'll turn your radio on
I hope it takes you back to that place
When you think happiness
I hope you think that little black dress
Think of my head on your chest
And my old faded blue jeans
When you think Tim McGraw
I hope you think of me
He's a grown man, so he wills himself not to cry. But he can't help himself. He does think of all of those things. He does think of those nights when his dam car broke down, he thinks of the dress she would never wear if it wasn't for him, he thinks of all of it. Now that he reads the letter, he also remembers her favorite song. "Tim McGraw" by Taylor Swift. He looks again. The letter is just the song lyrics. He reads them and almost laughs at how well the song fits the situation. He does a double take at one of the lines. "And I'm back for the first time since then". Sara's back in Vegas?