Chapter 12
TWELVE
LUCAS
After taking Anabelle home, my mind circles, like a dog chasing its tail. She says she wants to be friends, but I’m not sure I can handle that. Stealing my food should have annoyed me, but it amused me instead. And for the first time in a long time, I’ve been happy.
But I know it won’t last. Because good things disappear in my life. My dad? Gone. All my previous relationships? Ghosted. My dream career? Down the toilet. Why would this be any different?
When I went to bed that night, I tossed and turned. The woman tortured me all night. I should keep my distance, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t. It’s been two days, and I finally crack this morning after physical therapy.
Me: How about we go to that nice restaurant you were talking about?
Me: Only as friends, of course. You available tonight?
Anabelle: I’ll see if my mom can watch Nolan.
I refrain from pumping my fist into the air like my team scored.
Me: Great. I’ll pick you up for our non-date at six.
Hadley’s seems to be the place to take a woman in this town, and I haven’t been yet. True to my word, I pick her up on time.
When she opens the door, my breath is stolen from me.
She’s in a teal sleeveless dress with a full skirt that reminds me of something a 1960s housewife would vacuum the carpet in—in high heels, nonetheless, which she’s wearing. Her lips are bright pink again, and she’s wearing eyeliner.
Is it just me, or does she seem a bit dressy for a non-date? I shrug. Maybe she had an event earlier. Who says this is for me?
The truth is, I’m not exactly in jeans and a ratty t-shirt myself. I’m wearing a white collared shirt, a few buttons undone—the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of black slacks.
She walks past me, turning to lock the door, and a floral perfume hits me. “You know, friends would have met at the restaurant.”
“True friends know that carpooling is better for the environment,” I counter as we walk to the car. I step in front of her so she can’t open the door herself.
“Oh, you open doors for me on a non-date?”
I scoff. “I’m still a gentleman. What do you take me for?”
She laughs, and I can’t help but crack a smile. I should take her seriously when she says she wants to stay friends. I have my own reasons to keep space between us. But she’s so fun to tease, and she doesn’t keep her own boundaries anyway.
I take the short drive to Hadley’s as she updates me on Nolan and his soccer team, since I missed their last game due to a Forge meeting I had to attend. When we get to the restaurant, I open her door for her again. Surprisingly, she didn’t get out before I could.
As soon as we enter, a brunette woman’s face lights up. “Anabelle!” Her gaze slides over to me and then back. “Who’s this?” She raises her eyebrows at Anabelle like this is a big deal.
“Hey, Alexis. I didn’t know you were in town!” Anabelle turns to me. “This is my friend Lucas.”
Recognition spreads over her face. “Oh, Lucas Hensley. The soccer player, right?”
I have to ask myself, does she know me from Maple Creek gossip or from ESPN?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” I shake her hand.
“Oh! He has good manners, too,” she says to Anabelle.
Not typically. But I’m working on it.
“We’re just friends,” Anabelle supplies.
Right. Let’s clarify that.
“Okay.” Alexis grabs a few menus.
I clear my throat.
“Come on, guys. I can seat you tonight. I’ll show you my favorite spot. There’s a great view of the restaurant from here, and it’s cozy so you aren’t interrupted.”
This woman is clearly not your run-of-the-mill hostess. She’s dressed in Gucci with jewelry from Tiffany’s. “Are you from here, Alexis?” I ask.
“Yes, born and raised. My husband and I are back and forth from LA to Maple Creek.”
This rings a bell. “Oh, you’re married to Owen Hadley.”
“You got it,” she says, leading us up to a corner booth. “Don’t get too cozy, y’all. We wouldn’t want you complicating your ‘friendship.’”
Anabelle rolls her eyes.
“I saw that,” Alexis says, playfully swatting her on the arm before heading back to the hostess stand. She’d probably been checking in on the restaurant and then saw us.
Anabelle settles in the corner booth, which is too small to sit with too much space between us.
There are two chairs facing us, but then neither of us would get the view of the restaurant.
At least I tell myself that as I slide in next to her, breathing in her perfume, something that makes my insides do backflips.
A young girl in all black and a blonde ponytail comes up to us. “You two are the cutest couple! I know you probably want to order, but I had to tell you that.”
Best tactic in this situation? Pretend she asked the normal questions. “Water with lemon for me. And bring me this craft beer.” I point to one on the menu.
“Can I have your lemonade?” Anabelle turns to me. “It’s really good. They make it homemade here.”
“Have you been here before?” the server asks me.
“No.”
“Okay, Hadley’s is a little bit unique. Everything here is fresh farm to table.”
I grunt my approval.
“I’ll give you a moment to look over your menus,” she says before leaving.
“You do that a lot?”
“Huh?” I ask.
“You’re always grunting.”
“Why use words when you don’t need to?”
She sighs like this is exhausting. “Because the English language is so full of beautiful words.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“It’s too much work sometimes,” I admit.
“I can’t see how you might feel that way.
I always feel like I’m bursting with so many things to say.
” She says it with this passion in her voice that draws me in like a dog on one of those retractable leashes.
She probably doesn’t know she’s doing it, but it’s like she’s the master and I’m the loyal hound waiting for her command.
“I’ve noticed.”
She gets this offended look on her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You can unwad your panties. It’s not a bad thing, sweetheart.”
“Excuse me! My panties are not wadded. I got the kind that don’t give wedgies.”
My mind turns impossibly blank.
She slaps her hands over her mouth like she can’t believe she just admitted that in a crowded restaurant on a higher-than-normal volume.
More than a few people are looking at us now.
This non-date is going swimmingly.
“So, this is the Lucas Hensley?”
I look up, and the guy from some of my favorite action films is standing in front of us.
“Hey, Owen!” Anabelle says.
“Alexis says you guys are just friends. But that’s not what I’ve heard,” Owen says in a teasing voice.
“You’ve been around Mrs. Wheaton too many times,” Anabelle states.
His expression softens from the joking one before. “We only want to see you happy.”
“You don’t need to pity me. I’m already happy.”
He looks between us and nods. “Hm. I can see that.”
“You’re the worst!” Anabelle scolds.
Owen laughs and waves as he steps away. “I’ll be sure to send you a wedding gift.”
“We’re just friends, Owen!” she calls.
He puts a finger to his lips and gestures around to the people trying to eat. But it’s a joke really because we’re their entertainment for the night. We’re hardly disturbing them. In fact, the guy two tables down thought it was so funny he decided to film the entire thing.
I shoot him a look. Not a fan.
He lowers his phone but keeps smirking like we’re the pre-dinner entertainment.
Great.
The server comes back with our drinks, saving the day. Because now I can focus on my water and pretend none of that happened.
“Sorry, we’re still not ready to order,” Anabelle says. “We were a little distracted.” She laughs nervously.
“That’s fine,” the server says in her bubbly voice. “Take all the time you need.”
She twists away rapidly, and the tray she has tucked under her arm knocks into my beer, dumping it forcefully into my lap.
Her eyes go wide with shock and horror. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll get this cleaned up right away.” She could be training for a marathon with how fast she disappeared into the kitchen.
“Let me help.” Anabelle takes the napkin from her silverware and starts wiping down my lap before freezing over me midair. “On second thought. Maybe you should do this part.”
I grunt my agreement. Could this night get any more awkward?
The server is back now with a stack of napkins like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “I’m so sorry. Mr. Hadley has agreed to comp your dinner tonight.”
“We’ll take it to go,” I say.