Chapter 16
Destiny
“She’s about as friendly as fire ants.”
~ Grandma Dixie
“I’ve got it,” I snapped at poor Stan, whose only response was a raise of one bushy, gray eyebrow.
“Sorry.” That was at least the fifth apology I’d made in the two hours I’d been on my shift. I was wound tighter than an eight-day clock thanks to one Major League pitcher who’d looked sexier than sin leaning against his pickup truck this morning.
I grabbed the hamburger with cole slaw, the club sandwich and fries, and the pulled pork sandwich with potato salad Stan had just rung the bell to announce were up while I tried to delete the image of JJ in his white T-shirt, worn blue jeans, work boots, and—the real kicker—his black Stetson from my memory hard drive.
It wasn’t working. Apparently, my system had decided to do an auto-save of that image that could not be deleted.
Great.
It was surprising that the cowboy hat had been the thing to tip the sexy scales to undeletable. Since I’d grown up in Texas, I would have thought I was immune to a sexy man in a Stetson. In fact, up until two hours ago, I would have thought that it was a little too cliché and stereotypical to get my engine started, but I would have been wrong. Because one look at JJ and my entire body had said, Vroom, vroom.
Not that it mattered. That was what I had to keep reminding myself. There was no way I was going to let him take me for another test drive no matter how sexy he looked in a Stetson. I couldn’t. Fourth of July had been a one-night-only affair. I’d allowed myself to indulge because I had known that JJ would be gone the next day—which he had been.
Except, now, he was back, apparently putting down roots. As crazy as that sounded, I had very mixed emotions on that out-of-left-field turn of events. Especially since this was the first I was hearing about it. All month, my heart had stopped when my phone had buzzed, expecting it to be him. It hadn’t been. Every time I’d opened my e-mail or logged into Facebook I’d expected to see a message from JJ waiting for me. There hadn’t been, though. Nothing. Not even a, “Hi.”
But, now, he was back and saying things like, “You. Destiny. The reason I want to live here now is you.” And, “Don’t I get a welcome-home kiss?”
Then he’d had the nerve to point out that he knew that I’d been spelling in my mind exactly what he could kiss, and it wasn’t my grits like Flo from Alice was so fond of instructing people to do.
Setting the plates I was carrying down, I forced myself to smile. “Here you go. Can I get you boys anything else?”
The ‘boys’ were three grown men who worked over at the lumberyard and came to the Spoon for lunch at least three days a week.
“Nah, we’re all good here, hon.” Harry, the foreman, smiled back at me as he dug into his pulled pork sandwich.
“Hey, did you hear that JJ bought the old Mason place?” Ray asked the table at large as he picked up a fry from his plate.
That was my cue to exit stage left. I put an extra hus in my hustle as I rushed behind the counter. The last thing I wanted to do was discuss JJ or the old Mason place. That farm was an eyesore, but I’d always had dreams of buying it and fixing it up—right after I’d successfully started Sugar Rush, of course.
JJ hadn’t bought it for that reason—unless he really could read my mind. I’d never told anyone about my dreams to buy and restore it to its former glory. Not Harmony. Not Cara. Not even Gram. So, as much as it felt personal that, out of all the properties, all the houses he could have bought with the millions I was sure he had, he’d chosen that one—I knew that it really wasn’t.
The chime over the door sounded as Brady Calhoun walked in with his signature toothpick and smug expression both firmly in place. “I heard your boyfriend’s back in town.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I responded, attempting to sound as unaffected by his comment as possible.
Since tying my apron behind my back two hours ago for my lunch shift, I’d been playing conversation dodge ball, the ball being JJ and his “move” back home. It’s all anyone had wanted to talk about.
“Take a seat where ya like, Brady.” Tami Lynn slid behind me so that she could ring up Mr. Rogers.
“How’s that lovely grandmother of yours doing?” Mr. Rogers asked as he handed a ten-dollar bill to Tami Lynn.
“She’s doin’ good. I’m going over for dinner tomorrow night.”
When Gram had texted to remind me about our weekly Tuesday-night dinner date, which included watching our new favorite program Fixer Upper, my first instinct had been to say that I wasn’t feeling well and ask for a raincheck. Not because I was actually sick—well, unless you counted emotional distress. Which I did.
I’d had a headache all month. I’d felt tired. And I’d been slightly sick to my stomach. This morning’s run-in with JJ had done nothing to ease any of those symptoms. If anything, it had intensified them.
Now that he was in town, I just wanted to hide for, oh, indefinitely.
But, if I tried that with Gram, it would fly about as high as a penguin with his flippers tied behind his back. So, instead of avoiding the inevitable, I’d texted back that I would be there at seven—her preferred dinner time.
“Well, you tell her I said hello.” Mr. Rogers tipped his head before putting on his ball cap and walking out the door.
“I will,” I said, even though I probably wouldn’t. It wasn’t that I’d intentionally not pass along his message. It was just that he sent that particular message every time I saw him, and after working there every summer and winter break since I had been sixteen and now full time…
Well, let’s just say I saw him a lot.
Brady was sitting in my section, and it was all I could do not to sigh and roll my eyes as I walked over to the booth.
“What can I get you today?” I asked, looking down at my order pad.
“How about a, ‘Hi Brady. How are you doin’ today?’”
Oh for the love of…
Deep breath.
My tone was cheery as I repeated verbatim, “Hi, Brady. How are you doin’ today?”
“That’s better.” He grinned and winked obnoxiously.
The small yet extremely condescending gesture made me want to dump his ice water in his lap.
“I’d be doin’ a whole lot better if a certain redhead would go to the cookout with me on Saturday.”
During the summer, the town had cookouts on Saturday evenings followed by an outdoor movie. They called it Movies in the Park. This Saturday, they were showing Dirty Dancing, which was one of my favorite movies. And I would be enjoying it. Alone.
“Brady. I don’t know how to make this any clearer: I’m not going to date you. Not this weekend. Not next weekend. Not next month. Not next year. It’s never going to happen.”
I was talking to a brick wall, but at least I’d said my piece—the same piece I’d been saying since he’d decided I was “the one” at the Christmas festival last year. Letting out a sigh, I shifted my feet. “Can I get you your usual?”
After winking again, which apparently was his move, he rolled the toothpick hanging from his lips to the right side. “Never say never, sweetheart. And yes, my usual sounds good. Real good.”
A shiver ran down my spine as his eyes roamed my body. Not a good shiver. No, the kind of shiver that runs through you when you see a big nasty spider, or you walk through a web, or a rat skitters across the floor.
“Comin’ right up.”
An arrogant smile appeared on his egotistical face, and I was sure I was not going to like what came out of his mouth next.
“Somethin’s comin’ up—that’s for sure.”
Oh, dear lord in heaven, give me strength.
It took every ounce of self-control and professionalism I possessed not to make a gagging face as I spun around and headed towards the kitchen to put Brady’s order in.
As I ripped the paper that held his order off my pad and placed it on the wheel, I tried to remember that Brady was my friend and had been since kindergarten. Whatever was going on would pass. He’d find some new, shiny toy to focus his attention on and we could finally go back to just being friends. I simply had to wait it out.
I had naïvely believed that, after the punching incident with JJ, he would’ve backed off. But, instead, he’d doubled down on his efforts after he apologized, blaming his behavior on being drunk. He’d also been showing the video of JJ punching him—which had gone viral—to anyone and everyone who would watch it and re-watch it. It was like he was proud of having gotten knocked on his backside.
I just didn’t understand some people.
The bell dinged again. Delilah, who owned The Flower Pot, came through the glass door with a huge bouquet of wild flowers.
“Whoa, those are beautiful.”
I’d always loved wild flowers. Roses were never my thing, but give me a field filled with wild flowers and I was a happy girl. People always thought that I would like roses because of my middle name, but I could never get past the thorns.
“I’m glad you think so. They’re for you.” Delilah’s big, brown eyes shimmered with excitement as she set them on the counter.
My gaze immediately flew to Brady, and if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. Not that he noticed. He was showing the boys from the lumberyard the video of him getting knocked out.
This had to stop. Flowers were too much.
I was headed over to give Brady Calhoun a piece of my mind when Delilah, with a hint of humor, said quietly, “Nope. Guess again.”
Well, at least someone was getting some enjoyment from my misery.
“Then who would…” I shook my head until a cold chill ran through me.
No. It couldn’t be… There was no way JJ would do this. That would be like announcing to the entire town that we were…whatever we were.
As I grabbed the card held by the small plastic pitchfork at the top of the arrangement, my heart started beating so hard that I was sure the entire diner could hear it.
My hands shook slightly as I opened the envelope.
Hey Pip,
Hope these flowers brighten your day like your smile brightens mine.
Yours Always,
JJ
P.S. I would LOVE to kiss what you were spelling in your head this morning.
Even though I tried to fight it, a smile pulled at my lips as a shiver ran down my spine. And it was the good kind.