Eden

Pulling out my Bluetooth speaker and phone from my purse I scroll through my music library. “Any music you hate?” I ask.

Donovan shrugs as he changes lanes. “As long as it’s not techno dance shit, I’m good.”

Nodding, I hit shuffle on one of my playlists and then smile when Stone Temple Pilots Sour Girl comes on. Setting the round speaker in the cup holder, I sit back and get comfortable as Donovan merges onto the highway.

“You wanna tell me why you were upset?”

I wrinkle my nose and look out the window. “Dad shit.”

He makes a growly noise. “Give me a little time, Shortstack. I’m going to do whatever it takes to find him for you.”

I nod but don’t look at him because I don’t want him to look over and see the fear on my face. I believe he’ll find Dad, eventually. It’s the uncertainty of what happens after that scares me the most.

“Hey.”

Schooling my expression, I turn his way. He takes a quick look at my face before turning his attention back to the road.

“I’ve got a question for you.”

“Okay.”

“What’s up with you and the eight million wallets in that purse? You rockin’ multiple identities or something?”

My eyes go wide as I realize what the contents of my purse must’ve looked like to him. “Only one of the wallets is mine. The other two belonged to my mom and my grandmother. I took them when we were given their purses after the accident. I haven’t been able to let them go since. I carry them... as a way to remember, if that makes sense.”

“Jesus,” he says, so softly I almost don’t hear it over the music.

“I guess it seems weird, but—”

“I don’t think it’s weird, Eden. Far from it. Trust me, I get it,” he says. His tone and the way he says it tells me he’s telling the truth. I can also tell that he doesn’t want me to ask questions, so I choose not to.

We settle into a surprisingly normal silence, only the sound of the music filling the space. I spend a few minutes getting myself presentable by wiping my face with one of the wet wipes I keep in the glove compartment and applying some strawberry scented lip gloss. It doesn’t even feel like a full hour has passed when he gets off the highway. The area we get off in is more populated than the mountain town we just came from, but it’s nowhere near as busy as Jersey City. Less than five minutes later, he’s pulling into the parking lot of a movie theater. The big sign on the building says that there are ten theaters inside, but the parking lot isn’t full at all. Looking at the clock, I see that it’s just before three, so I’m guessing the crowds probably pick up at night. He slows the car down to a crawl as he scans the area before he drives across the lot and parks.

He’s out of the car and around the back lightning fast, opening my door before I’m finished turning my speaker off. As he stands and waits patiently, I’m struck again by how much of a gentleman he is beneath the layers of anger that he’s built up around him. “Hold one more sec,” I say as I unbuckle and turn around. Grabbing my purse, I pull out a credit card and shove it into my jacket pocket. I consider taking my phone but decide not to. Shutting the bag, I tuck it beneath the seat so it won’t tempt someone to break into the car. Turning back, I lose my breath when I find Donovan leaning in and watching me with a scowl.

“What?”

“You can’t really imagine I’m going to let you pay for anything.”

I have in fact been operating under that very assumption.

“No good?”

He shakes his head. “No good. Put the card in the glove box and let’s go.”

I surrender with a small nod before opening the glove compartment and placing the card inside. Once I’m out of the car, he closes the door behind me and leads the way to the theater. He stops at an outdoor kiosk and buys one ticket. He looks down at me when I make a huffing noise.

“What?”

“Your parents probably already bought your ticket, right?”

Pulling the receipt and the printed stub from the machine, he nods. “Yeah.”

“You should’ve just let me buy my own,” I gripe.

Shrugging, he gestures to the door and starts walking again. “I invited you, therefore I’m paying. The end.”

“Gah,” I mumble. “Has anyone ever told you how much of a pain in the ass you are?”

“Nope. I’ve only ever been told how easy going I am,” he deadpans as he reaches out and holds the door to the theater lobby open for me. Laughing, I smack his arm as I pass him.

“You wound me, Shortstack.”

The moment I enter the lobby I see a middle-aged couple gaping at us like they’re witnessing something about as epic as a Beatles reunion would be (bearing in mind that two members are already playing with the house band in the great beyond). They look flabbergasted by what they’re seeing, which is the first clue that they’re his parents. The second reason is that Donovan looks almost exactly like his dad. For the record, this means he’ll continue to be hot as he ages. His mother is beautiful as well, her glossy rich chestnut hair perfectly blown out. She’s wearing a Bob Seger concert t-shirt and blue jeans while his father is wearing a white Henley and blue jeans. Clearly, the all-black wardrobe thing doesn’t run in the family.

He hugs and kisses both and then tells his mom that the muffins she wanted are out in the car. Then he turns and gestures to me. “Mom, Dad, this is Eden.”

His mom lights up, clapping her hands together once with excitement. “As soon as she walked in I knew it had to be her. Oh, honey, I’ve been dying to meet you.”

I recognize her voice straight away, hence why my eyes just bugged out for a second. “Stella?”

“Guilty,” she laughs as she gives me a quick hug.

Holy crap. This is Margie’s best friend. Suddenly the familiarity between Julie and Donovan the night at the bar makes perfect sense. Why Margie never mentioned that she has a much deeper connection to Donovan than that of a motel guest is a mystery I need to solve.

I push that aside to think about at a later date when Stella gestures to Donovan’s dad. “This is my husband Paul,” she says.

Smiling, I say hello before he gives me a brief one arm around the shoulder hug. Just like the thing with the clothes, now I know that Donovan’s tactile issues didn’t come from his parents.

They get about a minute in asking me questions about how I’m liking Miller’s before Donovan gestures toward the concession area to redirect us. “Let’s get our food so we can go in and get our seats.”

Once we’re in line to get food his parents don’t even try to be inconspicuous about the interest they have in their son having an actual human being with him. I bite my lip to hold in a laugh because I totally get it. Even if I weren’t aware of the fact that their son is in his late twenties or early thirties (I still think it’s early thirties, but since I haven’t asked I can’t be sure) I’d know they’ve been together for a long time by the way they finish each other’s sentences. Also, the way they hold hands and smile at each other is another giveaway. I’m surprised that Donovan doesn’t interrupt or tell them to stop, because their interest in me seems like something that would normally annoy him. Not today, apparently.

When we’re next in line, he turns to me and asks for my order. “Just a bottle of water,” I answer.

The cocky look he gives me is enough to make me lose my breath. “That’s not fucking happening. Give me—”

He’s interrupted by his mom smacking the back of his head. Turning, he gives her an affronted look as he runs his hand over the back of his hair. “Not cool, Mom.”

Stella shrugs unapologetically as she says, “I didn’t raise you to curse at women.”

He starts to argue but seems to think better of it when she narrows her eyes. With a long-suffering sigh, he turns back to me. “As I was saying—I know you don’t just want water. Give me your real order.”

Placing one hand on my hip, I glare up at the bossy asshole. “Everything they have is too expensive,” I grumble.

I wouldn’t care as much if I was paying for myself but I already feel weird about him buying my ticket. It was nice of him to bring me—I don’t want him to regret letting me in this little bit. I blink dazedly when he leans forward so that we’re basically face to face.

“I don’t care if every single thing they have available costs a hundred bucks a pop. You’re getting more than water, Eden.”

“Just let him have his way, honey,” his mom says from next to us. “He hasn’t let his father and I pay for food at the movies in forever. We only get the tickets because we’re always early.”

Well, really. Who can say no to that? Sighing, I give in and nod at Donovan. “Will you split popcorn with me?”

Standing up straight, he looks down at me victoriously. “Sure, Shortstack. We can split some popcorn. What else do you want?”

“Um. Pretzel bites—no cheese with them, that’s gross, and a small root beer.”

I inwardly cringe at the drink portion of the order, a piece of my soul dying because the small drink is nearly five dollars. I don’t have time to stew on it since it’s now our turn to order. As the four of us step forward, I note that his mom is alternating between smiling at us with an expression of rapt amazement and furiously texting. I’d bet any amount of money the person on the receiving end of those texts is Margie.

At the counter, Donovan places the order for everyone. I have to keep myself from arguing with him when he gets a large root beer for me because I’m really not sure where he thinks I’m putting all that fluid. The cup (which is more like a troth) the girl sets on the counter looks like it could double as a pool and it’s seven freaking dollars. This kills me because I could buy seven two-liter bottles of generic soda for the same price.

After the order is finished and put on the counter, Stella and I take charge of the four sodas while Donovan and his dad handle the food.

“What’s your butter preference?” Donovan asks as we head to the condiment area.

“I hate oily popcorn so only one pump if it looks like the popcorn is fresh. If it looks dry, two pumps does it.”

He raises an eyebrow at me as he lowers the popcorn bucket and then tilts it a little so I can see into it. “You’re saying one or two pumps will take care of all this?”

His dad snickers from behind us. “That’s what she said.”

Groaning, Donovan shakes his head. “Real mature, Dad.”

“Never said I was mature, kid.”

I giggle at their banter before I assess the massive amount of popcorn. “I don’t normally get a barrel, Stretch. It looks fresh though, so three pumps should do it unless you enjoy your popcorn swimming in butter flavored fat.”

“Three pumps it is, boss.”

Agreeable Donovan is my new favorite thing. “While you’re over there can you grab two giant handfuls of mustard packets for me?” I ask hopefully.

He side-eyes me. “Do you put an entire pack on each pretzel?”

“I use a lot on the pretzels, but no. The rest is for the popcorn.”

He stops short and looks at me like he can’t believe what I just said.

“On the popcorn?”

I give him a look. “Don’t worry, I won’t get any on yours.”

“You’re an odd bird.”

I nod my agreement before he and his dad separate from us to deal with the condiments. Stella nudges my arm with her elbow as soon as he’s out of earshot. “You’re keeping him on his toes,” she says like it’s some kind of miracle.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I do. Margie wasn’t kidding when she described you as a breath of fresh air.”

“Speaking of Margie—I had no idea she and Donovan were close.”

Something flits across Stella’s face. “My son keeps things locked up tight. That he brought you here today knowing you’d wind up privy to that piece of information tells me a lot. For the first time in years, I’m feeling hopeful.”

We don’t have time to say anymore since Paul and Donovan have finished getting condiments. Falling into step with them, we head for the theater. Once inside we climb up the bazillion stairs in the stadium-style theater until we arrive at the back row. I’m normally a front of the theater kind of girl, a habit I’ve acquired because I’m short. I’m fine up here though, for two reasons. First, we’re at the very top so I’m not trying to peek over any heads. Second, there are maybe twenty other people in the theater and no one is seated in the three rows in front of us.

Donovan gestures for me to pass him. Once I do, he points to the aisle seat. “I always take the aisle,” he explains. I nod as I sit in the leather seat right next to his. His parents leave the seat right next to me empty, putting Stella’s purse and the big bucket of popcorn they’re sharing on it. As we all take our seats and pull down the trays that are on the arm of each one, Donovan sets out a big mound of mustard packets on my table, along with a stack of napkins. The lights go down as he settles in, so I quickly get comfortable. After putting straws in my soda and his, I lean in his direction so we can share popcorn. When he slouches in the seat and puts his feet up on the chair in front of us, our shoulders brush. Naturally, my stomach does the weird little flip thing it loves to do whenever I’m close to him.

This day started blah, became more enjoyable once I indulged in some retail therapy, went bad, and then got infinitely better once he asked me to join him. I could lie to myself and pretend I don’t know why that is but I’m not going to bother because it’s a lost cause.

The place Donovan and his parents choose for dinner, Wang’s, is way off the beaten path. The sign outside advises that their eggrolls will have you addicted from the first bite. I’m rather dubious about that claim considering it’s dinnertime and there are only fifteen cars in the lot. The small brick structure looks nothing like any Chinese restaurant I’ve ever seen, but Mr. and Mrs. Beckett said I would love it here— and Donovan didn’t disagree—so I’m hoping the food will be decent.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Donovan says as he guides my car into a parking spot.

“Huh?”

Turning off the engine, he turns to me. “You’re thinking this doesn’t look like the type of place that has kick ass food.”

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t have to, Shortstack. I know what you’re thinking because I had the same type of thoughts the first time my parents and I came here about five years ago when it opened. I was proven wrong—just like you’re about to be.”

“It’s really that good?”

He nods before he opens the door to get out of the car. “It is.”

I barely contain a goofy smile as he comes around and opens the passenger door for me. I make quick work of unbuckling my seatbelt before I step out of the car, brushing past him as I do. After he closes my door, the two of us head into the restaurant. The interior décor is bland and uninspiring but the food smells so good that I’m nearly salivating.

No sooner has the door closed behind us than a petite Asian woman appears. Her eyes bulge with surprise for a quick second when she spots us, but she quickly gets it under control. I wonder what that’s all about.

“Four menus, or are your parents not joining you tonight?”

“They should be here any second,” Donovan answers. He’s not warm and friendly to her, but he’s also not rude.

The woman nods as she shoots a curious look my way before she plucks four menus from the stand next to the door and gestures for us to follow. Now I get it. She’s surprised that he’s got someone with him. I hold back a smile as we walk to the table. I swear I can feel the heat of Donovan’s body as he falls into place behind me after motioning for me to walk ahead of him. I’m unsurprised when we arrive at the table and he pulls out a chair for me. He can be the biggest jerk in the world, but the manners he was raised with are still there. A feeling of disappointment hits me when he walks around the table and pulls out the seat across from me instead of the one at my side.

“If you think you’re sitting in that seat you’ve got another thing coming,” his dad says from behind me.

Donovan grimaces as he looks up at his dad. “I thought it’d be nice for Mom to sit next to Eden.”

Paul lets out a bark of laughter. “You know perfectly well that Mom and I like to sit next to each other.”

I bite my lip and avert my gaze down to the lacquered tabletop. If his parents always sit next to one another, that means Donovan is only trying to switch things up because I’m here. I’m not sure why, since he didn’t seem to have a problem at the movie theater or in the car.

I lift my head as Stella titters and walks around her husband to slide into the chair Donovan had pulled out. “Your father is right. Besides, I’d much rather look at Eden while I talk to her,” she says as she smiles at me.

Donovan comes back around the table without argument. Pulling out the chair next to me, he sits down. When he does, I realize why he wasn’t gung-ho about sitting here. Although we were next to each other in the car and the theater, here we’re right next to each other and his large muscular frame makes it impossible for him to avoid touching me.

The tension between he and I is palpable as the four of us peruse our menus and talk out what we want. No sooner have we closed our menus than a waitress appears to take the order. Between the mouth-watering smell of food in the air and the attentive staff, I’m realizing more and more why we’re here. After the waitress leaves, Stella smiles across the table at me, “Tell me about you, Eden.”

Donovan groans as I raise my head to meet his mother’s gaze. “Jesus, Mom—you know you aren’t Oprah, right?”

Stella laughs and waves him off. “Donovan, hush. Talking is what women do.”

“It’s what you do,” he agrees. “But I’m not sure Eden is looking to be interviewed. I brought her out today to get her mind off of things—not to make her uncomfortable.”

I knew that was why he invited me to come with him but hearing him say it warms me just the same. He’s far more considerate than I ever imagined. “It’s fine,” I assure him. Looking back at Stella I say, “what would you like to know?”

She beams at me like I’m the most fascinating person in the world.

“Everything.”