Chapter 13
Andi
Shit shit shit shit shit. Why did I have to ask him about being lonely? He didn’t need to know how much I remember about…every damn thing about our time together.
I don’t want to sit back down but I have no choice, what with my knees melting out from under me. From excitement? Disappointment? Relief? I don’t have a clue.
Unexpected tears press at the back of my eyes. What kind of weak-ass bullshit is this? Gram would be bellowing at me to get back up. Assume defensive position.
I can handle almost any situation when I know what the goal is.
What’s my fucking goal here? My body and my brain are at war. My softer feelings have chosen a really inconvenient time to make an appearance.
“You okay?” He’s back in his seat across from me, leaning forward as if to catch me if my pathetic ass faints.
It’s hard to think when he’s looking at me like that, his brown eyes worried, his forehead crinkled in concern.
“I’m just…realizing how long it’s been since I ate. Not sure if I had lunch.” It’s true; I’ve been buried in paperwork since my morning meetings ended. But also…I shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed that he said “friend.” Aside from a fleeting thought every now and then that maybe he was flirting, I’ve had no clear sign he’s attracted to me. At least not to my regular, everyday self. And dammit, why do I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t want us to be attracted to each other. It’s good that he’s respected my wishes and not pressured me.
But here I am, my stupid lust unrequited. Just me silently ogling his beautiful body, remembering how he’d felt and looked naked against me. It’s just been me, swooning over how good he is with young people, approving how serious and respectful he was at volunteer training, and eating up his gentle teasing when he runs on the track with me. Just me, silently crushing on him like a damn teenager.
“If you wanna remedy that, you’ve got a willing dinner partner right here. If you want.” His mouth tilts up at one corner but his dimple is nowhere in sight. His eyes are guarded.
You know what, why the hell not? I’ve gotta eat. “Have you been to Woollybooger’s? The roadhouse?” I’ve had a powerful craving for barbecue lately, and Woollybooger’s has the best.
“Heard about it. Was thinking about trying it this weekend.” He leans back, his shoulders relaxing a fraction.
“Wanna follow me out there?” I have lost my damn mind. My mouth just keeps…saying things.
There’s that dimple again. His smile is slow, and sweet. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
Oh, my heart is in trouble from this one.
That’s a first. And it totally sucks.
I retrieve my purse, lock my office, and tell Pattie and the nighttime receptionist relieving her to be careful and have a good weekend. Do my usual visual sweep of the parking lot as we walk out. Check under my car and in the back seat. Buckle in and lead the way to the roadhouse.
This is all right. It’s nothing but dinner. If tonight goes well, I’ll have a single friend to do stuff with again.
I flip on my turn signal and make sure Kevin stays with me. I’m not sure I like having a man follow me. I’m not sure I don’t. My stomach and brain are in an uproar and Gram is yelling and shaking her fists in my head.
Calm down, Gram; I’m not gonna marry him. It’s just a platonic dinner. Guys are fine as friends. It’s only romantic relationships I need to avoid. I mean, sometimes they seem to work okay for other people. Rose and July and their adoring partners have put a chink in my belief that romance is always doomed to fail. Not that this with Kevin is romantic.
Anyway, would I ever be able to set aside everything I’ve seen and everything I know about my own family history and all of Gram’s training and everybody I’ve ever worked with and take a chance, if it were? Unlikely.
I’m not superstitious, not really. I don’t think Gram meant it literally when she said the Salazar women are cursed. I just think she believed we’d be better off without men. So she was preparing me for that. Making sure I’d know I could handle that. And thrive.
Have I thrived, though?
I’m still debating that as we park side by side in Woollybooger’s gravel lot at the edge of town. It’s not full yet, but it will be soon, with Friday night happy hour. It’s already noisy as we make our way to a booth in the far corner. I slide in and he sits across from me. For a second I flash on Rose and Angus and their inability to sit on opposite sides of a booth.
Kevin and I will never have a Rose-and-Angus-level relationship. That thought brings a wave of…wistfulness? Regret? Nah, why would it? That would be silly.
I’m thinking too much. I just need to chill and enjoy dinner with my new friend.
It smells different in here—not as good as usual—but I’m so hungry I don’t even care. If I don’t eat something soon I might die. It’s probably rude of me to immediately bury myself in the menu, but I’m not sure how to open a conversation with Kevin tonight anyway, so.
“How y’all doing? What can I get you to drink?” Our server is a past client. She pretends not to know me and I take my cue from her.
Kevin orders a local beer. I don’t really want anything but food, so I go with water and immediately point to the pulled-pork meal on the menu before she can leave. Kevin proceeds to order the exact same meal he’d likened me to when we were naked in his bed. Minus the pumpkin pie.
I don’t think he hears my stupid dreamy little sigh. I hope not.
Once our server’s gone, he faces me and looks me square in the eye. “So.” He folds his hands on the table, his long, beautifully shaped fingers reminding me of how gentle his touch can be. How insistent. How much good he can do a body with those hands.
“So.” Another little sigh escapes with the word. This would be a lot easier if I could stop thinking about taking him to bed.
***
Kevin
I was not expecting her to hide behind the menu like that. She’s usually fearless. Now she mirrors my hands-clasped position, takes a deep breath…and stays silent.
A million thoughts and fears and wishes stream through my brain. She’s going to say she’s changed her mind about dating me. Or, she’s already deciding this is a mistake and she’s sorry she came. Or she’s—
“I don’t usually have dinner one-on-one with my guy friends.”
I’m sure she means nothing special by it, but my heart leaps at her words anyway.
She tips her head. “But I guess I don’t have one-on-one dinner with men in any capacity, really. Dates or anything. My work tends to scare people off. Maybe they think I hate all men. I don’t know. People are weird. But also, the women in my family have a history of choosing…losers.” She taps her fingertips on the table, pressing her lips together. “So my grandma raised me to not need or want a partner. Another friend would be nice though.”
Well. That was a lot. But it’s pretty cool that she just laid it all out there, instead of making me wonder. And I can lighten the situation for her so she doesn’t spend the evening with that little furrow between her brows. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. First you have to pass the friendship suitability quiz.”
She arches one brow and looks at me sideways, but she’s smirking now instead of looking unsure, so yay, me.
“Eleven questions. Number one: Did your family car have a name when you were growing up?”
Her answer is prompt. “Rusty. Rusty Bucketobolts. But I think Gram might’ve had some other names for it she didn’t want to say in front of me.”
I nod. “Number two: most embarrassing middle school incident.”
That sideways look is back. “Dude, you are pushing the boundaries of both privacy and friendship here. But it would have to be when I got caught pulling the fire alarm because it was too pretty a day to stay inside. My grandma made me bake cookies for every teacher and staff member in the building and deliver them personally with handwritten notes of apology.”
I wince in sympathy, manage not to laugh, and lead her through nine more increasingly silly questions I make up on the spot. Then she makes me answer them all too, because “this friendship audition thing works both ways.”
I ask her about growing up in Galway, and she asks me about growing up in Nebraska. Our food comes and we talk through the meal. She tears into her barbecue like she hasn’t eaten in years, but then after three bites, pushes her basket away.
“Full already?” I’m enjoying my steak, wondering if she remembers me telling her this is my favorite meal, but she just looks puzzled.
“Yeah. Weird, huh? I was starving and now I’m stuffed.” She shrugs. “Oh well. Leftovers for tomorrow.”
We talk about our families. I tell her about my sisters and my brother and my folks and grandparents and nieces and nephews, and how I spend part of every Sunday afternoon eating with them via video call.
She looks delighted when I tell her they put a laptop on a lazy Susan on a box in my old chair at the table so I can get my usual view of them, and them of me.
“You must really miss them, huh?” Her head is tipped as she studies me, her eyes warm.
“Yeah, of course.” Mostly. I’m starting, every now and then, to get some little niggle of some kind of goodish feeling—a sense of possibility? Anticipation?—when I realize I’ve got a day free with nobody else’s wishes to consider. When we talk on the phone and I don’t have to worry that they’ve volunteered me for something without checking with me first. But that’s new and unexpected and I’m still trying to figure it out.
I feel bad that she seems to have had no family except the one grandmother.
We talk until the lights dim and the music cranks up, and then I tug her out on the floor to wow her with my two-step, trying not to be overcome by the feel of her in my arms, of the deep curve of her waist, hidden under that loose shirt. Of the way her body moves so perfectly with mine, even our first time dancing together, even as just friends.
She’s laughing and so warm and lovely that I have to keep reminding myself not to pull her close. It takes me a while to notice the smudges of fatigue under her eyes.
“You okay? Am I keeping you out too late?” It can’t be much past eight thirty or nine but she looks dead on her feet.
“I’m fine. Just tired.” She smothers a yawn. “Still catching up on my rest from training week, I guess.”
Training was weeks ago. “You need to get home, then.” Or better yet, come home with me and I’ll cuddle you to sleep. “You okay to drive?”
She waves that away. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
It’s almost October and the nights are finally turning cool. The parking lot is well enough lit that we can’t see many stars as I walk her to her car. “This was fun, Andi. I’d love to hang out again some time.”
She turns to face me, leaning back against the car, one fingertip touching my hand. That single point of contact is a tiny furnace, heating me through. “I’d like that. I’ll try not to be such a party pooper next time.”
We pull out our phones and exchange numbers, standing so close I can sense her body heat as music leaks from the roadhouse and wraps around us. An old Collin Raye song about two people who aren’t as incompatible as they appear to be on the surface.
A long, wavy strand of hair has come loose from her braid and I brush it off her cheek, wanting to reach behind her to unravel the whole soft mass. Plunge my fingers into it and feel the burn of her turning to fire in my arms again.
Her dark eyes search my face. “Good night.”
I lean in, sooo slowly, wanting to sip the word from her soft mouth…and then I remember that this is not a date, that we’re just friends, and that what she really needs is rest. I marshal all my willpower and step back. Force out my own “good night.”
And then I open her door and watch her climb in and drive away.
She gives me a sleepy cat’s smile before she turns out of the lot.
It’s okay.
This wasn’t really goodbye—we’ll build a friendship.
And then see what happens.