“Let me help you with that.” Thatcher took the binder from me.
“You don’t have to. But thanks. So… what are you up to?”
“Supervising.” He nodded out the door toward the fields.
I looked over my shoulder to see a crew of landscapers, wielding large shears and hacking away at the grapevines in the field. Heavy branches scattered and fell to the ground as the shears snapped away, leaving a trail of kindling in their wake.
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“They’re letting in the sun,” he said.
“Letting in the sun,” I repeated.
He took a step closer to me, and I caught the scent of the soap he must have used that morning. It smelled amazing.
“That’s right. No one’s tended to these grapevines for a long time. They’ve become overgrown. All those extra branches and leaves are blocking out the sun. You need a little sunlight if you want to have grapes.”
He paused for a moment as a large cloud cast a cool shadow over the area. When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet I had to lean in to hear him.
“A lot of those branches died a long time ago, but the grapevines still hold on. They don’t want to let go of what’s comfortable. Know why?”
I shook my head.
“Me neither,” he said. “But I have my theories. I think some of ’em are too proud and stubborn to admit when a branch ain’t no good anymore. And others are afraid they’ll be left with nothing at all if they let go. In any case, there’s only one way to let in the sun. Do you understand what I’m saying, Boots?”
I nodded. I did understand. I understood he wasn’t talking about the grapevines anymore.
He stood there for a while looking down at me and resting in the silence between us.
Yes, I was falling for him. Wrong as it was, I was falling for him even before I knew Logan was seeing someone else. Now that I knew it was over with Logan for sure, and I had free reign to see someone new, I was falling for him even more.
Standing here with Thatcher, I couldn’t even feel the heartache I’d been carrying around since my phone conversation with Annie. I tried for a moment or two, digging around for that sorrow to see if it was still there. Perhaps it was, somewhere way down deep, but here in this moment the only feeling I could place was the excitement of being here with him.
I wanted to spend more time with him. And I could. I could do whatever I wanted.
“So,” I said, “do you know how to make anything besides pizza?”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Not particularly. But I know some good places. You want me to take you out, Boots?”
Before I could answer, there was a clamoring sound behind me. I jumped a little and turned around to see Viv standing there.
She looked apologetic. “Tess, I almost forgot. Do you have the invoice from today? I need it for my records.”
“I do.” Her sudden return made me anxious, as if I’d been caught doing something wrong. I snatched the binder from Thatcher and opened it up, shuffling through it with shaking hands. A pile of paperwork fell to the ground and scattered. I bent down just as Thatcher did, and we bumped heads. “Ow.” I plucked a sheet from the top of the pile. “Here it is.” I stood and handed her the invoice. “Sorry about that.”
She took the paper and regarded me with a cautious expression. “Thanks.”
Thatcher gathered the rest of the paperwork and stood. “Hi.”
“Hello,” Viv said.
“Vivian, this is Thatcher. He’s… a colleague.” I turned to him. “Viv is helping me plan the wedding at the end of the month.”
He nodded, playing along like he knew all about it, although I wasn’t even sure he heard anything about the wedding yet. I hadn’t had the chance to tell him.
“Nice to meet you, Vivian.”
“Likewise.” She nodded and held up the invoice. “Thanks for this, Tess. I’ll see you.”
“Take care.”
She lingered for a few seconds, and then turned to head back to the car. Thatcher handed me the loose papers, and I stuffed them into the binder.
When Viv was out of earshot, he murmured, “Be ready at six?”
“Uh-huh. Six it is.” I turned and walked away, hugging the binder to my chest and willing myself not to skip with every step.
CHAPTER 13
“Where on earth are you taking me?”
We’d been driving through the woods for some time, and we approached a rickety little bridge that looked like it was constructed with Popsicle sticks. By a third grader. I grimaced and wobbled from side to side as Thatcher maneuvered his truck across.
“Just far enough out so no one can hear you scream.”
I punched him in the arm.
“Kidding, Boots. I told you, I’m taking you someplace real special. You’ll see.”
“You should’ve told me it was nice. I would’ve worn something dressier.”
“I didn’t say it was nice. I said it was special.”
He was right. The place wasn’t what I would describe as nice by any standards. We pulled up to an old, rustic building. It was made of weathered wooden boards, a few of which had broken off at some point and never been replaced. A partially-lit neon “open” sign blinked from its mounting place on the door.
“Here we are.” He parked the truck and turned off the engine.
It looked like such a dive, that at first, I thought he might be joking. But he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the truck. I hopped out and followed him toward the entrance. Right outside the door an older man sitting in a rocking chair spit into a tin cup. The spit made a tinny plinking sound as it landed.
Thatcher opened the door for me, and I was met by a delicious, savory aroma. As we entered the place, a row of people seated at a nearby bar turned and stared at us.
I gave an awkward wave and several of the staring people nodded in response. Where were we?
“They don’t see a lot of new faces around here.” Thatcher leaned in so I could hear him. “And you’re not exactly blending in,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I glanced at my jeans. I was wearing the boots and everything.
He laughed and shook his head, then placed a hand on my back and led me through the crowded room to an open picnic table near the far wall. When he pulled away, his hand brushed against my hair and a set of goosebumps sprouted across the back of my neck. I shivered and looked around, noticing that aside from the bar, the whole place was full of picnic tables. The walls were barren, and the concrete floor was worn and covered in scuff marks. Across the way, a man sat on a three-legged stool playing an acoustic guitar and singing into a microphone. A guitar case was open at his feet and a few bills had been tossed inside.
A waitress came by and plunked a plastic pitcher of sweet tea down on our table along with two paper cups. As she turned to leave, she saw Thatcher and lit up with recognition.
“Hey, you!”
He looked up. “Desiree. Hey there.”
She dropped her tray on the table and slid onto the bench next to him. “You gonna play tonight?” She gestured over to the man with the guitar.
I raised an eyebrow. Thatcher? Play?
“No. I’m here to eat. And maybe dance.” He smiled at me.
Desiree seemed to notice me for the first time. “Who’s this?”
“This is Tess.”
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey.” Her voice was flat, and she stared at me for a little too long.
I picked up a paper cup and poured myself some tea to avoid her gaze.
She turned back to Thatcher and touched his arm. “You know, there’ve been rumors you were back in town. There’ve been all sorts of rumors lately.”
“Well, here I am.” He poured some tea into his cup and took a swig.
“So it’s true, then?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, Thatcher. Don’t be silly. I’m quite sure you do
.”
“I sure don’t. But whatever it is, I imagine it’s no one’s business.”
“Don’t be so defensive.” Desiree stood up and tucked her tray under her arm. “I was just asking is all. It’s a real shame, I’ll tell you that much. We’re all real sorry.”
I watched them with wide eyes and gnawed on the rim of my paper cup.
Thatcher folded his arms on the table and looked at me. “You hungry, Tess?”
I placed my cup on the table. “Um. Sure.”
“The usual.” His voice sounded stern. “For both of us. Please and thank you.”
There he went, ordering for me again. I opened my mouth to speak up, but I changed my mind when I saw the icy expression on Desiree’s face.
“In any case”—she glanced at me, and then looked meaningfully back at him—“I’m glad you’re back. You look good. Real good.” She narrowed her eyes before turning on her heel and walking away.
I sat in stunned silence. This girl seemed to have a thing for Thatcher. And she didn’t seem to like me much for that matter. And she knew something. Something big. Something I didn’t know.
But what?
Thatcher leaned toward me over the table. “I’m sorry about that.”
I didn’t know what to say. I dug around for some words to lighten the mood, but all I could do was wonder who this girl was and what she knew. Before I could open my mouth to respond, I was interrupted by a loud voice coming over the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” I looked up and saw it was Desiree speaking. “Our very own Thatcher James is in the house.”
At the sound of Thatcher’s name, the noisy crowd silenced into a few hushed murmurs. From the other side of the room, I heard a utensil fall and bounce on the ground a few times. Everyone seemed to be staring at our table. Thatcher looked pained, but Desiree either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“He’s gonna do a special song for us tonight. Y’all know the one,” she said.
The entire room watched us to see if he would come forward. Someone let out a whistle of encouragement. It took every ounce of my willpower not to hide under the table.
“I had no idea this was going to happen,” Thatcher whispered as he placed a hand over mine. “Do you want to leave? We can leave.”
“No. It’s fine. Honest.” If we left, it would probably make even more of a scene.
“Well, Thatch? Are you coming or aren’t you?” Desiree put one hand on her hip and twirled the microphone with the other.
“I think you should go up there. I’ll be fine.”
He glanced at her, and then back at me. “You sure?”
I nodded and wrapped both hands around my paper cup. In an instant, the distress melted from his face, and he transformed into the picture of confidence. He pushed off the table and stood up to a round of cheering. As he made his way up to the microphone, he gave a wave and a smile, exposing his dimples and causing a few women to say, “Aww,” in a collective chorus.
Thatcher picked up the guitar from its resting place against the stool. He pulled the strap over his shoulder and sat down. Desiree placed the microphone back in the stand. When she stepped back, he took a deep breath and looked around. “Can’t a guy get some ribs in peace?”
The crowd let out more whooping and whistling.
He laughed into the microphone. “Y’all are too much.” He fiddled with the guitar strings to check the tuning, and then paused for a moment as if to mull something over. Then he leaned into the microphone and said, “By the way, y’all, the pretty lady in the corner is Tess.” The whole room turned to look at me, and I could feel myself blushing. “She’s a real nice girl. And a wedding planner, in case you heard otherwise.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I couldn’t help but smile. And then with practiced ease, he started strumming along on the guitar, singing a song I’d never heard before.
It was a country tune with a beautiful, almost wistful sound. The crowd must have known it, because much of the room joined in on the chorus. He looked so right, as though he belonged up on a stage somewhere, singing this very song to a crowd of thousands of fans.
Who was this person?
I was so enthralled by this new side of him I didn’t notice someone sitting on the bench next to me until I felt a bump against my shoulder.
Desiree.
“Are you and Thatcher dating or something?” she asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I asked if you were dating or something.”
“Oh.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “No. We’re colleagues.”
“Ah, colleagues. Mm-hmm.”
I watched Thatcher intently, hoping she might take the hint and leave, but she scooted closer to me.
“Well let me tell you something about your colleague. I’ve known him my whole life, and I don’t trust him farther than I can throw him. You shouldn’t either. Not if you know what’s good for you.”
My heartbeat sped up a little. What was she talking about? Why was she even over here? It was as if she called him up to sing so she could get me alone. But she wouldn’t do that.
Would she?
“Girls like you come around all the time,” she said. “Hoping to cash in on the Thatcher James fortune. But take it from me. It never works.”
Cash in? On what, I wondered, his dirty baseball cap? His barely-running truck?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.
“How cute. At least you have the decency to pretend not to be a gold digger, which is more than I can say for the others. But that act won’t work. Not for long, anyway.” She leaned in closer to make sure I was listening. “And just so you know, you’ll never match up to Thatcher James’ one true love. No one ever will.”
I took a sip of tea and kept staring straight ahead, my pulse racing steadily now. “Yeah well, like I said, we’re colleagues.”
She let out a frustrated huff as she stood from the table and started to leave. The song ended. As the crowd erupted into applause and whistles, she turned back and leaned over the table. “You’re Jake’s sister, right?”
I nodded.
She smirked. “Thought so. Jake has something Thatcher wants, you know. And he’s using you to get it.”
What was she talking about? How did she know Jake?
I sat there trying to make sense of her words. Thatcher returned to the table and Desiree beamed at him. “See? They love you. Just like old times.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “And I’ll be right back with the lemon you wanted, sweetie.” She gave me a fake syrupy smile and bounded toward the kitchen.
Thatcher sat down across from me, and I noticed a bead of sweat on his forehead.
“Whew.” He wiped the sweat away. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. It was… it was nice.”
“I noticed Desiree was over here.”
I nodded.
“She can be… difficult,” he said. “We dated the summer before I left town. It was a lifetime ago and it wasn’t serious, but it didn’t end well. I think she’s still a little bitter about it. Did she give you a hard time?”
I twisted a straw wrapper around my finger. “No, she was fine.”
“You sure? You seem shaken up or something.”
My fingers froze. I opened my mouth to respond, but stopped myself. There was no sense in worrying about it. Clearly this girl was some sort of jilted ex-girlfriend. And Thatcher and I were here to have fun. I wasn’t going to let it bother me.
But how did she know Jake?
No. She wasn’t going to get to me. I pushed the thought down and forced a smile.
I crumpled the wrapper into a ball and tossed it aside. “I’m fine. But you didn’t tell me you played the guitar. Or sang. I have to admit, I’m a bit shocked. What else do you have up your sleeve?”
He tousled the front of his hair in embarrassment. “Yeah. I used to be that guy.” He pointed over to the man who’d been playing when we walked in. “Played
here every weekend during my senior year of high school.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. You want to know a secret?”
“Sure.”
He leaned over the table and spoke in a hushed voice. “I used to want to be a country music star.”
I laughed.
“I know. It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s not embarrassing. It’s cute. And hey, I get it. You’re good.”
“In my defense, I thought I could combine it with a law degree and maybe be some sort of talent agent or something. You know, as a fallback career in case it didn’t work out in Nashville.”
I chewed my straw, nodding and trying to suppress a smile.
“Anyway, it didn’t come to pass. I think that little stunt was Desiree’s way of rubbing it in. Like I said, she can be difficult,” he said.
“Well, for what it’s worth, they loved you.”
“They aren’t too discriminating of a crowd. That’s my fourth grade teacher over there.” He crunched on a piece of ice, exposing his dimples and sending my stomach into a back flip. He was so cute. And nice. Why did he have to be so nice?
I don’t trust him farther than I can throw him. You shouldn’t either. Not if you know what’s good for you.
Desiree’s words came flitting back through my mind, but I brushed them off. Thatcher was a total catch. This girl was trying to scare me off so she could have another chance with him. And I couldn’t blame her. But it wasn’t going to work. Not today. Sorry, Desiree.
A busboy appeared with two Styrofoam containers and dropped them on the table. I must have looked skeptical because Thatcher laughed.
“Just wait,” he said. “Good things come in disposable packages.”
He slid a container over to me. I lifted the lid to reveal a rack of ribs, a pile of greasy French fries, and a small container of coleslaw.
“So, this is the usual, huh?”
“Yep,” he said.
“Do you have a usual everywhere you go?”
“Thereabouts. Don’t you?”
I thought about it for a moment. “No.”
Tess in Boots Page 11
