Chapter 16
Jillian
THIS WAS IT—the finale. The last dinner before we settled the bet. I figured he’d pull out all the stops for this one. But after the previous three, nothing short of a destitute, homeless orphan could tug on my heartstrings any harder.
“Today’s dinner is going to be a little different.” Bennett met me at the doors of the cafe, both of us having walked from campus, from opposite directions.
“Different good? Or different bad? The last time you used that word, I ended up eating dinner with an amputee army vet.”
“And was that so bad?” His head was tilted, awaiting my reply.
“Not at all. It was actually therapeutic in a way.” And it had been.
“Good to know. Now, follow me.” So I did… through the front doors and right out the back. A basket of food was waiting for us on a picnic table that, had it been a building, would have been condemned years ago. ‘Rustic’ is the term used when something’s old, but people still want to keep it around. So, I guess the old, rickety table was about as rustic as possible.
The wind blew and I was thankful I’d come prepared for the crisp bite in the air, with khaki riding pants, a thick oversized denim button-down, and knee-high leather boots. Fall in Texas could be eighty degrees one day and forty degrees the next.
“Dig in.” We’d both taken a seat and, thank God for small favors, the table held up under our weight.
“No, I’m waiting for our guest.” Poor or not, the person deserved the common courtesy of waiting until he or she arrived. But Bennett shook his head, a knowing grin painted on his face.
“Nope… tonight, I’m your guest.” I looked around, hoping he was joking, but we were alone.
Wait, was this a date? Surely this wasn’t a date! I took him in through a different lens; dark-washed Levi’s, black thermal shirt, heavy beige Carhartt jacket, and his usual black combat boots. Nope, same old Bennett, ruggedly casual with his I don’t care hair. It was definitely not a date.
“And before you ask, no, this is not a date.” My jaw dropped. God, how’d he do that? “Do you remember back to the first barbecue night?”
“Yeah, the night we met. That was the night you changed my tire.” And my life.
Wait, what?
“Right. Well, that night I was a guest. I was here to eat, because I needed food and didn’t have much.” His voice was bold and self-assured. And while I never wanted to believe that was the case, his revelation wasn’t a complete shock. “Do you want to know more?” I nodded. “Okay, ask away.”
“Where are you from? Where did you grow up?”
“Those are two very different questions. I’m from East Texas. I guess you could say my parents were in ‘sales.’ They dealt drugs from our living room.” I couldn’t rein in the gasp. “When I was in middle school, they were both arrested and sent away for a very long time, which left me with no guardians.”
“So, then what?” I was intrigued.
“So, I bounced around in the system a little, the typical ‘made for TV’ movie plotline, then I landed on a ranch for foster kids.”
“Wait. Those exist?” I was fascinated. Bennett nodded.
“Most of the kids were troubled, unadoptable. That wasn’t exactly the case for me, though. I wasn’t too much trouble and I was, in fact, eligible to be adopted, but no one really wants to adopt a kid with more facial hair by 5:00 than they can grow in three days.”
The sun had started to set and the wind picked up, leaves swirling at our feet. I longed for my wool pea coat, which was still sitting in the passenger seat of my car. As if my thoughts were flashing on a neon sign above my head, Bennett placed his jacket over my shoulders. And, of course, as with anything in the proximity of Bennett Hanson, the scent of an evergreen forest in winter came with it.
“So what happened?”
“Well, I was kinda stuck there for a few years until I aged out.”
Oh, my heart.
“Was it awful? Were you safe?” My tone revealed more emotion than I was ready to admit. I could just picture Bennett, a sweet boy with no parents, just trying to find his place in this big world. I ached for the child he had been.
“No, it wasn’t bad at all. I ended up living with a wonderful couple, Rosie and Doc, on a 600-acre ranch a little northwest of here. Rosie was a true Mexican mama in every sense of the word. She hovered, she worried, she fussed, she filled me with good food, and slapped me good when I gave her grief. She was exactly what I needed. Doc was different though. He believed in, ‘Walk softly and carry a big stick.’ Kids would be placed at the ranch after being kicked out of home after home, thinking they could run all over Doc. But I saw him set an egocentric little jackass straight a time or two and knew right away I wanted no part of Doc’s bad side.”
“He sounds incredibly intimidating, and terrifying,” I mused. My parents had never been home. As long as I followed Nanny B’s rules, I was fine. And that was easy. She loved me like her own.
“Yep. Exactly what I needed. But then I turned eighteen, and I had to figure something out.”