Chapter Twenty-One
Adrian
S liding out of my SUV, the gravel crunches below me and the cool air blows around me. It’s a little drier here since we’re further from the coast, but only about an hour and a half from Amada Beach.
Walking around the hood to her door, I give myself the same pep talk I’ve been trying to drill into my brain since I asked her to dinner. Since I made up my mind that I was going to bring her to this small hole in the wall, out in the middle of nowhere, and just hope she doesn’t think I’m planning to kidnap her or something crazy.
And considering I stopped at a rundown little diner in an almost ghost town, I know the picture it might be painting. Except this place is special to me.
When I stop outside of Blake’s door, she doesn’t look skeptical though. Just curious, like she knows I wouldn’t waste her time by driving her all the way out here.
I swing the door open and watch as she steps down. She’s taking in every detail of the area, from the three-quarters moon to the dirt parking lot to the colorful lights shining in from the small diner.
Our movements fall into step with each other, and after only a second of hesitation, I sling my arm around her shoulders and tuck her into me. The way she sways from unsure and doubtful to confident and at ease in a second, makes me want to get to know her better. It makes me want to find out what could make a naturally confident person like her feel as if she has to constantly question herself. It makes me want to spend the rest of my life making sure she never feels she has to again.
“Why here?” I look down at her, how small she looks against me, the way the moonlight illuminates her milky skin.
“It’s important to me,” I answer simply. She tilts her head in interest, not prying for more information yet.
The diner looks like it’s from the fifties, not in a Grease way or something similar, but like it was actually built over half a century ago and hasn’t been renovated once. Some of it—the kitchen and systems—has been, just not everything. The wear and tear of the booths, and the scratches on the tables, are from years of patrons coming in and out daily, not from lack of care. I’ve seen firsthand how well loved SunRay’s is.
As we scoot into a booth, I tell her, “My parents are nurses, and travel nursing was something they’d always wanted to do. But my mom got pregnant with me when she was only starting her career.” I ruefully shrug, not actually feeling guilty about it.
I’m really close with both of my parents, and I know they feel fulfilled in their careers despite having a child sooner than they expected. It doesn’t mean that we don’t tease each other about their accident , also known as myself.
Tilting her head, she asks, “You moved around a lot?”
I nod. “For a while, yeah. It was mostly when I was younger. My mom’s ten years younger than my dad, so she was really just starting her career when she found out she was pregnant. Travel nursing had been one of her goals, and he helped her make sure she could have it all.”
Her lips softly tug up the more I tell her, so I decide to just continue on my long winded explanation of why this place is one of my favorites in the world.
“Usually, both of my parents would get a contract somewhere and we’d all go for the summer or a half of a school year. If not, my dad usually stayed in Bakersfield with me and my mom left for a few weeks. But there were a few times when it was too great of an opportunity, like the more competitive hospitals, and it didn’t work with my schedule. So, I stayed with my godmother.”
She never married and doesn’t have any kids of her own, so I’ve always been treated as her surrogate son. Her three sisters have children of their own, and I know she spoils the hell out of them too. ‘It’s her responsibility as the fun aunt,’ she’d insist with a wink.
And honestly, I loved my childhood. Of course, I missed my parents when they were gone, but Maria would always take me to visit them if they were gone longer than two weeks, and they never missed a holiday or a birthday. I never felt unloved, not for a second. “Her family owns this place. They opened it in 1958.”
When I get to the point, suddenly understanding her need to over explain out of nerves, a new light reaches her eyes and she sits up a little straighter, taking the space in with a new perspective. I sit back and glance out the window, letting her eyes trail along the walls of photos and knick-knacks, wondering how long it’ll take her to realize…
She turns in her seat to look at the wall behind her and does a double take of the framed picture. Of me. As a senior in high school.
Yup, my godmother’s mother put my senior photo up on the wall in her diner. It’s embarrassing, but she’s done it for each of her grandkids and I love the hell out of her.
With the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her, Blake looks back to me. “That’s you!” She points to the photo.
Chuckling, I rub my hand down the back of my neck. “Yup, that’s me. Seventeen, a cocky little asshole, and counting down the days until graduation.”
Her eyes stay trained on seventeen-year-old me as she gently shakes her head. “No, I don’t believe you were an asshole for a second.”
I just shrug. I was a cocky little shit in the way most young boys are—even the ones that were kind of nerdy in the chess club and only found his physical strength when he turned sixteen. But I like to think that I was kind and tolerant, that I never picked on anyone. Never had a girlfriend that I wasn’t faithful to, but when I was single, I was single.
I wasn’t the worst kid, though I don’t think anyone would call me the best either.
Breaking up our conversation, an older woman with dark olive skin and silver hair sets two milkshakes on the table. “Adrian Ray, it’s been too damn long. Do you hear me?”
I look up at my grammy. Sunny Klein. Technically she’s my godmother’s mom but she’s always loved me harder than that. And I freaking adore her in return. I catch Blake’s head whipping back toward me, catching my middle name, the second half of the diner’s name.
Grammy’s tone is stern, but her gaze is affectionate. I learned a long time ago there’s not much this woman would get mad at me for. Sliding out of the booth, I tower almost a foot over her at six foot four but don’t get it twisted on who is in charge here. It sure as hell isn’t me.
“Come here, you old bat.” My tone is full of love, and she laughs as she half-heartedly swats at my arms that wrap around her. “I didn’t think you’d be here so late. That’s all.”
“You know this is my favorite time of the year.”
She means Halloween, and from a single glance around, you might guess it’s her favorite holiday. There are fake spiderwebs tacked up alongside plastic jack-o-lanterns and floating bats. She has tablecloths with a variety of patterns on almost every surface and different shaped lights hung around. One of her regulars does window murals, and this one is a coven of witches around a cauldron in a graveyard.
Christmas is my favorite time to visit, but you can count on a monthly theme despite what time of year it is.
Grammy’s wearing an apron with black cats printed all over and little candy corn clips throughout her wavy, gray hair. She’s getting to that point in life where it seems like there’s new indications of her age every time I see her—deeper lines around her eyes and fresh sunspots from her free time spent in her garden. In spite of that, she’s had one of the most youthful, loving souls for as long as I’ve been born.
“Yeah, I should’ve figured,” I smile down at her. “Is Pop here too?” My pop, Ray Klein, is where my mom got my middle name from. My mom’s dad and Ray have been best friends since they were five years old.
Snorting, she shakes her head and tries to push me back into my seat. “You know he can’t miss his evening shows.”
Looking at Blake, I explain, “Pop loves The Real Housewives . He watches the reruns almost every night.” She snorts and glances back toward Grammy, who is currently smiling like the cat that caught the canary.
“Hello, dear,” she interjects before I get the chance to introduce them. “Who are you?” The question is blunt but it’s just how she is, not her being rude.
Unsurprisingly, Blake just smiles wider. She doesn’t care about niceties—that’s why she loves Polly even if neither of them ever admits it.
“Hi, ma’am, I’m Blake. Adrian’s… uh…” She trails off, eyes flashing to me. I don’t try to fight the grin that pulls at my lips, even as Grammy’s eyes assess her then flit to me. She could’ve said friend, it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings even if I wish we were more. And as much as I like watching Blake flustered, I throw her a rope.
“My date,” I declare confidently. Blake’s eyes grow in surprise but she’s still smiling. And blushing. I’d never really been a fan of pink before she came along.
I just shrug implying, I gave you the chance first .
“Adrian Ray,” Grammy starts, “how long have you had a girlfriend? Do Cami and Maria know?”
“My mother and godmother,” I clarify to Blake. “And no”—looking back at my grandma—“because this is only our first real date. I’m in the process of courting.”
Blake snorts, loud. “Courting? What is this, a Jane Austen novel?”
Grammy cackles next to her. “Oh, I like you, girl. Don’t make it too easy on him.” She winks and Blake preens at the attention.
“Oh great, a mutiny is forming,” I mutter playfully.
“Just wait until your momma and Maria get their hands on her, then we can talk about a real mutiny.” She sets a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Any allergies?” Blake shakes her head. “Picky eater?”
“I don’t like mustard or turkey alternatives. Pig bacon and ground beef only.”
Grammy laughs and pats her head. “You are perfect. I’ll bring out some food for you two, trust me.” Blake nods, and I do too, liking the way that Blake trusts the old woman simply because she’s connected to me. Maybe Blake trusts me more than either of us have even realized.
Looking at me for a long time, with a small, smug smile that looks delicious—like something I’d love to get my own mouth on—I can see the wheels turning in her head. Finally, in a low voice, she leans forward on the table and asks, “Courting, huh?”
Pushing one of the milkshakes toward her, I scoot forward in the booth and tease, “You’re not a dumb girl, Blake. So don’t act like it.”
Her face flames and she nibbles on her bottom lip. The one that isn’t smirking anymore. Yet there’s still a soft vulnerability that rarely comes out when she says, “I’m not a glass half full type of person, Adrian.”
“I know that. But I’m willing to prove I’m someone you can put your trust into. I wouldn’t spend time with your family or bring you to meet my family if I was messing with you. If anything, please believe I have more respect for you than that.”
For some reason, that more than anything has brought Blake to a speechless state. She looks like she’d believe a starved great white shark wouldn’t bite her before she believed that statement. So it leaves a sour taste in my mouth when she impassively replies, “I believe you.”
I don’t push it, though. I’ll show Blake what I think of her, and what I think we could be together if she gave us a chance.
Both God and I know that she’s been the only thing on my mind recently, especially during those private moments late at night or during my morning showers. Except I don’t want only that with her.
Blake is so much more than a fling. Not to get ahead of myself, but she is easily wife material, and I’ve never met another woman I thought that about. And we’re both young. So I’m not in a rush to tie her down but I don’t want to wait too long for someone else to catch her attention either.
To my surprise, she’s the one to break the silence. “So, that’s your grammy,” Blake muses with a small smile. She’s looking at me again as if she’s seeing me in a whole new light. One she likes, I hope.
“That’s her,” I nod.
“I like her.”
“She likes you.”
With a smile, she takes a big slurp of her milkshake. “So, you’re not only close with your godmother—Maria—but her entire family.”
Taking a sip of my drink, I nod and tell her, “Yeah, I am. Even before I started staying with Maria while my parents were working, I’d always been treated the same as Grammy’s biological grandchildren. And that goes for her kids and my mom’s parents as well.”
“That’s how I feel about Bonnie, my mom’s best friend. She lives in the house behind us. I’m not very close with her kids anymore. They’re all older than me. So, you know how that goes…” She trails off with a sad shrug but doesn’t pause long enough for me to ask her about it. “Bonnie’s basically my second mom though, and her kids probably feel similarly about my parents.”
“I get that,” I tell her in comfort. “I’m not really close with my cousins either—Maria’s nieces and nephews, I mean. We’re close in age but we grew up all across California and Arizona, so we didn’t spend a lot of time together.”
Seeming to think through something, she takes another drink and looks out the window. A few seconds later, she asks, “Do you ever regret it?”
My brows furrow in confusion. “Regret what?” I ask with a shrug.
“Not trying harder, to be close with them. Now that you’re older.”
“Oh.” I’m a little taken back by her question. “I’ve never really thought about it like that. Maybe it was just the circumstances, but even if we had lived in the same city, there’s no real guarantee that we all would’ve been best friends. And I don’t think it would be too late to bridge that gap if any of us wanted to.”
“You… don’t want to?”
“I’ve just never thought about it,” I repeat with a shrug. “Not being close with someone doesn’t mean you’re on bad terms with them.”
“That’s a good way to look at it,” she mutters before focusing on her shake again.
“Do you regret it?” I ask, my tone gentle. “Not trying hard enough with Bonnie’s kids?”
She has a sad, helpless expression when her eyes find mine again. “Honestly? I think about it all the time, and I have no idea how I feel about it. It depends on the day, usually.”
As I take a second to find the right words for her, Grammy comes back with our food, setting a cheeseburger down in front of both of us and a basket full of chicken tenders and fries in the middle. There’s ranch, ketchup, barbecue, buffalo, and honey but no mustard. There’s no doubt Grammy will mark down which ones were used, in case Blake visits again.
I really hope she does.
“Thank you…” Blake trails off, realizing she doesn’t know what to call her. She looks at me, but I helplessly raise and drop my shoulders, knowing exactly what she’s going to tell Blake.
“Just Grammy, dear.” She leans over and pats her cheek. “Enjoy.”
Blake smiles as she watches her walk away, stopping at another table of regulars along the way. She picks up a chicken tender and dips it in the buffalo then the ranch before taking a bite. With a quiet hum of approval, she takes another bigger bite and does exactly what my Grammy told her to do.
After a few seconds of silence, I finally break it. “Hey, Blake?”
Pausing as she dips a tender into sauce, she looks up at me through her lashes and I’m momentarily struck by her lightening eyes, not for the first time. There are times, like now, when Blake looks at me like I could be exactly what she’s been in need of her whole life. I know because sometimes I catch myself feeling the same about her.
“Yeah?” It’s so quiet, I don’t know if I would’ve caught it without reading her lips.
“It’s good to be accountable, but not everything in life is your fault nor responsibility. So, maybe the real question isn’t ‘do you regret it?’ but do you have anything to regret in that situation?”
She looks at me with scrunched brows and a cute tilt to her head, and as the seconds tick by, I can see as she processes my words. Her shoulders straighten, eyes staring off in thought.
“I’ve never thought about it like that ,” she whispers. Without looking up from the tray of food, she admits, “I guess I just always assume I did something wrong…”
There’s a voice in the back of my mind telling me that this is more than just her estranged childhood friends, but I can’t fit the puzzle pieces together fully. “No one’s perfect, Storm Cloud, but you’ve got to be nicer to yourself.”
With a wry smile, she shrugs. “I’ll try.”
Biting my tongue—knowing better than to push this too far—I silently make a promise to myself to not be another person in Blake’s life that makes her feel as if she’s somehow forgettable, or worse, unwanted.