25. Chapter 25
twenty-five
Isaw them come in.
We’ve got security cameras in the parking lot, on the front and back doors, even the aisles. Small town or not, people still steal. Every business has cameras. We’ve got a bank of them in the office.
But that wasn’t why I watched.
Hell, I couldn’t look away.
Entertaining as shit from the second I saw Bowie marching, holding onto the Mason Jar with a smile that knocked the wind out of me, Laurel a few steps behind him, keeping watch. Protective and proud as hell.
Soft in a way she probably doesn’t even realize she is. But the Laurel I know would be a vicious mother hen if anyone messed with him. Does something to me I can’t explain right in the center of my chest.
And just like always, I was drawn to the toy aisle like steel to a magnet.
Now I’m piling them all in my truck for the drive to the Red Wagon—transferring Bowie’s car seat, buckling him in. Mrs. Hayes climbs in beside him, Laurel in the front seat with me.
“Calder?” Bowie asks.
“Yeah?” Backing out, I glance over my shoulder at him in his seat, still wearing his cowboy hat. Makes my lips curl.
“Why is your truck so big?”
“Because I haul trailers sometimes.”
“Trailers?”
“Yeah, you don’t know about trailers?”
“What’s a trailer?” He looks at his grandmother.
“Something you hook behind your truck to haul things around,” she explains, getting a blank stare back.
Christ, this kid is cute.
“Bowie, you want to see a trailer?”
“Yes!”
“Tell your mom to bring you to my house and I’ll show you a bunch of trailers.”
“Mommy?” He cranes his neck at her.
“We’ll see.”
What the hell?
That was a snippy little bite, her chin in the air. And damn if she doesn’t look good when she’s mad, wearing her blue jean overalls with a sweater underneath.
I take my eyes off the road, studying her. “He can’t come to my house?”
“I’m not sure.” She looks out her window. “You might disappear on him.”
That pulls a boisterous laugh out of me. “I didn’t disappear.”
She shoots me the evil eye. “Did, too.”
Damn, this is fun.
“It’s called self-preservation.”
Let her chew on that a minute.
I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but at the Red Wagon, I open Mrs. Hayes’ door and offer her my hand to help her out. It’s a tall truck. Then I walk around to Bowie.
Laurel’s already unbuckling him.
“Let me do it.”
“What?” she asks over her shoulder.
Our eyes meet. “If you’ll allow me, I’d like to get to know my new friend.”
She nods and backs away, a glorious smirk curling her mouth.
I unbuckle Bowie, holding him on my arm, his elbow resting on my shoulder. As we head in, I open the door for the women and stand back, telling Bowie, “Gentlemen always hold the door for ladies.”
“Ladies?”
“Your mom and grandmother. They’re ladies.”
“You know you can’t say that anymore,” Laurel says. “It’s considered patronizing.”
“Who the hell says that?”
Bowie holds out his hand with a grin to die for, not saying a word.
Jeez. “I’m going to be broker than Dabbo.”
Mrs. Hayes laughs. “I never realized how much everyone cusses until he started charging for it. The kid’s getting rich.”
We’re seated, Bowie in a highchair, as half the town gawks. They’ve never seen me bring a family into the diner plus, the place is packed.
Tanner makes his way over. “Bowie! Give me five!” He opens his palm wide.
“Five?”
Tanner and I both chuckle. “Your hand, partner. Slap my hand.”
Bowie slaps it.
“That’s a good-looking hat you’ve got there. Where’d you get it?”
“Calder.” Bowie fists the brim, flashing a smile that makes my world seem right.
Tanner nods. “You know what you need now?”
Bowie shakes his head, tunnel-focused on Tanner.
“Boots. You need cowboy boots.”
“Boots?” He looks at Laurel, who’s mesmerized watching her son interact.
“Yeah.” Tanner lifts his leg, jacking up his jeans, showing his alligator boots. “Like these.”
Bowie’s eyes beeline from the boots back to his mom. “Can I?”
“If you want.” Nothing like seeing love in a mother’s eyes.
“What are y’all up to?” Tanner’s gaze goes around the table.
“This crew came in the store so Bowie could spend his money.”
“Money? Where’d you get money?” Tanner’s eyes are back on the kid.
“He’s the potty word police,” I tell him. “So, watch your language. One dollar per bad word. He’s already breaking me.”
“Well, shit.” That slips out of Tanner’s mouth, and we all laugh as Bowie holds out his hand with a wicked little boy grin.
Halfway through lunch—Laurel’s been suspiciously quiet—her mother says, “All these years, Calder. I’ve never asked about your name. It’s very unusual.”
“My mother’s maiden name.” I take a drink of tea, my eyes on Laurel. She knows that.
“And your middle name?”
Fuck.
“Bowie.”
Her mother’s face falls flat as I explain, “My grandfather’s first name—Dad’s dad—was Bowie Boone, so I’m named after her family and mine.”
Mrs. Hayes fires a laser at Laurel.
“Mother, I simply always liked the name.”
“Laurel…”
Oh, hell. I didn’t mean to start a shit storm. “Bowie. I’m going to the boy’s room. You need to go?”
He looks at his mother and she nods.
“We’ll be right back.” I drag him from his highchair, heading to the men’s room, away from the storm. “You need to go?”
He shakes his head.
“You sure?”
He nods.
Inside, with the door locked, I put his feet on the floor. “Well, stand right there, ’cause I need to go.”
I turn my back to him, unzip and take it out, letting go. The stream hits the water loud—louder than I meant it to.
Behind me, Bowie gasps. “Wow.”
I glance over my shoulder.
“That’s a loud tee-tee.”
I choke on a laugh. God help me, I had no idea kids could be this entertaining.
All the way back, Bowie’s chattering about “big tee-tees” like it’s the most impressive thing he’s ever heard.
I’m grinning like an idiot. Can’t help it.
We get close to the table and Laurel straightens fast, smoothing Bowie’s hair even though it doesn’t need it. Her cheeks are pink—not mad-pink. Embarrassed-pink. Soft-pink. Whatever her mother said while I was gone rattled her.
“You two good?” I ask, settling Bowie back in the highchair.
Laurel gives me this small, tight smile, her shoulders squared. “We’re fine. My mother’s just… being Mother.” She rolls her eyes a little, lets out a breathy laugh. It’s not sharp. It’s not cold. It’s her, trying to act normal and not quite pulling it off.
“Calder made a really loud tee-tee!”
Jesus. People at all the neighboring tables heard that.
“Bowie!” Laurel whispers, her face scarlet.
I bite back a laugh. “He’s not wrong. Had to piss like a racehorse.”
Bowie looks at his grandmother. “Bad word?”
Mrs. Hayes tips her head back and chuckles. “Let’s let him slide this time.”
Thank fuck. I’m out of dollar bills.
I catch Laurel watching me, her eyes glistening. She’s not mad. I think she likes Bowie getting out, being with people.
“Excuse me.” Mrs. Hayes stands. “My turn.”
I stand and she waves her hand in front on her face. “Oh, Calder, sit down. And call me Callie.” She looks at Laurel. “It was my grandmother’s name. And if you ever wondered how Laurel got her name, I simply liked the sound of it. Like a laurel wreath, from literature.”
Shit.
Callie heads to the ladies’ room, and I lean in close to Laurel, making sure Bowie’s busy with his crayons. My voice drops to a whisper. “Hope I didn’t cause you trouble.”
She meets my eyes, soft and shiny. “You didn’t. And the truth is—I’ve always loved your middle name.” Her gaze drifts over my face. “But, yes… you were on my mind when I named him. How could you not be?”
Feels like someone punched me in the chest. Takes the wind out of me.
She swallows hard. “What are you doing, Calder? You disappear after our night together and now you’re—” Her breath shakes. “Now we’re here.”
I keep my voice low and steady, still leaning close. “I just… needed a minute. To get my head straight.”
She blinks, waiting and looks away, out the diner windows. And it dawns on me—she thinks I pulled back to fuck with her. Hell, she couldn’t be more wrong.
I take her hand in mine. “I’m not going anywhere. I just want to do this right.”
A tear slides down her cheek before she can stop it. “Right?”
“I can’t be your rebound, Laurel.”
She looks at me dead on, the hazel shifted to brown. “You won’t be.”
She cuts her eyes at Bowie, making sure he’s engrossed in coloring before meeting my eyes.
“Laurel, look at me.” I put my finger under her chin, turning her head.
“You cannot know that. I just want to go slow.” She has no idea how low my life got after she left.
She lets out a long, shaky breath and nods, like something inside her finally unclenches. “Okay,” she whispers, wiping at her face.
And damn if that doesn’t land harder than anything has all day.