CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bee sat at Wes’s kitchen table while his mother finished a story he clearly would not have wanted her to hear.
She had arrived almost twenty minutes earlier.
His mother had filled every minute with embarrassing stories.
By the time Wes’s truck turned into the driveway, Bee was laughing hard enough that she nearly missed the sound.
“He was ten,” his mother said. “He made me pancakes for Mother’s Day and used salt instead of sugar. He ate three because he didn’t want to admit what he’d done.”
Bee pressed one hand to her stomach. “Three?”
His mother nodded. “I asked him if they tasted right. He looked me in the eye and said they were perfect.”
The front door opened before Bee could stop laughing. Wes stepped inside in his work clothes and stopped with one hand still on the doorknob. His gaze moved from Bee to his mother, then back to Bee.
“What are you doing here?” Wes asked.
Bee rested her elbow on the table. “Waiting for you.”
Wes closed the door behind him. “Why?”
“I’m taking you on a date,” Bee replied.
He stared at her for a moment. “I didn’t ask you out.”
Bee smiled. “I’m asking you.”
His mother laughed from across the table. “Good. He never dated before you.”
Wes looked toward her. “Mom.”
“What?” his mother asked. “It’s true.”
Bee’s smile widened. “See? This is good for you.”
Wes slipped his keys from his pocket and set them near the door. “You planned a date without telling me?”
“I’m telling you now,” Bee said.
His mother reached for her coffee. “She can stay here while you get ready. I haven’t told her the good stories yet.”
Bee turned toward her. “Are there better ones?”
“No,” Wes answered before his mother could speak.
His mother lifted her eyebrows. “Remember when you tried to fix the washing machine?”
“I’m going to change,” Wes said.
Bee watched him head down the hallway. “Take your time.”
Wes stopped long enough to look back at her. “Please don’t encourage her.”
His mother waited until he disappeared before leaning closer to Bee. “There was water everywhere.”
Bee covered her mouth. Her laugh escaped anyway. A door closed down the hallway while his mother resumed the story. Wes called something neither of them could understand, which only made them laugh harder.
He returned several minutes later wearing clean jeans and a dark shirt beneath his jacket. His damp hair told Bee he had showered quickly. Wes stopped beside the table and looked between the two women.
“What else did she tell you?” Wes asked.
Bee stood and reached for her purse. “Enough.”
“Too much,” Wes muttered.
His mother smiled at Bee. “I like her.”
Bee pointed toward her as she walked to the door. “I like you too.”
Wes opened the door for Bee. “I’m surrounded.”
“You’ll be fine,” his mother called after him.
Bee headed toward her car and unlocked the driver’s door. Wes had taken two steps toward his truck before he noticed where she was going. He stopped and looked from her car to her.
“You’re driving?” Wes asked.
“Of course I’m driving,” Bee replied.
He walked around the front of her car and opened the passenger door. “You’re really making me ride passenger?”
“That’s where passengers sit,” Bee said.
Wes lowered himself into the seat and moved it back. He tested the space before adjusting the seat again. His hand found the lever for a third try while Bee started the car.
“What are you doing?” Bee asked.
“Getting comfortable,” Wes replied.
“You’ve moved the seat three times,” Bee said.
Wes stretched one leg toward the floorboard. “I like having room.”
Bee looked at the space between his knees and the dashboard. “You have more room than I do.”
“I don’t like being the passenger,” Wes admitted.
Bee shifted into reverse. “You’re my passenger prince tonight.”
Wes turned toward her. “Your what?”
“Passenger prince,” Bee repeated.
His expression remained serious. “That’s terrible.”
Bee laughed as she backed out of the driveway. “You’ll survive.”
Wes reached for the seat belt. “Forty minutes feels longer already.”
Bee drove toward the highway with one hand resting near the bottom of the wheel. Wes stayed quiet until she changed lanes to pass a slower truck. His hand moved toward the door before she had settled into the next lane.
“You don’t trust me,” Bee said.
“I trust you,” Wes replied.
Bee nodded toward his hand. “You’re holding on to the door.”
He looked down as though he had not noticed. “That’s unrelated.”
“Sure it is,” Bee said.
Wes glanced at the speedometer. “You drive like you’re in a hurry.”
“I’m going the speed limit,” Bee replied.
He checked the numbers again. “Exactly the speed limit.”
Bee laughed. “Do you want me to slow down?”
“I want to drive,” Wes said.
“Passenger princes don’t drive,” Bee said.
Wes shook his head and looked out the window. “I already regret getting in this car.”
“You didn’t have a choice,” Bee reminded him.
He glanced back at her. “That does make me feel better.”
The last of the sunlight disappeared while the open highway gave way to traffic and taller buildings. Bee left the main road and moved through the city streets. Wes stopped watching the speedometer long enough to study the restaurants and shops passing outside his window.
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” Wes said.
Bee turned into a parking garage. “You’ll see.”
The car climbed through two concrete levels beneath rows of overhead lights. Bee found an open space and parked. She shut off the engine while Wes released the door handle and flexed his fingers.
“You can let go now,” Bee said.
Wes looked at his hand. “I wasn’t holding it that hard.”
“Your fingers disagree,” Bee replied.
He opened the passenger door. “I’m driving home.”
Bee got out and locked the car. “No, you’re not.”
They walked two blocks before Bee stopped outside a coffee shop. Warm light filled the windows. The smell of coffee reached them when someone opened the door. Wes looked from the small tables inside to Bee.
“This is the date?” Wes asked.
“This is the first stop,” Bee explained.
The woman behind the counter smiled as soon as Bee walked inside. “Bee. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
Bee stepped closer to the register. “I moved home.”
“I saw your moving video,” the woman replied. Her gaze shifted to Wes. “You brought somebody.”
Bee looked over her shoulder at him. “Lena, this is Wes. Wes, this is Lena.”
Wes gave her a small wave. “Hi.”
Lena looked between them. “Is he the blue-flower guy?”
Wes glanced at Bee. “That’s what people call me?”
Bee tried not to laugh. “Sometimes.”
“I liked the flowers,” Lena said. “They were better than flour.”
Wes rested one hand on the counter. “I thought so too.”
Lena reached for a cup. “Your usual?”
“Please,” Bee replied.
Wes raised an eyebrow. “You have a usual?”
Bee looked at him. “Some people appreciate consistency.”
“Some people bring home flowers when they’re sent for flour,” Wes said.
Bee gave Wes a look while Lena laughed. “What do you want?” Lena asked him.
Wes studied the menu. “Coffee.”
Bee waited for him to continue. “What kind?”
“Regular coffee,” Wes replied.
Lena nodded as though she understood him perfectly. “I can do that.”
Bee ordered a cinnamon roll for them to share. They carried everything to a table near the window. Wes took one drink from his cup before looking at Bee’s iced coffee. His gaze moved over the layers inside her cup before settling on the whipped cream.
“Is that still coffee?” Wes asked.
Bee pushed the cinnamon roll toward the middle of the table. “It has coffee in it.”
“That wasn’t my question,” Wes said.
She pulled off a piece of the cinnamon roll. “Taste it.”
Wes looked at her cup. “No.”
“You haven’t even tried it,” Bee said.
“I watched her make it,” Wes said. “That was enough.”
Someone across the room called Bee’s name. She turned and waved at a man seated near the wall before returning to her drink. Wes looked around the coffee shop, then back at her.
“You know everybody,” Wes said.
“Not everybody,” Bee replied.
A woman carrying a drink stopped beside their table. “Bee, are you back for good?”
Bee smiled up at her. “It looks that way.”
The woman adjusted the purse on her shoulder. “Tell your grandma I said hello.”
“I’ll tell her,” Bee replied.
Wes waited until the woman walked away before raising an eyebrow. “Not everybody?”
Bee took another drink of her coffee. “That doesn’t count. I used to come here a lot.”
“I noticed,” Wes replied.
They finished the cinnamon roll before Bee carried their empty plates to the counter. Lena hugged her across the end of the counter. “Don’t stay away so long this time.”
Bee returned the hug. “I won’t.”
Wes waited near the door and opened it before Bee could reach for the handle. He smiled when she joined him. The smile stayed as she walked past him.
“What?” Bee asked.
“Nothing,” Wes replied.
“You’re smiling,” Bee said.
“You’re observant,” Wes said.
Bee stepped onto the sidewalk. “I’ve heard that before.”
The bookstore stood half a block away. Wes noticed it before Bee pointed toward the entrance. His pace quickened. She caught the interest on his face as he looked through the wide front windows.
“Do you like bookstores?” Bee asked.
“I love bookstores,” Wes replied.
Bee smiled as she opened the door. “Good choice, then.”
Wes paused just inside and looked across the shelves filling the store. His gaze moved toward a display of local history books, then to a section marked home and garden. Bee followed him as he picked up a thick book about woodworking and opened it near the middle.
“You came on a date to look at work,” Bee said.
Wes turned one page. “This isn’t work.”
“It has instructions for building cabinets,” Bee pointed out.
“That’s useful,” Wes replied.
Bee took the book from him and returned it to the shelf. “You’re supposed to have fun.”
“I was having fun,” Wes said.
She moved to the next display and picked up a beginner’s cookbook. “This looks more useful.”
Wes read the title before looking at her. “I know how to cook.”
“Do you know the difference between flour and flowers?” Bee asked.