Chapter 5
FIVE
RHETT
She sees me come in, makes a micro-gesture with her chin, and taps the other side of her table.
She looks different when she’s in a soft gray cardigan, hair twisted up with a pencil, her eyes on the glassy screen of her phone.
I don’t bother to dust off my jeans, hoping she doesn’t mind things a little messy.
“Rhett Calder,” she says, like it’s a test name and not an old friend.
“It’s Tuesday. I don’t usually get called to the principal’s office until after lunch.”
She slides a folder toward me. It’s got my name, underlined twice. “We’re already on the fourth candidate.”
“I’m making you look bad, huh?”
“No,” she says, but the ‘o’ is skeptical. “I’m wondering what it is you actually want. You filled out your intake. You show up. You’re polite. “You’re also about as easy to read as a fencepost.”
I grin. “So I’m not one of your success stories yet.”
“Not even close. You bored Colleen to tears with your fertilizer anecdotes, you told Shana you were ‘emotionally allergic to meal prep,’ and you never simply bought Amelia a to-go order and told her you were coming down with a cold.”
Her stare is accusing, but I see the shadow of a smile. She’s onto me, or at least she thinks she is.
“We both know Amelia was a nonstarter,” I say. “She wore a sunhat the size of a pizza and kept asking if I’d ever been to Burning Man. I had to look it up after I got back to the ranch.”
“She was lovely,” Hannah says, and there’s an edge in it.
“Sure,” I say. “Nothing wrong with her. Just, I dunno.”
“So what is it? Are you gun-shy, or just trying to game the system to prove I’m terrible at my job?”
I stir my coffee and don’t answer straight away. In truth, it’s neither. I’ve never had trouble knowing what I want. Right now, I want the woman across from me to stop pretending she’s taking professional notes and admit she’s been watching my mouth the same way I’ve been watching hers.
I look up and hold her gaze. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“If it’s about a felony, I’d rather not know.”
“I don’t think it’s the girls,” I say, quietly. “I think it’s me.”
For a second, she’s got nothing. Just the faint click of her teeth when she shuts her mouth. “You think you’re the problem?”
“I mean, statistically, it’s possible.”
She makes a note. “Sounds like a challenge.”
“Maybe you could teach me.” I’m only half-joking, but even that feels risky. “How to date. The way normal people do.”
She leans back, eyes narrowed but interested. “You want me to coach you… in dating?”
“Sure. I’m coachable. Could even role-play, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
The pencil in her bun almost falls out. She catches it. “Rhett, that’s not really—”
“Professional? I don’t mind keeping it off the record. Let’s call it a test-drive.”
She considers, lips pursed, then her eyes lock on mine with something like suspicion and something else I don’t know the name for. “One dinner,” she says. “Strictly business. I’ll show you how it’s supposed to go.”
I hold up my hands. “Scout’s honor.”
She hands me a card, and I make a show of reading it. “You’re on,” I say.
The night of the practice date, I shower and even use conditioner, which I haven’t done since 2004.
I show up at the pizza place on time, and she’s already there, waiting.
It isn’t fancy, but the air is warm with garlic and oregano.
Hannah’s wearing a sundress, a denim jacket over her chair, and her hair down and simple.
I almost don’t recognize her. She looks like something I didn’t know I’d been missing until just now.
She runs the first ten minutes like a teacher prepping for a quiz. “First rule,” she says, “is to pay attention. Real attention. No deflecting with jokes. No stories that end with someone getting arrested or losing a limb.”
I nod, even though this is basically ninety percent of my personality.
She asks questions about my day, the ranch, and who I call when I’m in trouble. I answer honestly, or as close as I get, and I watch how she takes it in. She makes room for the answers. When I toss the ball back to her, she doesn’t shirk, either.
Halfway through, I realize I’m talking for real, not out of obligation, but because it’s fun to see what she’ll do with it. With the others, I mostly filled dead air. With her, I want to know what comes next.
I buy her a beer, and she doesn’t even flinch at the brand. I pick off her pizza toppings (green olives), and she lets me. Somewhere in the lull, she says, “You could be good at this. If you tried.”
“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right practice partner.”
She flushes, which I’m 100% sure is new. “You’re learning,” she says.
The diner is almost empty by the time we leave. We walk Main Street, saying nothing, breathing the cool night. She points out a house she’d earmarked for herself once, if she ever got serious about Sagebrush.
The stars are out, big enough to count. We stop in front of her car, but she doesn’t unlock it.
“Hey,” I say.
She looks up. “Yeah?”
“I told you I was a slow learner.”
“That so?”
I take one step closer, close enough that she can see I’m not joking, not hiding, not deflecting. The tension between us is a pulled thread.
“Thanks for the pizza,” she says, voice soft.
I don’t push. I back up, hands in my pockets.
“Anytime.”
But she doesn’t leave right away. She stands there, watching me. The air is sweeter than it ought to be.
This is my chance, but I’m too terrified of ruining this perfect night to throw caution to the wind.
Before I work up the damn nerve, she gets in her car and drives off, but I watch the taillights until they’re gone. I think about every other match she’s tried to hand me, and how I’d thrown it.
It wasn’t about them, or me. It was about her, and how she made all the bullshit fall away when she looked at me like she was waiting for a punchline.
The next few days, I go through the motions. I fix fences. I move cattle. I call my mother and tell her nothing important. Out at the supply store, I see the new flyer: Cowboy Cupid, LLC. There’s a little cartoon heart with a lasso and Hannah’s number underneath. It’s a bit adorable.
I hear from Garth that Hannah’s got a meeting with him next.
Then Cotton Mercer, who can’t go thirty minutes without shoving a muffin in his face while he talks about the odds of finding someone who can tolerate his strange sense of humor.
She’s working her way down the list. Working herself right out of my orbit.
I see her at the Dollar General. She’s deep in the detergent aisle, comparing prices, not dressed for anything. I watch her for a bit, not stalking, just thinking through my next move.
If I don’t say something soon, I’ll lose the window. She’ll find her real home here, and I’ll be the guy who let her go.
I catch her outside, sun in her eyes. She’s surprised, but not unhappy.
“Let me guess,” she says. “You need an emergency consult on your love life?”
“Something like that.”
She smiles, waiting for the bit. I don’t give her one.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened before,” I say. “And thank you. For the pizza, and the talk.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, Rhett.”
“I kind of do. I’m not as good at this as I pretend.”
She looks at me, really looks. “You’re better than you think.”
We stand there until a car honks behind us, and she steps back. I want to tell her to stay, to not put me back in the folder with all the other cases.
I settle for, “I think we need to have a serious conversation before you make another match for me.”
She laughs, but the sound is different now. Hesitant, then confused.
“Let’s have dinner tonight. Does 7:00 sound good?” she asks as she unlocks her rental car, and something in her voice makes me think she’s finally on to me. “I heard there’s a new place called Serena’s and we should support local businesses.”
I nod, too stunned to speak, and I watch her drive away with my hat in my hand. This is it. It’s tonight or never, and I’m not willing to accept never.