I pull my old truck into the parking spot and put it in park, hesitating briefly before turning the engine off.
Bessie is temperamental and tonight of all nights, she stubbornly refused to crank. I give her a dash a quick pat and whisper, “Please start back up later, ‘kay, old girl?”
I open the door, the loud creaking causing me to cringe, but I take it as agreeance and smile.
I know it’s probably time to upgrade to a newer model, but I just can’t bring myself to get rid of the one thing that still connects me to my father.
I’d planned on picking Grace up from her house, but then Bessie had shown out and I’d had to call and ask her if she would mind meeting me at the restaurant instead.
I didn’t have the best track record with dates. The last time I’d been looking forward to going out with a woman had ended in disaster. The memory of the girl yelling at her father through the door plays in my mind as I sit in front of the restaurant.
“What the hell, Daddy?”
He laughed bitterly. “You really think I’m gonna let my daughter walk out the door with that piece of street trash? He’s nothing but trouble, has been since the day he was born.”
Her voice shaky, she screamed, “You don’t know anything about him!”
“I know that his mama is nothing but an alcoholic whore and his daddy a two-timing cheat,” he bellowed, his voice sounding as if he were standing directly in front of me and not separated by a heavy wooden door.
My fists clenched as I listened to the truth he spit about my mother and the lies he told about my father.
My heart pounded as I talked myself out of busting through the door.
“Daddy! Please!”
“No. Absolutely not. You are better than Bronnson Williams. Hell, the local crack head is better than he is. Now get your ass up those stairs and take off those clothes.”
Heavy footsteps sounded, making their way through the house.
Case closed. End of discussion. She wouldn’t be going anywhere with me that night.
I shake my head to clear the memory, reminding myself that it was a long time ago, and Grace was different.
I push out of the truck and hustle to the door, eager to see the woman that I couldn’t get out of my head for the last two days.
Pulling the door open, I step inside and take a moment to let my eyes adjust to the change in lighting. Once I’m able to see again, I notice a woman stand, the broad smile she’s wearing aimed at me. I blink twice before I realize that the perfectly dressed woman is Grace.
I take a step forward and scan her from head to toe.
She’s dressed in a light blue silk sundress that complements her eyes, hugging her figure without being too revealing. Her hair hangs perfectly straight, not nearly the wild mess it was the first few times I’ve seen her. Her makeup is perfect, her natural beauty highlighted in all the right ways. Not subtle in the least, but not caked on like someone trying too hard.
Not that she would need to try hard.
I follow the length of her toned bare legs and see that they end in a pair of tan wedges, her manicured toes peeking out. She’s holding a designer clutch that is the exact color of her shoes.
“You look amazing,” I tell her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a stiff hug.
She smiles. “As do you.”
It’s the truth, she does look amazing.
But it’s…different.
This Grace isn’t the same Grace from our impromptu lunch date at Red’s or our brief encounter this morning.
And while the perfectly styled Grace is beautiful in all the ways she’s supposed to be, I miss the messy haired, frazzled woman that had almost ran me over.
This Grace is someone that I would appreciate the view of, because let’s be honest, she’s gorgeous. But I wouldn’t ever try to approach her, knowing that she wouldn’t be interested in me.
Second-guessing what the hell I’m doing here, I hesitate as the hostess guides us to our table.
Grace pauses, her brow furrowing. “Everything okay, Bronn?”
The way my name sounds coming from her lips hits me in the gut and I nod. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, just got distracted.”
Coming from her lips, my name sounds magical and full of promise. Not the name of a perpetual fuck-up.
I fucking like it.
Her brow’s still creased, but she smiles again. “You’re sure?”
I nod.
We reach the table and I pull her chair out for her, determined to shake the funk that’s suddenly come over me.
After the hostess leaves, I try to make small talk, but our conversation falls flat, nothing like the fun banter from yesterday.
Grace is sitting quietly across from me, her fingers shredding the napkin that sits beneath her glass of water.
Disappointment washes over me when I realize that this date is going to be an epic flop. “Look…” I trail off, not sure what to say.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Is it because I thought you were dating your sister this morning?” she asks, the crease returning between her brows.
Her horrified face pops into my head and I can’t help laughing all over again. “No, not at all.”
“I shouldn’t have assumed anything. I’ve been trying to work on that.” She toys with her water glass, her attention focused on everything but me.
She’s probably ready to bail.
“Work on what?”
Her eyes meet mine. “Jumping to conclusions.” She lifts a shoulder half-heartedly. “Assuming things without having any facts to back it up.”
Her words resonate. There’s no way she could know it, but she’s just put me in my place. “You a mutant?”
She blinks at me, confusion painting her pretty face. “Uhm. Not that I know of?”
“You sure? You can’t read minds?”
She laughs. “God, I wish. Would have come in handy growing up with my Nana.” Her eyes cut away from mine briefly, but not before I see them flash with hurt. “But, no. Why?”
The waitress comes to take our drink order and I ask for a beer. Grace assures her that she’s fine with water. Once she leaves, we go back to the awkward silence, and when I can’t think of anything to kick-start the conversation I clear my throat. “What are you doing here with me?”
Her brow furrows. “Having dinner?”
“Yeah, but why?” I gesture around the crowded room. “Look around. Every man in this restaurant is watching us, wondering how the fuck I landed a woman like you.”
She glances around the room. Lifting a shoulder, she smirks. “Guess you haven’t noticed the women drooling over you then?”
I scoff. “Please. Look at you.” I wave a hand in her direction. “There isn’t a hair out of place on your head. It looks like a team of beauty experts did your makeup.” Her hand flies to her head. “You’re beautiful. But, baby, your shoes easily cost more than my fuckin’ truck that barely made it here.” I point a finger toward the door. “You look like the lady that sat down at my bar a few days ago and barely glanced up to tell me her drink order. Not like the wild-haired woman that nearly ran me over and then followed me down a seedy alley.” I point the same finger in her direction. “That woman is someone that wouldn’t mind being seen on the arm of Bronnson Williams.” I wave my hand again. “I have nothing in common with the woman sitting across from me.”
Her lips are set in a thin line, but not for long. “Well, that works out then. Because, you are acting like the asshole bartender that purposely messed up my drink order because I’d unintentionally insulted him.”
I blink. And then I blink again.
Holy shit, this woman.
She’s so fucking right. “Listen, I’m sorry.”
She drops the remnants of the napkin she’d been shredding and holds up a hand. I clamp my jaw shut, letting her continue. “My dad died when I was a kid.”
My heart sinks. I may not know where she’s going with this, but I do know the feeling of loss, even years later.
She swallows hard. “My mom and I became reliant on my Nana and Papa after that.” She shifts in her seat, and I want to reassure her that she doesn’t have to be uncomfortable with me. But my speech earlier probably disproves that notion, so I do nothing except watch as she continues to try to compose herself.
“And Nana was, well, she was strict. She had expectations. Expectations that no one could live up to.” She offers a sad smile. “She expected us to always look like ladies. That meant never leaving the house unless we were completely dressed, makeup on, hair fixed. That meant that we only had the best of everything.” She lets out a choked laugh. “My poor Papa worked his ass off. Oh! We didn’t curse.” A sardonic smile replaces the sad one and her voice drops. “I’d get my hide tanned for that one.” I can’t help but smile with her.
She waves her hand at the table in front of us. “That meant that we took etiquette classes. It didn’t matter that I just wanted to wear jeans and t-shirts, play in the sand, and drink a Coke at lunch like all the other kids. I was expected to be a lady, through and through. Like Nana was.” She smiles sadly again, her eyes never leaving mine. “But, Bronn. The way I dress, the car I drive. My perfectly styled hair. The fact that I can set a table with a book balanced on my head… Those things aren’t what make a person worth knowing.”
There is no way that I could know those things about her, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’m the piece of shit on the bottom of her pricey heels.
I groan. “I’m an asshole.”
She smiles, a genuine smile for the first time since I walked in. “Yeah, a little.”
I shake my head. “No, a lot.”
Her glass in hand, she sips her water through the straw. “Okay, a lot.”
“I lost my dad, too,” I tell her. I don’t have a clue why I just shared that with her, but saying the words to her doesn’t hurt the way I expect it to.
Her eyes snap to mine. “See? We do have something in common.”
I doubt it, but I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. Although it’s kind of a shitty thing, right?”
She nods, her face falling. “Yeah.” Her gaze drifts over my shoulder, her eyes not focused on anything. It’s a look I know all too well. She’s caught up in the past, a past that was probably happier when her father was alive. At least, it was for me. I don’t interrupt her, don’t try to reclaim her attention. After a brief moment, she cuts her eyes back to me, her face brightening.
“But I’m sure that we could find other things in common,” she says playfully.
I’m sure we could, too, but it’s too soon for the thoughts that suddenly run through my head.
“Your Nana sounds about as pleasant as my worthless mother.”
“Your mom strict, too?” She rests her chin in her hand, her head tilted to the side.
I laugh bitterly and then take a swallow of my beer. “That would mean that she gave a shit.”
Her eyes soften. “I’m sorry.” Her words are genuine, and it makes me uncomfortable.
“Nah, don’t be.”
“Well, you have a sister. I always wanted a sister. What was that like, growing up with someone?”
“We don’t have the same mother. Lucky her. So, we didn’t really grow up together. Especially after Dad died. My mother was bitter, tried to keep me away from her and her mom.”
“Well, shit,” she mutters. “I’m not doing a very good job of steering this conversation to lighter topics, am I?”
I chuckle. “Favorite color?”
She narrows her eyes and taps her manicured fingernail against her lips. “Red. You?”
“Green.”
“Damn,” she mumbles. “Favorite hobby?”
“Reading,” I admit, somewhat sheepishly.
It’s something I started as a child when my mom was too drunk to pay me any attention. I’d get lost in the worlds I read about, pretending I was a medieval king or a dragon slayer. The habit had stuck with me, although the material I liked changed as I got older.
Her eyes light up. “Really? I love to read. What’s your favorite genre?”
“Horror.”
Her face falls slightly. “Damn! You ever tried romance?”
“Like Fabio?” I quirk an eyebrow and give her my best smoldering cover model impression.
She giggles. “Yeah, like Fabio. You know, longhaired, muscular men on the cover. Talk of quivering members on the inside? It’s my guilty pleasure.”
“What the hell is a quivering member?” Shaking my head, I hold up my hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
She laughs, the sound warming me, and throws a napkin in my direction. The waitress approaches to take our order.
Her head tilted to one side, a playful grin painted on her face, Grace asks, “So, are we going to do this?”
I catch her meaning, and against my better judgement, which has never been very good anyway, I nod. I stick my hand out across the table, palm up, and raise a brow. She smiles even wider and places her soft hand in mine. The moment her fingers lace with mine the earlier trepidation melts away, replaced by a surge of excitement.
With a wink, I tell her, “Hell yeah we are.”