Dean looks down at Archie, giving him a wink, too. When he lifts his gaze to meet mine, his smile and wink have been exchanged for something a little more serious, more private. “Is there a reason why you didn’t?”
I lick my lips, suddenly aware that the back of my neck is hot. I glance at Dean’s hand, and remember the way we held hands on my couch the other night. It felt good. Being with him felt good—the laundry and talking, the way he talked Tanner through that horrible surge of pain in the middle of the night—all of it.
“I wasn’t sure if Archie and I were gonna have some us time or not,” I explain.
Dean looks down at Archie who is getting to his feet, tossing his empty ice cream cup into the blue plastic garbage can nearby. “How was it? Good?” Dean asks him.
Archie licks his lips. “Good… but I don’t wanna give the hat back just yet.” He makes a move, suddenly, and pulls an invisible gun from his make believe holster. “Hands up or I’ll shoot!”
Dean jerks his hands to the sky, showing Archie his palms.
Archie looks at me, erupting in laughter. “See? This hat is so cool.”
Dean looks at me, then takes a chance—one I’m grateful for. “How about I give you and your mama a ride home, and hang out for a while? That way you can keep wearin’ the hat, and I can keep talkin’ to your mama.”
Archie looks up at me. “Is that okay with you, mama? Can Coach Dean come over for a little bit? Tyson has wooden guns, and if I call him, he’ll bring ‘em and me and him can finally play cops and robbers.” He tips the brim of the oversized, worn Cattleman up, waggling his eyebrows at Dean. “I’m the good guy.”
Dean clicks his tongue. “Course you are.” He looks at me, and I have to temper my reaction so I don’t come off eager, horny and desperate. All of three things that I am seriously starting to feel when I’m around Coach.
“Sounds good.” I nod toward the nursery. “What were you getting in there?”
“Rose bush for my parents' garden. Their yellow roses didn’t come back this year, so I was gonna grab them and head over tomorrow. And one other thing.” He looks down at Archie. “You wanna pick out some stuff with me before we get in the truck?”
Archie tips his hat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can I put someone under arrest?”
Dean shakes his head with a chuckle. “No arresting, just buyin’ plants and flowers.”
He sighs. “Alright.”
Once we’re at my house, Archie disappears outside with Dean. A few minutes pass, and when I peak out the window, I find Dean up to his wrists in soil, Archie, too. Though I didn’t give the bed of the truck a close look when we left the nursery, I see now what Dean purchased.
A mature, fruiting peach tree.
Though my feet are bare, and my white sundress is a bit too thin for the setting sun and traces of early evening, I push through the back door, taking the cement porch steps two by two. Cool grass fills in the gaps between my toes, and my heart races as I make my way toward them. Dean stretches up, looking at me over his shoulder, sweat jeweling along his forehead.
“You bought us a peach tree,” I murmur, surprised by how thin my voice sounds, how raspy I am.
“Push all that soil in there, around the roots. There you go,” Dean orders Archie as he climbs to his feet, leaving long boot prints in the dirt. He towers over me, and even though I know how big he is, it still steals my breath when I’m forced to reckon his size. His focus is on me now, and my stomach flips and twists in bated response.
“We don’t want Mrs. Salinger blowing a gasket over stolen peaches. I mean, she could write a note that says if I’m dead, it was the stress of the stolen peaches. Then Bluebell PD would be over here, telling you that you gotta serve timesince Arch is a minor.” He dusts his soil-laden hands together triumphantly. “You’re welcome, I basically just got you out of jail.”
At that, I can’t help but laugh. “My god,” I say, “how can I ever repay you? I never had a chance to make you something nice while I was locked up.”
He winks and my vagina nearly collapses in on itself in a desperate reaction. “I can think of something.”
Archie gets to his feet, staring down at the planted, small peach tree with pride radiating from his puffed up chest. “There.” He looks at the fence with his small eyes narrowed. “Suck it, Mrs. Salinger!”
“Archie!” I scold. “Watch your mouth.”
“Tanner says it,” he argues.
“Tanner is older. And it’s still not okay for Tanner.” I reach for his hand. “Let’s get your hands hosed off, and get you in the tub.”
“Can I have Tyson over?” he begs, but it’s already late, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s gonna crash in the next two hours.
“Tomorrow,” I tell him.
Archie nods. “I won’t have the hat tomorrow.”
