Chapter Twenty-Three
The hostess comes to Cash’s side and slides glasses of water on to the table. She gives Cash a playful smile and walks away, swinging her hips. If I were a different girl, it would bother me that Wyatt watches her go, but all I can truly notice is that Cash keeps his eyes on mine.
“I didn’t know you worked here.” I smile, but it’s forced.
“Yeah.” He frowns and looks sideways at Wyatt. “I do, sometimes. Can I take your order?”
I furrow my brow at him. He’s acting cold – far from a guy who supposedly wanted to talk to me so badly.
“Oh, hey, man. We met at the market, right?” Wyatt asks cheerfully.
But Cash is all bite. “Yep.” He stares at his notepad. “What can I get you?”
“How long have you worked here?” I try, still bemused, and curious how he’s managed it alongside helping me. He said his mom was pushing for him to get a job outside of rodeo, but he was so laissez-faire about it all.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you.” He lets out a quick sigh. “I used to work here and still pick up shifts occasionally. Took one tonight since we aren’t picking.”
Wyatt’s gaze darts between me and Cash, suddenly interested in the conversation between us.
“Right,” I say.
“Would you like to order now?” Cash raises his eyes expectantly, like I’m annoying him to the ends of the earth. The look makes my heart sink. This is not the Cash who stood against me, half dressed, in the barn the other night, or even the one who was desperate to chase after me and explain.
Wyatt chimes in, “One large pepperoni pizza.” He tips his head to me. “You good with that?”
I nod. I’ll take pepperoni any day, but I prefer Hawaiian with fresh jalapenos and honey.
“And two Sprites,” Wyatt finishes.
Cash scratches our order down on his pad and walks away.
Before Wyatt can ask anything about Cash, I turn to him and ask, “So, are you still in touch with any of the old track team?”
Wyatt and I talk about mutual acquaintances and where they’re going to school for a few minutes, but the conversation fizzles out quickly.
I’m too distracted. I tuck my hands under my thighs, and the slick plastic finish squeaks as I shift my weight.
I look around for Cash. When I don’t see him, I succumb to my curiosity and excuse myself to the restroom.
I make my way to the opposite side of the restaurant, where the restrooms are in the same hallway as the kitchen.
I peek round the corner and spot Cash standing by a large wood-fired oven, talking to a cook.
He catches me spying. I tuck into the hall and hear him tell the cook he’ll talk to him later.
“What’s up?” He folds his arms in front of him and leans against the doorframe. “Coming to check on your order?”
I scowl at him. “What’s your problem all of a sudden? Why are you being so rude?”
“I don’t have a problem. Are you having a good time on your date?” He uncrosses his arms, failing to disguise the disdain in his voice.
My nostrils flare. “Cash.”
He gestures to move past me.
I block his path. “You do have a problem.”
“Nope. All good here.” His face is expressionless.
I grit my teeth and bite my tongue to keep from making a scene. I’d really like to yell at him right now, tell him he has no right to be weird with me when he’s the one who put me in a terrible position with his girlfriend.
“Please,” he says, a firm hand on my shoulder asking me to move. “I have two Sprites to get.”
My face falls, and it breaks his resolve for a moment.
“You even want a Sprite?”
I shake my head. I don’t find a guy ordering for me endearing. “Can you get me a lemonade instead?”
His eyes soften a bit. “Sure.”
I spend a few minutes in the bathroom calming down and gathering my thoughts, and then sit back down with Wyatt.
My lemonade is waiting for me – and it’s not just lemonade.
It’s lavender lemonade, my favourite, with two maraschino cherries floating on top, their stems stuck together.
In spite of myself, I feel my heart ache.
“I’m sorry.” Wyatt frowns. “He brought us the wrong drinks. Not sure what it is, some sort of flowery lemonade. I’ll ask him get us Sprites.”
“No, this is great.” I smile down at the cherries.
The pizza is good, especially with a drizzle of honey on top – even if this one tastes like it’s got corn syrup as a filler.
I make a mental note to check in with the owner about buying my honey for the tables.
Wyatt laughs, grimacing, and tells me the honey is only for the crust. I don’t respond, and change the subject to his freshman year in college.
Letting him talk about himself is far easier than sharing anything more about myself, like how much I like honey.
I don’t get the impression he’d understand.
Cash checks in on us only when we’re finished, and Wyatt gives him a meagre tip. I look away awkwardly, and agree to go on to the arcade. I try to convince myself this is for the best. Wyatt likes me. And, clearly, nothing is going to happen with Cash.
I start with my favourite video game, Ms Pacman, while Wyatt plays Donkey Kong next to me. We whoop and holler at the games, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s like being a carefree kid again.
After several more rounds, we end up at pinball. I have my hands on the ball launcher when Wyatt’s arms wrap round mine. He pushes his chest against my back and covers my hand with his.
“Here,” he says, his chin brushing over my hair.
“Do it like this.” He pulls the launcher hard and fast. I take a slow breath and allow him to stand with me.
His grip on my hand is a little tight, but his warm chest feels nice against my back.
His long, muscular arms holding me feel safer than I thought they would.
I slap my hand against the flipper buttons on each side, even though the ball isn’t even close to the hole.
“Patience, Dahl,” he says, and lands a sweet peck on my cheek.
This time the nickname on his lips doesn’t feel so cringy, especially when paired with a kiss that feels as nice as this one.
Maybe I’ve been too critical. He probably ordered for me to make an effort on our first date, and it doesn’t exactly matter if he doesn’t have a sweet tooth. Wyatt is nice, and seriously cute.
I tilt my head up and the side of his mouth curls, telling me he liked the kiss too. “You’re adorable,” he whispers slowly on the edge of my ear. His breath tickles and in my moment of distraction, the ball slips between the flippers.
“Should we try again?” I ask, stuffing a hand in my pocket for a coin.
“Definitely.”
Cash comes into sight through the door between us.
He stops dead in his tracks, noticing Wyatt’s body so close to mine with his hands round my waist, and time slows.
The beads strung in the doorway do nothing to conceal him, frozen there with dirty dishes perched on his arm.
Rather than zero emotion like before, he looks crestfallen.
I part my lips, wanting to say something, but I’m too stunned. The heat of his stare is unwavering. What does he want from me? Guys think girls are confusing and complicated, but they’re no easier to understand.
Cash walks away before Wyatt turns to discover what’s caught my eye.
It’s fine, I tell myself. Cash has no right to look upset. I should enjoy Wyatt’s company now. I should, I really should, but my confused heart is tugged in Cash’s direction.
After a couple more rounds of pinball, and my favourite game, Skee-ball, Wyatt offers to get us gelato. I ask him to get me pistachio, but if they don’t have it then a fruity flavour. Meanwhile, I try to get the Skee-ball in the ten-thousand-point hole.
Wyatt comes back with two heaped waffle cones.
“Sorry, no pistachio today. This is Amarena,” he says.
“What’s that?” I ask, taking the cone.
Wyatt smirks knowingly. “Sour cherry.”
“No way!” I beam. That was sweet of him. “They’ve never had this flavour before.”
Wyatt guides us to a courtyard outside full of large trees with low swooping branches.
The warm air is full of fresh scents from the trees and flowers, and I take a deep breath, pulling it all in.
The twinkle lights hanging from the trees cut through the black night sky.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t romantic.
We sit on a bench and Wyatt slyly takes a lick of my gelato.
“Hey!” I jest, elbowing him in the side.
“Damn, that’s good. I asked where they get the cherries for that flavour.
” He licks a drip of stracciatella gelato off his cone and takes a small bite off the top.
With a full mouth he says, “They use preserved cherries from Italy. The girl behind the counter is the owner’s daughter, and I told her that I know someone who grows sour cherries locally. ”
“You did?” I’m touched.
“Yeah. She said it would be great if they could get them from you because importing the authentic ones is pretty expensive.”
I study Wyatt, his face full of joy. “Thank you for doing that,” I say.
He points at my cone. “Better eat before it melts away.”
I take several long licks of the creamy, slightly sour and very decadent treat.
“Good?” he asks.
“Very. Thank you.”
“So, that guy – our waiter. He picks cherries with you?”
I swallow. “Yeah. He started helping because he needed something to do while healing from a concussion.” I pause to chew a big chunk of cherry. “Remember at the rodeo, when the ambulance came? That was him. He got kicked in the head.”
“Hmm.” Wyatt mumbles into his gelato, and it sounds an awful lot like he says, “Cowboys aren’t the smartest bunch.”
I ignore the comment because Cash is being a jerk and I don’t really care right now. I finish my gelato, down to every last bite of the cone, and Wyatt hands me a napkin to wipe my fingers. Then he wraps an arm over my shoulder.