Tow Trucks and First Impressions #2
I grinned. "That's the spirit. And it is said to be the best darn cornbread east of…wherever."
She hopped down from the truck with more confidence this time. I followed close behind, already hearing the low buzz of conversation and the live band from inside. As we reached the door, I paused.
"Just so you know," I said, holding it open, "if you order the steak rare, there's a good chance it'll still have fur on it."
That earned me a full-on grin. "Noted."
Will's Steakhouse greeted us with the comforting scent of sizzling butter and charred spices. The walls were covered in vintage license plates, old-timey lanterns, and a truly offensive collection of singing fish plaques. Cassie's eyebrows lifted as she took it all in.
"This place has...personality."
"Quaint Everwood charm," I said. "Or what happens when Will gets unsupervised access to eBay?"
A hostess named Sherry, who'd been my third-grade babysitter and still pinched my cheek if I got within range, spotted us and waved like we were overdue for a family reunion. "Levi! Look at you, bringing someone new to dinner!"
Cassie turned to me slowly. "You didn't tell me this was a whole-town event."
I scratched the back of my neck. "In Everwood, two people eating at the same table constitutes breaking news."
Sherry leaned on the podium, all grins and gentle mischief. "I'll put you two in the corner booth. Romantic, but not suspicious. Unless ya want it to be, I can pull down the 'cone of silence' if need be."
"Just the booth, Sherry."
Cassie shot me a side-eye. "Do you come here often enough to have a designated seating preference?"
"Let's just say I've endured enough awkward set-ups in that booth to know the angle of the lighting makes everyone look 15% more dateable."
That got a genuine laugh from her—quick, warm, unguarded.
We slid into the booth while Sherry dropped off menus and a pair of waters with lemon wedges "for class." I saw Cassie's gaze linger on the hand-carved menu holder shaped like a moose.
"This moose is staring into my soul."
"He's judging your choice of sides. Go with the baked mac and cheese, and you'll earn his respect."
She tilted her head at me, grinning. "You're dangerously good at this small-town banter."
"Only skill I've got. That and wrangling raccoons out of attics."
The waitress, Belle—seventeen, with a pink streak in her hair, and the speed of someone double-shifting for prom fund money—appeared to take our order.
Cassie asked for a ribeye, medium, with baked mac and cheese and sautéed green beans.
Belle scribbled with one hand while texting under the table with the other.
"I'll have the same," I said. "You don't have to order the cornbread," I whispered loudly. "Goes without sayin' here at Will's."
Belle nodded, already halfway to the kitchen before I finished.
Cassie sipped her water. "You really know everyone here, don't you?"
"It's part of the charm-slash-hazard. If I sneeze, three people call to bless me and one drops off chicken soup."
She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. "I can see how that might feel...claustrophobic."
I shrugged. "It's a tradeoff. Sure, there's no privacy. But there's also no pretense."
We sat in the easy hush that sometimes falls when words don't need hurrying. Outside the window, fairy lights twinkled along the eaves. A kid pressed his face to the glass beside us, peering in like we were part of a diorama. Cassie waved at him. He bolted, giggling.
She turned back, her smile soft but surprised.
"Everwood," I said. "Where the locals come preassembled with curiosity and casserole recipes."
She chuckled, nodding. "Starting to think this place might grow on me."
By the time the cornbread hit the table—steaming, golden, with a crisp crust that crackled under butter—Cassie looked fully converted to the Church of Will's Steakhouse.
"You weren't kidding," she murmured, breaking off a piece and letting it melt against her tongue. "This is...possibly a religious experience."
I grinned. "Told you. Everwood's finest sacrament."
She polished off a second slice before her steak even arrived, her scarf folded neatly on the booth beside her. She seemed lighter now. Not carefree, exactly, but like she'd put her heavy bag of worries down for a minute and forgotten where she left it.
When Belle came back with our plates—steak seared to perfection, mac and cheese bubbling under a layer of toasted breadcrumbs—Cassie let out a sigh that could've been mistaken for gratitude or mild infatuation.
"This," she said, spearing a green bean with theatrical reverence, "might be the highlight of my week."
"And it's only Thursday," I pointed out.
She laughed, low and surprised. "True. Though I don't know how tomorrow will top this."
"Oh, I think we can find something." I leaned back, careful not to jostle the table. "There's always something happening in Everwood. You just have to know where to look."
"Is that a warning or a promise?"
"Little bit of both."
"I'll be back on the road soon—with any luck—but if I'm looking for trouble once I get to Miller's Pass, I'll be sure to come back for a visit."
"That's where you're heading? Miller's Pass?"
"That was the plan." She hesitated. "Long story, but not worth boring you with."
My curiosity level rose about ten points, but I let it pass.
We ate with a casual quiet, interrupted only by the band, the occasional comment about the mac and cheese ("probably illegal in three states"), or the weird mural above the kitchen pass-through that featured a heroic chicken in a fireman's hat.
"You weren't kidding about Will's décor being...eclectic," Cassie said, squinting at the chicken. "I feel like it's judging me for not ordering poultry."
"That's Cluck Norris. He's the town mascot. Long story."
"Oh, now I have to hear it."
"Another time. It's a tale of courage, betrayal, and a surprise ending involving a parade float."
Cassie laughed again—an easy, round sound that made something shift in my chest.
Outside, the air had cooled further. We stepped out into the dark, the gravel crunching beneath our boots. I walked Cassie back to the truck in silence, letting the night wrap around us.
When I opened the passenger door, she paused before climbing in.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
"For dinner?"
"For all of it. For not making it weird. It's been a long day."
I met her gaze, steady and calm. "You're welcome. Breathing's kind of a specialty of ours."
She climbed in, and I closed the door gently before walking around to my side.
As we drove back through Everwood's sleepy streets, porch lights glowing warm against the night and wind whispering through the trees, I let myself imagine—for just a second—what it might be like if she stayed longer.
Not forever. Just long enough to finish a second cornbread. Maybe a third.
Cassie looked out the window, her hair catching the streetlight like copper spun from dusk.
She didn't know it yet, but a girl like her can grow on a guy like me.