Chapter 19 Pane
Pane
One step inside the restaurant and I know Rowe made the right decision, because the place smells like heaven.
It’s definitely cleaner than the bar. Who wants to walk on broken peanut shells? But the place was welcoming, even if it did make me wonder whether or not my tetanus vaccine is up to date.
A woman in her sixties with short, gray hair enters from the back of the restaurant. She wipes her hands on a towel and gives us a warm smile.
“Hello, my darlings. What can I get for you?”
“Gloria’s from Cuba,” Rowe whispers loudly behind her hand.
Sunbeam’s adorable when she’s a little loose.
“My dear, do you have a new friend?”
Rowe steps forward, tugging my hand. She stares down at where her finger is curled around my pinkie and drops me like I’m made of ice.
“Gloria, this is Pane Maddox. He’s amazing with a chain saw. Pane, this is Gloria. She is amazing with empanadas.”
I take the hand she offers. “Pleasure. Do you need any work done that I can use a chain saw for?”
The woman roars with laughter.
“Of course she doesn’t.” Rowe slaps my chest and whips toward Gloria. “Please excuse him. He doesn’t know how to act around normal people.”
“Welcome to Mystic Meadows,” Gloria says in her thick Spanish accent. “You’ll love it here. There’s no better place on earth.” Then she gives us a big smile. “Okay, my darlings, what can I get for you?”
Since this is Rowe’s jam, I let her do the ordering.
Then we sit in the waiting area while Gloria disappears in the back to make our food.
“We can take it with us to the bar,” Rowe explains.
“Isaac won’t care. Plus, Gloria doesn’t have a dining room, as you can see.
” She gestures to the small waiting area that’s decorated with four chairs.
“It’s purely a to-go establishment. But it’s the best,” she gushes excitedly.
“You’re going to love it, as long as you enjoy meat and pastry. ”
“I think I proved that this morning,” I reply, eyeing her mouth.
She licks her lips—whether consciously or unconsciously, I don’t know—and it about drives me out of my mind.
Rowe leans in. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“If it’s not good, I’m never going to speak to you again.”
“You—” She straightens, frowns at me. “Are you serious?”
“If I am?”
“You have to talk to me. We’re saving my farm. Plus, I like you.” She elbows me before her gaze darts to my arm. She quickly backpedals. “Not like you, like you. But you’re okay.”
“I’m ‘okay’? That’s all? I can’t do better than that?”
She shrugs. “For now, you’re okay.”
“That’s it,” I announce emphatically.
“What?”
“I’m going to prove to you that I’m better than okay.”
“I don’t think so.”
My jaw drops. “Challenge accepted. You are definitely going to like me by the time this is over. Or at least tolerate me.”
“Do you mean like you, like you?”
“Of course not.” My heart does this strange bird-wing-flapping thing that I strongly disapprove of. “That would be unprofessional.”
She frowns. Does that mean she wants me to like her, like her?
Sunbeam drops one leg atop the other and bounces her foot. “Don’t you want to know my secret?”
I swipe a hand down my face. All this topic-swapping is going to be the death of me. “Tell me.”
She whispers in my ear, so close that I wish she’d bite me. “You . . . are a great kisser.”
My entire body freezes. “Why, did Rowe Wadley just give me a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it. But you are. I didn’t expect you to use tongue.” She sits back and studies me. “Why’d you do that?”
Oh, shit. This woman. “Um, well, you know—someone kisses you, and . . .”
She nods. “It’s instinctual.”
“Unless it’s family.”
“Obviously.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Oh yeah. Or if it’s flu season.”
I slash the air with my hand. “Let’s be clear: I never would’ve done it if it was January.”
“I never would’ve let you.” She sits back. “How old is your sister?”
“Well, that’s a conversation jump.” I quirk a brow. “Why are you suddenly asking about her? Because if you’re insinuating that I’ve Frenched my sister, then—”
Her eyes flare in fear. “No, no. We were just talking about family and not kissing them. So that’s what brought it to mind.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
She opens her arms wide like she’s giving the room a hug. “No, just my piggycorns.”
Of course that’s her answer. “My sister’s ten.”
“So your mom remarried?”
“Yes, and divorced him, too. My brother and I look over Natalie as much as we can.” I drop my elbows to my knees. “She needs a father in her life.”
Rowe’s silent for a long stretch before replying, “Yeah. We all need a dad.”
“I agree.”
A side door opens and out walks Cristina, mascara running down her face. She’s holding a bag of food.
Rowe pops up. “What’re you doing back there?”
Cristina’s eyes are red and puffy from crying. “Oh, nothing. It’s just . . . I ordered some food, and while I was waiting for it, I DD’d.”
“You drunk-dialed Jace?”
Cristina slaps a hand over her forehead. “What’s wrong with me?”
She hunches down like she’s going to cry again, and Rowe wraps her best friend in a hug. “Come outside. Let’s talk.”
Rowe shoots me a look that says everything—she needs to be with her bestie. I nod, silently telling her to go on, that I’ll wait for the food.
Gloria appears with our order a few minutes later. I pay with the little cash that I have and frown. I’ve got to find a way to put money in my pocket. Maybe I’ll take Isaac up on that poker game after all.
The restaurant owner hands me the bag of empanadas. “Miss Rowe is a good one. You two seem cute together.”
“Oh, we’re . . .” I start to gesture toward the front door Rowe disappeared through, but drop my hand. “She is a good one, isn’t she?”
“Enjoy your empanadas, my darling. We’ll see you soon.”
I take the bag, wondering why I didn’t correct Gloria about Rowe and me being a thing.
Maybe because my head was still spinning from Rowe questioning whether or not I’m likable. What did I even mean when I said that by the time this is over, she’ll like me?
In bed. She’ll like me in bed.
Stop. Don’t make this complicated. Rowe and I have to get along for the next two months if her farm is to succeed.
Which means she’ll have to like me. Hey, I’m likable when I want to be.
Not if you ask her, though. The way Rowe talks, I’m a horrible grouch.
Perhaps that’s because I am.
But deep down, I’m likable. At least, I can be. And I plan to prove it.
That’s it. By the time I’m out of Mystic Meadows—in two months—Rowe Wadley will like me.
Not like me, like me. But like me.
Or maybe I’ll wind up liking her.
Outside, Rowe and Cristina are sitting on the curb with their heads together. When I walk up, Rowe rises. “Can we drive her home? Are you sober?”
“I haven’t had a drink in a while.”
“So you can drive us?”
“Sure.”
“Wait.” Cristina lifts a bag. “It’s a Cuban sandwich for Isaac. Can you give it to him?”
“Absolutely.” I hand Rowe the keys to the truck and walk back to the bar. Inside, Isaac is washing glasses. “This is from Cristina.”
“Ah, my Cuban. I was beginning to think she’d forgotten.”
“Nope.”
“Thanks, man.” He points at me. “Don’t forget, this Wednesday. I expect you to show up.”
“I’ll be here.”
As I’m heading out, Ron stops me. “See you tomorrow, Pane.”
I shake his hand. “Thanks, again. I appreciate everything.”
He gulps. “Sally Ray’s going to be pissed, but what you’re doing is important.”
“I think so.”
Back outside, Rowe has walked Cristina to the truck, but Cristina’s shaking her head. “I can’t get in, Rowe. My legs don’t move like that right now.”
I frown. “They’re not moving how?”
“You know.” Cristina opens her hooded eyes. “Up and down. They’re broken.”
Rowe cocks her head toward her friend. “She’s pretty buzzed.”
“Let me help you, then.”
While Rowe holds the door open, I hook my arms under Cristina’s legs and slide her into the truck.
“Jace used to hold me like that—once upon a time. Ah!” She flops down on the back seat. “He used to love me!”
She begins wailing as I close the door. Rowe grimaces. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I love taking drunk ladies home. Haven’t done it in years.”
Once Rowe and I are inside, Cristina’s blowing her nose into the long sleeve of her shirt. “I’m so sorry that you have to see me like this, Pane. This is not my normal. Tell him, Rowe.”
“This is not her normal,” Rowe deadpans.
Cristina’s head pops up between us. “See? I’m not like this at all.
I’m a very put-together person. I’m a massage therapist and I travel to people’s homes—but only if I trust them.
I can’t be showing up to some rando’s place.
Rowe, remember the time I went to that man’s house and he had all those women’s shoes hanging from the ceiling?
I didn’t stay. Ugh. I really need my own space to work. ”
She does, does she?
Rowe and I exchange a look.
Cristina keeps talking. “But that man’s house wasn’t anything like Jace’s, which seems empty now that my stuff’s gone—and tonight I had all those drinks and my brain went haywire. His name just appeared on my phone out of nowhere, and I pushed the button.”
She holds up a wrapped empanada in a bag. “I even got him food! Why did I do that, Rowe?”
“Because you’re not over him. Give me that.”
She takes the empanada, rolls down the window, and flings it outside.
Cristina gasps. “That’s his food. What’s Jace going to eat now?”
“Bugs, for all I care.”
There’s a pause before Cristina whimpers, “But we were so good together.”
“You were good until he decided to be a royal jerk. There are tons of other great guys out there whose names aren’t Jace.”
Cristina groans and slumps back on the seat. “I don’t want one of the Collins boys.”
“Collins boys?” I ask Rowe.
She shakes her head. “Don’t ask. Oh, make a right at the next turn.”
We stop outside a small apartment complex. “We’re here.” She glances over her shoulder. “Cristina?”
Loud snoring comes from the back seat.
“She’s passed out,” Rowe confirms. “What do we do?”
I unsnap my seat belt and kill the engine. “I’ll carry her in.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
With Rowe leading the way, I gently take Cristina from the back seat and carry her up the stairs and into the apartment, which Rowe unlocks with a key from Cristina’s purse. It’s neat. Tidy. Smells like citrus. Rowe leads me to the bedroom and pulls back the sheets while I gently lay Cristina down.
One of her eyes opens a slit. “You’re a good one, Pane Maddox. Rowe, you really need to hit that.”
I cough into my fist.
Crimson explodes across Rowe’s cheeks. “I’ll get you a glass of water. Be right back.”
I wait outside until Rowe appears and gently shuts the door. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “Sorry about that back there.”
“What’s there to be sorry about?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know about what.”
“No, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Unless you mean the whole hitting—”
“Yesthat’swhatImean,” she says in one breath. Then she exhales. “Let’s go home and eat.”
We eat in the gazebo overlooking the rolling meadow behind the house. The moon is high, washing the farm in its milky glow. Neither of us says a word as we unwrap our dinners.
I bite into my empanada and groan. “Oh, wow. I’ve had plenty of picadillo empanadas before, but this is amazing.”
Rowe grins from behind her meat pie. “Plus, you don’t need a knife. Not when you eat it with your hands.”
I chuckle. “That’s definitely a perk.”
“I knew you’d like it. I mean, you have to be lacking taste buds to hate these.” We’re silent for a few moments before she quietly adds, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For helping with Cristina.”
“You’ve already thanked me.”
“I know, I just wanted to say it again.”
“So, this Jace guy. Has he made the rounds in Mystic Meadows, breaking hearts?”
Has he broken yours? If so, where can I find him and break his face?
She eyes me shyly, as if deciding what to say next. “They dated for a couple of years. At first everything seemed good—normal, even. But then Jace started acting like a jerk. He told her that she could become his first wife.”
The empanada almost falls from my mouth. “He said that?”
“Told you he’s a jerk.”
“He is a jerk. Sounds like he wanted her to break up with him.”
“He did. He was just too afraid to do it himself.”
I’m quiet for a moment, staring down at my food. When I look up, Rowe’s watching me thoughtfully. “What is it?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Some men don’t know what they have.
They think that love is a drama—or it’s all high-riding emotions, that initial thrill and nothing more.
But that’s not what love is. It’s the settling of the emotions, the depth of knowledge, the ease of it all that makes it worth it.
It’s being with someone day in and out, loving them through the good and bad until you finally fall into that comfortable place. ”
“Yeah,” Rowe whispers. “I guess it is.”
The air between us shifts, and my heart throbs. It feels like it’s cracking. That just being around Rowe Wadley has broken something open inside me.
She looks up at me with those doe-brown eyes of hers—eyes that brim with sadness.
Her dad died. Her boyfriend dumped her. This woman has spent years having her heart shredded by those she loved.
I’m not staying around, either. In two months, I’ll be gone, abandoning her like everyone else.
She smashes the empanada wrapper between her hands. “Ready to be locked up in the shamper?”
I give a curt nod. “Lead the way.”
As I follow her, I make a decision right then and there: Even if I want her to like me, she can’t.
Rowe Wadley must not, under any circumstances, fall for me.
And I must not, under any circumstances, fall for her.