“I’m sorry,” I tell him, guilt washing over me in breath-stealing waves. He’s a kid. He shouldn’t have so much responsibility at home. It’s not fair. I reach out and take his hand, which earns me an eyeroll because even thoughRawley is a good boy, he’s still a teen and I am, quite obviously, an embarrassment.
“Mom,” he huffs, trying to drag his hand out from under mine and successfully does.
“Sorry,” I smile and put my hand in my lap. “I just want you to know that I appreciate your help, and you looking out for your brothers.” Then I can’t help but ask— “Why didn’t you wanna check out Wrench Kings when I picked up my car?”
He shrugs, then fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie. “I dunno. I don’t know anything about the program or being a mechanic, it would just be… awkward.”
I realize that Rawley really wants this. For him to be nervous, apprehensive and avoidant— he was like this when he first liked Jo Jo, before she became his girlfriend. Same with his band—Sure, Jan. He was so nervous, but now, they play at coffee shops and sometimes even at the farmer’s market.
He wants this, and it’s not like Rawley to change his mind. In fact, I believe he’ll marry Jo Jo one day, and he’ll be a ninety year old man still inSure, Jan.
“Okay, so what’s the Wrench Kings apprenticeship all about?” I glance at my watch after asking, and hate that I don’t have time to hear the answer. “Shit, it’s after school rush, Rawl. I gotta get back to it. Lorna is out, and I’m covering my section and hers.”
He hooks a thumb toward the kitchen. “Want me to go wash dishes?”
I shake my head. “No, not today. We’re gonna talk about this apprenticeship, we will. And you still owe me for the tutor.”
He nods, “I know.”
“But for now, if you could grab Archie from the after school program and get home.” Two days a week, Doris getsdialysis and can’t help with Archie. Today is one of those days. “Tanner texted an hour ago saying he’s all good. All you have to do is make sure Archie takes a bath.” I glance at my watch. “I don’t have time to put in an order, but there’s a pizza in the freezer, okay?”
He nods and I send him on his way, reminding him not to touch the washing machine until I can look at it. Not to let Archie try to fix it either. And just as I’m returning to a table of high school students—all of whom ordered chicken strips and soda—I seehim.
Dressed in worn and fitted blue jeans and long-sleeved white button up, a weathered Cattleman on his head, Dean McAllister stands by the door, rocking on his heels, eyes scattered about. I stand there, my order pad hanging from one hand, a large cup of Pepsi in the other, and watch him.
He twists at the waist, surveying the tables and portion of the restaurant behind him, and I can’t help but stare at the way his chest flexes against his shirt, bubbling up with strength.
“Hey, Tanner’s mom, can I have my soda?”
I set the cup down, tuck my pad in my pocket, and find myself gravitating toward Dean, and when he spots me, I smile. And he smiles back.
With just two feet between us, I nervously wipe my hands on the end of my apron then offer one to him. “Coach Dean, nice to see you again.”
He looks at my outstretched hand for a moment, his lips twitching, then shakes it. His hand is so big, I swear it swallows mine up, and his grip is firm and commanding. The kind of grip I’d love to feel in my hair, or on my hips. “How are you doing, Miss Clara June?”
Miss Clara June.He’s called me that once before. People usually call me Ms. Colt or Clara June, but Miss Clara June? It’s sweet, and adorable, just like him,and I love it.
“Good. You alone or waitin’ for more?” I ask, picking menus from the wooden box on the wall. When he says he’s all alone, a spark of relief shimmies up my spine, though I have no clue why.
His boots click against the linoleum as he follows me to his booth, tucked into the very back. I catch a whiff of sweat and sunshine when he lifts his hat from his head, placing it on the seat next to him. “So what’s good here?” he asks, making the oversized laminated menu look like a piece of receipt paper between his large hands. I swallow against the flutter in my throat and the excitement sparking off low in my belly.
“You’re a Bluebell native. Surely you don’t need my recommendation,” I tell him, digging my pad from the front pocket of my apron. With my pen at the ready, I’m almost knocked to my butt from his response.
“I’d like to know whatyoulike here, Clara June.” Then he just stares into my eyes, a little smile curving his lips, that mustache of his coaxing me for a ride.
Dammit. I haven’t had an orgasm in way too long. A mustache ride? Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I foolishly worry he’ll know I’m completely sexualizing him in my mind, so I divert focus and tap my pen on his menu.
“Here,” I say, waiting for his eyes to follow the pen. But he looks at me a second longer, and I swear when he finally looks at the menu, I let out a little sigh beneath my breath. His focus is almost too much.
“Chili?” he reads, and it’s then I realize I’m not actually pointing at my favorite thing.
“Ah, oh, no,” I stammer, stepping back to align myself with his booth. I lean down and press the end of my pen toward my actual favorite. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
I can’t help but steal a glance down the two open buttonsof his dress shirt, and I feel like a total man doing it but damn. His chest is tanned, and I wonder if he does yard work or goes running with his shirt off. I straighten, and take a step back, and he watches me with the tiniest of smiles.
“Grilled cheese and soup. That sounds like a classic. Do you like the classics, or is this one just really good?” he asks, setting his menu flat on the table, splaying his hands over it casually. My eyes slip down to them, and my core tightens, but I play it off, slipping the menu out from beneath them. I hold it to my chest, realizing as it presses against me that my nipples are hard.
“There isn’t much on the menu that I don’t like, but yeah, grilled cheese and tomato soup is a classic. And here, it always hits the spot.”
