27. Rose
rose
It’s impossible to focus on Delish’s menu with “That’s my girl” running through my head on a loop.
The first time Reed said it to me, I was wild with fever and thought I only imagined the soft possession in his voice.
But out on the river, I couldn’t mistake the heat in his gaze as he called me his.
Giddiness bubbles through me until I’m drunk on it, sitting in a booth across from him. It’s only compounded by the smile playing over his mouth as he watches me. His menu’s sitting on the table untouched, but I like to see all my options before deciding what I want.
“What?” he says after a minute. Probably because I keep glancing at him like I’m a researcher taking notes on a gorgeous but wily subject. Because: facts.
I hitch a shoulder. “People are going to stare if you keep doing that.”
Most of the tables are full tonight, but I don’t really care what people think. Let them stare.
His expression shifts, ruining the good thing I had going. “What am I doing?”
I rest my forearms on the table, leaning forward like we’re sharing secrets. “You’re smiling.”
The line of concern between his eyebrows eases. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Don’t ever stop.”
His smile shines out again, dazzling brighter than the sun reflecting on water. I don’t know why he kept it hidden for so long or why it’s back, but I hope he never locks it away again.
He slides his arms against mine on the table, cupping my elbows in a weirdly intimate gesture. I’ve never thought of my elbows as needing caressing, but his fingers smoothing over them now is intensely distracting.
Amy Ellison walks over, notebook out to take our order.
She and her wife, Jodi, have run the diner since I was in high school, when they made it the local hangout.
They welcome locals in like old friends and seem to magically know what’s going on in everyone’s lives, but with less poking and prodding than Fran or Nora use.
They’re in their mid-fifties and are quite possibly the coolest women I know.
Aside from the amazing fries they serve, Amy and Jodi are the reason this is my favorite restaurant.
Reed and I draw apart, leaving our fingers twined together between us on the table.
“Hey, you two.” Amy’s pleased expression makes me suspect she knows about our relationship.
Everyone in this diner probably does. But she seems genuinely happy for us, as opposed to other people who act like they expect us to do a trick whenever they come into the coffee shop.
The trick being PDA. “What can I get you tonight?”
“I’ll have a BLTA on wheat with fries and a side of ranch.” My order here might change, but the side of fries and ranch never will.
Reed passes her both our menus. “I’ll have a double bacon cheeseburger, hold the pickles.”
“You always get pickles.” He sometimes orders lunch for us at work, and I might have made note of his order. Complete with the topping that makes my stomach churn.
“Not anymore.”
“He’s just kidding,” I tell Amy. “He wants his usual.”
“I think I know what I want,” he says dryly.
Amy glances between the two of us, that curl of amusement back on her face. “I’ll get this to Jodi.”
She leaves to check on the next table, and I lean forward again so nobody overhears. “I don’t want you to change what you eat because of me. I’m going to go into the back and demand Jodi add a whole jar of pickles to your burger.”
He slides his hands over both of mine, clasping them tightly to make sure I don’t. “You put twenty feet between yourself and an open jar of pickles at the craft fair. I want to be closer than that to you tonight.”
Delight shudders through me at that prospect. But how many times have I been reminded that to hold onto a guy, I need to keep him happy? That includes not making waves. Like getting him to change his favorite meal because of a little deep-seated aversion to all things pickled.
“You love pickles.” It sounds ridiculous when I say it like that. Maybe I am overreacting. Or he is by avoiding all traces of the food. Maybe we’re both doing too much.
He huffs a breath. “I don’t love them, Rose.” He smooths his thumbs over the backs of my hands, soothing the alarm roiling through me. “Not getting pickles on a burger is not a sacrifice. You never should have been made to believe it was.”
I want to argue, but for the first time, I really hear those voices clamoring in my head.
Be sweet and agreeable. Don’t be contradictory.
Be the perfect person. If a friend came to me for advice—if Jovie came to me—would I tell her the same thing?
Or would I tell her to speak up for herself and not bend to everyone else’s wishes?
I relax against the vinyl cushion, the fight draining out of me even as heat rises to my cheeks. “I might have reacted too strongly. It’s sweet of you to avoid them. Even if you really don’t have to.”
“I appreciate that you care about my preferences. But let me care about yours, too.”
I nod, wanting to bask in this man’s caretaking. Illness, emotions, unfounded fears based on years of parental advice—he handles it all. “Deal.”
“The Sunshine Small Business Society needs to give out an award for Best Fries in Town.” I dip my last golden fry in the little pot my ranch came in.
I’ve almost wiped it clean, but there’s enough for one more bite.
Mmm. I close my eyes and savor the salty goodness.
I manage not to lick the grease off my fingers, but only because I’m a lady like that.
Well. I might lick one finger. They’re really good fries.
“I don’t want to think about the Society tonight,” Reed grumbles. He’s demolished his meal, too, nothing but a few stray sesame seeds left on his plate.
“They do good things for businesses in town.” Which he would know if he gave them half a chance.
Someone swings by to invite him to meetings every other month.
Whether it’s Maureen Krause or Hope McBride or Grant Irwin, Reed shuts them all down.
“They’re sweet, even if they can be a little annoying sometimes. ”
“Did someone call my name?” Nathan slides into the booth next to me, slinging one arm over my shoulders. From another man, I might find his default level of flirting and physical touch off-putting, but Nathan gives off too many sweetheart vibes to make my danger alarms ring.
Also, his brother would knock him to the ground if I showed the slightest sign of discomfort, so there’s that.
Reed’s even more disgruntled by the third wheel showing up to our table than he was the mention of the small business association. The smiles he was flashing at me have dried up, replaced by a world-class frown aimed at his brother. Nathan, of course, takes it in stride.
“Did I walk in on a hot date?” he asks.
“Yes.” Reed shoots him the kind of death glare that has wanna-be complainers changing their tune in the coffee shop. I’ve seen more than one man decide that, actually, he didn’t have a problem with his order after asking to see the manager and Reed walked out.
“Shouldn’t you be on a date right now?” I tease.
The medic/firefighter seems like he’d be a great catch—he’s easygoing and fun, and extroverted enough to make anything a mini party.
He’s also extremely cute, with dark hair and eyes like Reed’s, an impressive physique, and colorful tattoos running down both arms.
Personally, I prefer bearded gargoyles, but I’m sure there’s someone out there for Nathan.
His expression brightens. “I’m open to any and all set-ups.”
I’ve struggled to make new friends since Brianna moved away.
Lucy’s out of the question, obviously. I’d introduce him to Cassie, but I’m afraid that would put me on Ada and Isabel’s bad side, as hard as they’re pushing for her to meet Luke.
I don’t want to know what those women would do to seek revenge for tampering with their matchmaking plans.
“I have this delightful friend named Fran,” I tell him.
Reed barks a laugh, making something pleasant twist in my stomach. I’ve heard him laugh so rarely, I feel like I’ve won a special prize. I need more of these laugh-trophies. I want to line my shelves with them.
“I couldn’t handle a woman like Fran,” Nathan says. “She’s hot sauce, and I’m just bland mayonnaise.”
The forty-year age gap might contribute, too, but he’s too sweet to mention it.
“I don’t think anybody’s ever called you bland.”
He beams. “That’s how I want you to talk me up to your friends. Not bland.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Reed asks.
Nathan squeezes me closer, his hand still on my shoulder, his head tilting to rest against mine. “And miss out on this time with my future sister-in-law?”
Reed growls. He legitimately makes the growly sound in the back of his throat that animals do when they’re giving you one last warning before they go feral.
I consider myself a feminist and believe in equal rights.
But that protective, possessive sound does something visceral to me.
My insides turn into honey, heat radiating through me like a furnace cranked to high.
Or maybe that was Nathan calling me his future sister-in-law.
Probably both tangled up at once. Either way, I’m a mess over it.
Nathan smirks in the face of danger. “Like shooting fish in a barrel. I’d better leave while I’m ahead.”
“While you still have a head,” Reed mutters.
Nathan slides out of the booth, waving in a flourish before taking off. Amy comes by to take our plates and leave our check. Reed gives her his card before I can open my purse, meeting my frown with one of his own. A soft one, but I get the message.
“It sure has been fun to see Perk Me Up at the concerts in the park,” she tells us, tapping his card on a handheld reader. “It’s great to see the coffee shop getting involved in more community events.”
I’ll just go ahead and add Amy and Jodi Ellison to my mental tally of Sunshine Small Business Society members.
“That’s all Rose.” Reed’s gaze warms.
“Then you do good work. The pair of you. You’ve revitalized that business, and as someone who knows from experience, that’s not an easy thing. Well done.” She knocks on the tabletop before walking away.
On the drive home, all I can think about is changing into something with a forgiving waistband.
I’m slightly overstuffed from dinner, and tired from an afternoon in the sun at the riverside.
But I’ve had the best day. It’d be even better if we ended it cuddled on the couch watching a movie.
I’m about to suggest it when Reed breaks the silence.
“Do you ever think of finding a better place to work?” he asks.
I still, the warm cozies that had been swirling inside me fluttering to a halt. “What do you mean?”
“You’re the one Amy was praising, Rose. You come up with our menus.
You’ve been behind all the big changes in the shop.
You’re the only reason we’re doing the concert series.
It’s all you.” He extends then flexes his fingers on the steering wheel.
“I don’t understand why you’re working there in the first place.
Don’t you ever think you’re wasting your talents just serving coffee? ”
Oh. I’ve been swimming in my parents’ criticism for so long, I’m like that frog in the pot of soup that keeps getting hotter and hotter. But when the criticism comes from Reed? My whole body scalds at once.
He keeps turning to me, waiting for a response, but I don’t say anything. I’m right on the edge of crying, and if I make any sudden movements, I’ll fall.
“I don’t get it, Rose,” he says when he stops in front of my house. “You could make a change if you wanted to. You could do so much better than this—you could do anything. Why stay there?”
It’s my parents’ words in Reed’s voice. I can’t describe how much I hate it. The one thing I’ve fully claimed for myself simply because I enjoy it, and it’s not good enough. I’ve managed to stop caring what they think about it, but Reed joining in their criticism lands like a sucker punch.
“You’re the one who doesn’t like working in the coffee shop.” My voice betrays me by cracking, but I get the words out. “I love it.”
He sits there stunned like I said something revolutionary. I don’t know how it could have been anything other than obvious, but apparently it was.
I gather my purse and open the car door. “I’ll see you later.”
His mouth drops open, but he doesn’t argue. I rush up the walkway, hoping against hope he doesn’t follow me to ask more questions. He obeys my unspoken request and doesn’t get out, but he stays at the curb until I’ve closed myself in my house.
I flip on the lights and lean back against the door.
After saying so often that my wants and needs are important, Reed sounded exactly like my parents tonight.
Whether he meant to or not, the message was the same—I can’t be trusted to make my own choices.
Like what I want isn’t good enough. “You could make a change if you wanted to.”
Just do something different. Just try something else. Just be someone other than who I am.
Stormy strolls down the stairs, looping once around my ankles before slinking away to rub against the two-foot-tall abstract iron horse sculpture standing next to the entry table. Ugh. This house is full of horses, cows, and donkeys.
I stare at the vaguely horse-shaped iron loops, a decision forming in my mind. “Your wants and needs are valid.” And it’s long past time I made a change.
I go out to the garage to get a cardboard box and start packing my parents’ western decor.