Chapter 24 #2
He turns off the engine, but he doesn’t exit the car. He just waits for me to say whatever’s on my mind.
“I wish it could be different,” I say, my lips thinning.
“Bit by bit,” he says, reaching across the Jeep and holding my hand. “Today, we’re having a day date.”
“We are. So, this is a date?”
He cocks a brow.
I smile, leaning across the console and cupping his jaw in my hand. I tug his face toward me and kiss him. Then I softly whisper, “Bit by bit.”
He smiles one of those smiles that feels like a gift—half full, content, easy. And something settles inside me.
Bit by bit.
That’s all I have to give him for now.
And he’s okay with it.
When we enter the diner an old man greets us—well, he greets Greyson–by name.
The place is old and quaint with booths along the windows and a bar countertop with built-in stools along the center of the room with a kitchen behind it.
Not a soul is in the place except the old man.
There are some noises in the kitchen, so there must be more people back there.
“Greyson! ’Bout time you came ’round here,” the man says, putting his hands on his hips. “I was fixin’ to send a search party out after your sorry self. You think I got time to wrastle up a search party? I’m tryna run a business out here.”
“Hey, Mo,” Greyson says, chuckling softly.
“And who do we have here?” Mo asks. “Wheweee aren’t you a beauty. What’s yer name, sweetheart? And blink twice if you’re here under duress.”
I blink—just for fun.
“That’s what I thought,” Mo says. “Heaven knows this ol’ grump couldn’t catch himself a looker like you without some sort of kidnappin’ involved. Well, find yerselves a seat and I’ll be right with ya.”
I smile. “I’m Hallie,” I tell Mo.
“Hallie, I’m Moses. But my friends call me Mo on account of the fact that Moses never did make it into the promised land.
I love my mammy but I sure don’t know what possessed her to name me after a man who lived on wafers and quail and never got the job done.
She couldah named me Joshua. Or Caleb. Those two made it in.
But no, I’m named after the stutterin’ man who didn’t. ”
I giggle.
Greyson picks up a menu off the booth table we’ve slid into.
“Yeah. Yeah. Go on and laugh.” Mo shakes his head.
“Anyway, don’t pay any mind to the menu.
It’s not always accurate. Today we’ve got grits.
Hot and creamy. Butter’s from the dairy down the road.
Biscuits are fresh. Gravy’s a family recipe.
I promise I don’t spit in it, but I can’t say much for my cook.
Take your chances on that. We’ve got all sorts of eggs.
And pancakes that are fluffier than a down pillow.
I got sandwiches too. Pulled pork. Hot chicken.
But you really ought to have the biscuits. What sounds good?”
“All of it,” I admit.
“You have to have his grits,” Greyson says. “Biscuits are pretty amazing too.”
“Darn right they’re amazing. What do ya think I’m runnin’ here, some half-measured establishment? People come out of their way to eat my biscuits.”
I laugh again. “Then, I’ll take some biscuits, grits and scrambled eggs, please,” I say.
“Same,” Greyson says. “Thanks, Mo.”
“Don’t you go thankin’ me and smilin’ as if you’re not the grumpiest son-of-a-gun this side of the Mississippi.”
“What did you do to him?” Mo asks me.
I just shrug. He’s right, though. Greyson has been smiling. I like the idea that I’m the reason. I like it way too much for my own good.
The food is better than I thought it would be, and I had high hopes.
We devour our lunch and then we leave a big tip.
Greyson insists on paying, saying, “Day date, remember?” Then we drive back to Waterford just in time for me to kiss him goodbye in the driveway and take off to pick Mia up from school.
When we get back to our house, Mia runs into her room to change out of her school clothes.
Mom asks me, “Where were you all day?”
I just say, “Out.”
“If I didn't know better, I'd say you were seeing someone.”
“Well, good thing you know better.”
I don’t love lying, but I’m not ready for nuclear-level intrusion. The CIA’s got nothing on my mom when she’s hot on the trail of some juicy tidbit of information about my private life.
Thankfully, Mia’s got baseball practice, so she has a snack and then we’re back out the door, free from my mom’s inquisitions.
The group of moms sits on the bleachers in a cluster. I sit just off to the side of them, close enough to not look as though I’m purposely avoiding them.
The kids are practicing batting. When Mia steps up to the plate, Greyson looks over at me and smiles.
“He’s definitely looking at you,” Chirsty, Whitney’s mom, says.
“Smiling too,” Tabitha’s mom says.
They’ve stopped talking among themselves and are collectively staring at me.
“We work together,” I supply, my voice intentionally void of emotion.
“Yes,” Luna’s mom says. “All those long hours together.”
“We work twenty-four hour shifts.”
“A woman in a man’s world,” Chirsty says.
I smile a thin-lipped smile, not sure what to say.
The crack of the ball on the bat draws all our attention away from their not-so-subtle poking.
Mia’s running the bases and the ball is sailing over the outfielders’ heads.
“Wow,” Kinsley’s mom says, seeming sincerely impressed.
“Thanks,” I say, not able to hide my smile when Mia runs home and gives Greyson a high five.