His laugh is both melodic and calming, and it makes me laugh a little too. “No, I don’t mind sharing. It’s just one of those questions that seems real easy, but when you stop and think about it, it’s kind of hard to put into words, you know?”
I nod my head. “I know. As adults, it’s not every day we get time to sit down and think about our interests. We’re in go-mode most of the time.”
“I agree, and I don’t have the additional three lives to organize,” he says, letting the wheel slide beneath his fingers as he turns onto one long country road, miles from Oakcreek. He drums his fingers against his thigh with hisfree hand, the little thumps of fingertip on muscle making my pulse jump.
“I guess when I dated years ago, I thought I needed a woman who liked football, and loved Bluebell.” He strokes a thumb and forefinger over his mustache thoughtfully. “I basically thought long term relationships were about liking the same things. Which, now that I say it out loud, sounds pretty ridiculous.”
The more he talks, the more I grow addicted to the soft lull of his gravelly voice, and how it’s always the same, comforting volume.
“I think that’s what everyone thinks when they first start dating. It’s why tying yourself off to someone when you’re young doesn't make a whole lot of sense. You need time to grow into the person you’re gonna be,” I reply, thinking about the way I doted on Troy when we first met. He was older, and more experienced, and we both loved getting root beer floats at the old drive in. I loved how his laugh sounded when we were still carefree. His hands felt good on me, and he paid attention to me, and that was simply enough. Seems foolish now, to have unprotected sex and make forever promises based on such few criteria. I remember my mother thinking it was stupid, too. But I knew better.
We sit with silence a moment, before he adjusts his hat on the seat next to me. “I think now what I really want is someone who wants the same things as I do. We may not have to love all the same things, like thinking there is no better cowboy than John Wayne, and no singer who can quite lay it down the way Waylon Jennings can. But at the end of the day, I want someone who wants to watch the same tired old movies on a Sunday night while we fold laundry together and wind down the weekend to boot up for the week. Someone who enjoys the same moments of stillness, butknows when it’s time to get a side ache from laughing just as much.” He drags a hand over the unkempt waves of his shiny golden hair. “Guess that isn’t a good answer. It was pretty all over the place.” He nods to the road. “Thank God I can drive better than I can explain, right?”
I laugh. “No, I know what you’re saying. Both of you loving lasagna doesn’t go as far as it did back then.” I can’t help but sigh as I get comfortable in the seat. “It’s more like, you can hate lasagna, and she can love it, but you both have to want to make it together, and sit around the table to eat it… or push it around on the fork.”
His eyes drift to mine across the cab as he comes to another stop sign. One amidst nowhere, a road laying flat between two pastures, each filled to the brim with cattle. “Right. Just… being on the same page feels huge.” He winks, and my stomach leaps from the subtle gesture. “And for the record, I do like lasagna.”
“Psh,” I make a flippant noise with my mouth, scrunching my nose. “Obviously. Who doesn’t?”
Dean laughs, and I envision serving him a slice of lasagna, his thick legs spread beneath my dinner table, a cloth napkin draped over one. I’d lean down and put the plate on the table, right in front of him, and he’d slide his palm up the back of my bare leg, and help himself to a little palmful of my ass. “Smells good, baby,” he’d say, before patting his leg for me to sit. He’d feed me the first bite, only after blowing some of the heat off of it, and then he’d kiss my lips to taste it.
Inside, I am molten from the top of my brain to the ends of my toes, which curl in my shoes. The thought of being with Dean has absolutely infiltrated my system, though it has no right.Ihave no right! He’s Tanner’s coach, and he’s doing me a favor by driving me up here.
I face out the passenger window, watching the endingpasture pull by, cows everywhere. Outside, I’m sure it stinks like shit patties and fertilizer, but in this cab, it still smells blissfully like Dean McAllister.
“So how long have you worked at Goode’s?” he asks, surprising me. I don’t think I ever told him I work there, though. Then again, I have been around him in my uniform more than once.
I lick my lips and count backward. “Well, I started working there a month or so after Archer was born, so about five years.”
He nods, still making a valiant effort to split his focus between me and the road. “You like it? I mean, waitressing.”
I consider him. “I’m not sure my dream when I was a little girl was to grow up and be a waitress forever but… I am grateful for the job. And I’m grateful to the Goode’s for the job. I mean, at the beginning, it was hard. I’d bring Archie with me, and Mrs. Goode would help me with him when I was working tables. I’d take my breaks feeding him, and my lunch breaks would be spent feeding and getting him down for a nap. I got to have him with me, and that was a big deal. So while I don’t wanna win the Waitress Gold Cup, I do love Goode’s, and everything they've done for me.”
“Waitress Gold Cup, eh?” he teases, but nods, adding, “I know what you mean. I mean, I didn’t plan to be a teacher… but I do like the things it brings me.”
“Summers off?” I ask, because honestly if I had the money to go back to school, a teaching degree would be just what I go for. Because a job where you’re off at 3 and home all summer? Sign me up. I’d even teach chemistry if they needed me to.
Dean laughs, and my insides go soft and pliable again, because something about his tone and timbre, the way he’s both commanding and gentle, it’s so erotic. “Those are aperk,” he says. “I like the hours, jokes aside. I like coaching, hell, I love coaching. And I do like summers off. But really, I like being around the kids far more than I thought I would. When I started teaching straight out of college I kind of assumed that by this time, I’d have my own family, but since I don’t, I guess I really honestly look forward to seeing the kids and catching up with them more than I thought I would.”
The GPS speaks in an Australian accent, telling us we are going to arrive at our destination in just five minutes. Five minutes is how long it’s felt like we’ve been in the truck driving, not the actual twenty-five that it’s been. I like talking to Dean, much more than I expected.
“Seems like they love you,” I tell him, savoring the part of his response that highlights his singledom, despite the fact that it’s the worst part of his story, to him.
Not to me. I know Dean McCallister is gonna marry a beautiful woman out of nowhere. Someone will stumble upon the gold mine—a patient, sexy, devoted school teacher and coach—and they will get a ring on their finger as soon as possible. It’ll happen. Me? I get three and half more minutes with him. So I’m gonna cling to his singledom, and enjoy the time I have left.
“So if you didn’t want to be a waitress, what did you want to be?” he asks. I’m surprised he’s brought the topic back around to me.
“Promise no judgement and no laughing?” I ask him, a nervous flutter behind my ribs.
He shrugs. “As long as it’s not like, unicycle champion. If you say that, I will definitely laugh.”
And now I’m laughing. “It’s notunicycle champion.”
“Okay,” he says, interrupting me again to add, “and it’s not bounty hunter?”
I burst into laughter, bringing my hand to my face tocapture my snort. My eyes are actually wet. From laughter, not general heartache and sadness. “No, I retired my bounty hunting dream after puberty. Five foot five makes it really hard to tackle those big bond jumpers.”
He nods as if he completely agrees. “Definitely. Okay—so what did you want to do, after ruling out bounty hunting, of course?”
