Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
ALLIE
Icould take you on one, if you’d like?
I hear the words, but I don’t know what he means, fingers gripping the flannel as I stare out into the fluttering flakes.
Slow crooning. Windshield wipers. Even the slightest whisper of flakes hitting glass becomes perceptible. Like time has stopped breathing.
“You mean… like a date?” I pause. “You and me?”
He nods once, hands still gripping the steering wheel, face calm and emotionless.
I open my mouth to refuse, then realize he’s not forcing me to say yes. No guilt trips. No manipulation.
Just a chance to see different.
I wet my lips, faithful to last night’s revelation.
“Yes.”
Simple. Done.
We drive past Stillwater Ski Resort, bustling with people, skis or snowboards thrown over shoulders. Children hold sleds, their laughter silent behind the truck’s glass.
When he parks in front of FarmCo Feed and Tack, I can’t help but laugh.
He looks sheepish but doesn’t make excuses, rounding the car quickly to get my door before I can do it myself.
“Careful,” he says, gripping my fingers as I step down onto shiny black pavement. Heat seeps through my gloves, gone all too quickly when he pulls away, offering his arm instead.
What would it be like if this were real? Not a pity date.
Staring up into his rugged face, though, all I read is calm peace that makes my shoulders drop and my body stop bracing.
The bell chimes on the door as we pass through, greeted on the other side by two orange hens. Hay and grain thread the air—sweet and pungent—as dust motes swirl with each step.
“Real live chickens,” I exclaim, smiling despite myself.
“Trudy and Ginger,” he grumbles like they’re old friends.
“Austin!” a soft voice calls from the corner. “What can I do you for?”
“Just looking today.”
An older woman with overalls and gray-streaked red hair pulled into a loose bun stands behind a cash register, agriculture posters and calendars lining the wall behind her. Her pale blue eyes dart between us, a tight smile pressing into her lips, like she’s trying to figure something out.
“Cindy, this is Allie. Allie, Cindy.”
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Got any of those chicks you keep promising me?” The big cowboy raises an eyebrow.
“Not the Buckeyes. Those won’t be in ‘till next month. But I’ve got Silver Penciled Plymouth Rocks and Rhode Island Reds.” She turns to me, nodding toward the door. “Like Trudy and Ginger.”
“Beautiful hens,” I say.
“Thank you.” She leads us to two large black plastic troughs filled with tiny chirping and scratching sounds.
My heart jumps into my throat as I peer into the wood chip lined containers, warmed with golden heat lamps.
Black and gray fluff balls dart around one, and the other’s filled with yellow chicks.
“Oh, they’re adorable,” I admire.
“May we?” Austin asks.
“Sure. Both are sturdy breeds that lay well,” she continues as Austin cups a gray and black one gently with his too-big, too-rough hands, depositing it gently into mine.
Sparks fly where flesh meets. I giggle, staring at the fluffy little ball of energy. “Adorable!”
“Plymouths too broody, and the Rhode Islands a mite aggressive for my Buckeyes. Better wait,” Austin says.
“True, but they lay better,” Cindy insists.
“Three eggs a week per hen’s enough for me,” he counters, helping me put the little guy back before handing me a yellow one.
“He’s soft as cotton candy,” I say, petting golden down and cooing. The inner spring about to explode relaxes. My shoulders drop, and my pulse slows. Then, I realize it. Life suddenly feels less catastrophic.
Austin stands back, arms folded over his chest. Not smiling, but face gentler.
“I’d take every last one of them if I had a place to put them,” I confess.
Warmth seeps behind his eyes. But he says nothing. Just watches, waits.
Afterward, in the truck I can’t stop smiling.
“That okay?” he asks, side-eyeing me.
“Okay? It was amazing. They’re so unbelievably cute. Oh my goodness.”
He nods, a pleased look on his face.
“Not what I expected, though,” I add. “In a good way.”
At the next stop, Five-Stop Burger Shop, we pull up to a spot to order, cab cozy from the heater.
“Staying warm enough?”
“Between my coat, flannel, and sweater, absolutely. In fact, mind helping me with this?” I ask, shrugging out of my purple puffy coat. He catches a sleeve, tugs gently, then throws it in the backseat as my eyes search the expansive menu.
“Where do I start?” I ask, stomach rumbling and shame rising. “Any salads … or you know, low cal stuff on the menu?”
“Low cal?” he squints. “That like SoCal?”
I giggle. “You’re funnier than you look, Cowboy.”
“Heard that a lot as a kid,” he delivers, stony-faced, making me snort.
“So, what does one order here?” I ask.
He shrugs.
A teen trudges up holding a notepad, black curls buried beneath a red beanie with the restaurant logo. “What’ll it be. Austin? The regular?”
He grunts, and the server scratches something on his notepad. “And for the lady?”
“I’ll have what he’s having,” I say before thinking, a deer in headlights with so many choices.
“In the summer, they roller skate,” Austin says, nodding toward the server as he disappears inside the diner.
I nod my approval. “Did I do okay ordering?”
Austin turns down the radio, no longer humming along to George Jones. “If you like cheeseburgers and fries.”
“That’s the entire menu,” I observe. “In about a million different configurations.”
“That work for you?”
My body tightens, food still a sore subject. But his eyes are soft, attentive. “Works for me.”
“Best burger joint this side of the Missouri,” he adds.
“So, you’re not partial as a local?”
“Probably am. But you’ll see,” he says with a wink.
My heart flutters.
Can’t do that, Allie.
My phone sits heavy in my purse. Still no word from Trevor. Still no attempt on my part to reach out.
“Have you heard anymore?” I ask.
“About?”
“Him?”
He shifts a little in his seat. “Spoke to Mack this morning. Caught him trying to hot wire the 4Runner after we left.” He shakes his head. “Did a night in the drunk tank.”
I shiver. “He must be so mad.”
“Least he’s alive,” Austin reminds gently.
I nod.
The teen returns with two big white bags striped with red and two large drinks. Austin places them between us on the console, waiting for me to start before he dives in.
We eat in silence, crunching perfectly crisp fries. I grab a small round of ketchup, opening the lid and dipping a golden spear.
Austin eyes me for a moment, like he’s got something to say.
“What? You don’t like ketchup?” I ask.
“Not that. But I’ve got a secret. Only if you promise to take it to the grave.”
“A secret?” I chuckle as he pulls the top from his vanilla malt shake.
“Better for fries,” he says, plunging one into the ice cream.
I scrunch my nose like I’m staring down a sacrilege.
“What?”
I shake my head. “Potatoes, salt, and vanilla? No thank you.”
“Your loss.” He dips another fry. Then, moans with satisfaction.
My core tightens, heat curling low. I need a distraction.
I grab a fry and give it a swirl. Sweet, crunch, and salt hit all at once. I moan, too.
He arches a thick black eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, settling back into the seat. “That’s amazing.”
The corners of his mouth flirt with tipping up, his face relaxed and kind. I could almost convince myself he’s enjoying this “date” with me. Though I tell myself it’s charity.
“I should really stop,” I say, taking another bite of my burger, savory and sweet with crispy onions and lettuce and thick, juicy tomato slices.
“Don’t do shoulds,” he counters. “At least, I try to avoid them.”
“Why?” I ask, wiping a napkin over my lips, and chewing slowly. Savoring one of the best burgers I’ve ever eaten.
“Life’s too short.”
So, I finish the burger and the fries without one sideways glance from him. Not one condescending smirk. Instead, he looks pleased.
“Thank you,” I say, leveling my gaze on him. “This was amazing.”
“Not done,” he says. “Unless you want us to be.”
Us. It hits harder than it should.
I swallow loudly. “Not done? But where else will we go?”
“You know what I like. Now, tell me what you enjoy?”
“What I enjoy?” My voice trails off, frowning in thought. “Pretty much everything.”
My patent answer to Trevor. Because we only ever did what he wanted anyway.
Austin doesn’t interject, hands relaxed in his lap. No impatience or pressure. As if my decision could take all night, and he’d be fine with it.
“Maybe this sounds kind of geeky and all, but I love cafes. Not that I could possibly eat or drink another thing right now. And knitting shops and music.” I furrow my brows, thinking hard. “Art stores and books.”
“Books.”
“Yeah, books.”
“Not geeky,” he says, stuffing empty trays back into bags before he shoves them into the garbage at the end of the restaurant parking lot. Our teen server waves from the distance. “Bye, Austin. See you soon.”
The cowboy tips his hat. “Till next time, Phoenix.”
As we drive, I observe, “You know everyone in this town.”
“Small towns,” he says.
“Ever get tired of them?”
“Get tired of the people sometimes,” he drawls. “But never the horses.”