The Crush

by Heather Heyford

  “Even if we put the house and vineyard on the market right away, it will take a while to sell. But, Junie, the movers will be here first thing tomorrow morning for my things. I could ask them to take yours while they’re there.”

  “Mom! I’ve moved seven times in my life—eleven, if you count each year of college! I’m sick of moving. I want Clarkston to be my forever home. Wait—tomorrow?”

  Across the room, five heads jerked up in unison. Manolo caught her eye over the top of his menu. His face remained carefully blank.

  Mom putting a date on her move somehow made it real. Junie felt her face threaten to crumble. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “I’m meeting a guy about the porch at noon. Besides, tomorrow’s Saturday. A good day for tourists.”

  Her mom sank back in her chair with a pitying look. Then she drained her teacup and intoned, “There’s something else.”

  Now what?

  “I’ve met someone, Junie.”

  Another one?

  Just then, Poppy brought the check. She glanced at Junie’s gaping mouth and the half-eaten sticky bun, sitting forlornly on her plate. “Chin up, sweetie,” she whispered, bending down to give her a tight squeeze. “I’ll call you.”

  Chapter Five

  “Touch-y!” Keval slid into the booth next to Manolo. “I love Dr. Hart. But watch out when she’s in a mood.”

  Sam sipped his coffee without looking up. “Those two going at it again?”

  “Who knows?” Keval picked up his menu. “Something about how the jobs and the food and the men are all better in Portland. Well, duh. Poor Junie looked like she was ready to burst into tears.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see who gets the prize for most bullheaded in the end,” said Sam.

  “No one ever said making a living off the land was easy,” said Rory, flexing his meaty hands. Manolo noted that they were already work-stiffened, the hands of a forty-year-old on a thirty-year-old’s body.

  “Preach it,” Heath grunted in accord, ripping the top off a pack of sugar with his teeth and dumping it into his own cup o’ joe. “My old man’s been growing nursery stock all his life. Takes its toll on you.”

  The server they called Poppy appeared and took their orders. Before she scurried off again, Sam sent a subtle glance in the direction of Junie’s booth. “What’re you hearing over there?” he asked her under his breath.

  That’s a small town for you. Everyone up in everyone else’s business. City neighborhoods were the same way. Manolo’s folks knew everyone within ten blocks of the restaurant. He was glad he wasn’t stuck in that cloistered life anymore.

  “Oh, the usual. Junie’s mom’s talking about moving, Junie doesn’t want to.”

  “Move? When?” Somehow, Manolo found himself sucked into the gossip mill.

  “Tomorrow?” Junie’s timely exclamation could be heard over the muted clatter of cutlery on china and the low buzz of conversation.

  “That answer your question?” The waitress lifted a sardonic brow as she swooped their menus out of their hands. Manolo watched his new friends share a concerned look.

  His phone vibrated.

  “Hey, Amanda,” he asked in a low voice, tucking his chin into his neck. “What’d you find out?”

  “We don’t have any volunteer opportunities for engineers in the Portland area this summer.”

  “Huh. Thanks for looking. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “Your offer is much appreciated. Now, it’s not too late to teach a summer course in ‘Analyzing Earth-Friendly Design Technologies’ outside of Mexico City. It’s classified high-risk because of the current political situation, but I know that doesn’t scare you.”

  “I might consider it if I weren’t obliged to work in Oregon this summer.”

  “I thought as much, but it doesn’t hurt to ask,” she said with a smile in her voice. “On the other hand, I have some good news about Belize. Your biggest competition for the paid consultancy heard a rumor he’s going to be redeployed. If that turns out to be true, the job is all but yours.”

  Manolo glanced over at Junie. Her heated conversation with her mother reminded him of the painful argument he’d had with his dad over joining the Army. He cursed the timing of this phone call. If not for that, he might’ve been able to pick up a word or two of what Junie was saying. But this was important.

  “That is good news.”

  “Belize is a paradise, and you can still fly back once a month for your Reserves training. But keep in mind, Lieutenant, we’ll need that six-month commitment.”

  Junie’s worried face across the room made it hard for him to concentrate.

  “Yep.”

  Amanda’s laugh was cool and confident, exactly the way he remembered it. “Well, it sounds like you’re preoccupied, so I’ll let you go.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “You know I will. It goes without saying, I’d love to have you.”

  “You mean for the consultancy.”

  “You know what I mean. If you do get the Belize job, I might have to pop down there once in a while, just to make sure you’re behaving yourself.”

  Now communication between Junie and her mom seemed to have broken down completely. Junie was toying with her food, her mom looking around the room, tight-lipped.

  “Manny?”

  “Huh? Yeah. I’ll look forward to that.”

  “Me too.”

  Chapter Six

  A rectangular shaft of light poured into the farmhouse where the front door had sat propped open all morning. Dust motes danced eerily through the living room, recently emptied of the bulk of its furniture.

  “Still time to change your mind, honey,” Mom said, her caramel eyes peeping over the box she carried. “I think we could still squeeze in your bedroom suite.” Her chic, short curls waved around her flowered headband. In her mid-fifties, she still had the body of the ballroom dancer she had been when Dad hauled some guy in handcuffs into the ER during her rotation at Fort Sam Houston.

  Then again, thought Junie, it’s hard to get fat on fiddleheads and lamb’s quarters.

  She tried to clear her head. If she was honest, it made perfect sense for Mom to move to Portland. What would her moving change for Junie, anyway? Mom didn’t take any interest in the day-to-day workings of the vineyard. She didn’t even get home in the evening until after Junie left for work at the Roadhouse.

  Junie looked hard at her mother. Though she’d never in her life doubted that she was loved, her mom wasn’t the cuddly, maternal kind. She had the precise, controlled movements of the competitive dancer she had once been combined with the self-assurance of the surgeon she was today.

  It would always be a mystery to Junie how an effervescent San Antonio doctor had hooked up with a reticent farmer’s son from the outskirts of Springfield, Missouri like Brendan Hart. But then, marrying Dad was only the first example of Mom’s nearsightedness when it came to men. More than a year ago, to Junie’s dismay, Mom had confided that she’d been fooling around on those dating apps. Every time Mom “found someone,” it ended up that he wasn’t quite what he’d made himself out to be. One of them, it had turned out, was married. Another had pushed her out of his car in the parking lot of a restaurant when she’d turned down his advances.

  It wasn’t that she begrudged her mom male companionship. It was Mom’s way of going about it that worried her. When she mentioned her concern to her therapist friend, Red had replied that there were entire books written about smart women who made dumb decisions when it came to love.

  Junie sighed. It was going to be lonely in the house without Mom, even if they’d never been particularly close. She’d found comfort in knowing she wasn’t alone at night, down that long country lane. Mom’s simple wave good-bye out her car window in the light of a summer morning had been a sign that there was still some semblance of family left.

  Now, under Mom’s supervision, the men who’d come with the truck balanced the sofa half in and half out the door
. . . that sofa that Dad had fallen asleep on watching the eleven o’clock news, back when Junie was in high school. The sofa she collapsed onto most nights after her shift at the restaurant, to scare herself silly watching Worst-Case Scenario. Where would she flop now, late at night? She could buy another couch, but it would never be the same.

  Somehow the sofa had gotten stuck. “Bring it back in and turn it the other way,” directed Mom from inside the house.

  “Push!” said the older mover to his partner, contradicting her.

  “I can’t, goddam it! I gotta set ’er down a minute!” came the voice of the shorter, potbellied one, clutching the end that jutted out onto the front porch.

  Then, as if by magic, a third pair of strong arms appeared from out of nowhere to tip the couch strategically by a few degrees. “Now,” said a soft, deep voice. “Bring it through. Careful.”

  The couch slipped through the doorway like a greased pig. The opening filled with sunshine again, only to be darkened by the silhouette of a man so perfectly proportioned that the negative space was transformed into the cover of a romance novel.

  “Morning!”

  Junie squinted, suddenly horrified by her sweatpants and shapeless tee. “What are you doing here?”

  “Junie!” her mother scolded. Deftly rearranging her face into a company smile, she sauntered over to the door. “Hello there! I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jennifer Jepson-Hart.”

  Manolo nodded and took the hand she offered. “Manolo Santos, friend of Cap’n—er, Sam Owens. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Well now. I just love a man with manners. Don’t you, Junie?”

  Junie’s flip-flops slapped across the floor. “What are you doing here?” she repeated. She trusted him about as much as a nun doing squats in a cucumber field for exercise.

  “I heard there were two ladies who might need a hand this fine morning.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  Poppy’s. If Manolo hadn’t pieced it together himself, her gossipy friends would have gladly filled him in. One person’s honesty was another’s oversharing.

  “Doesn’t matter. That big Mayflower van sitting outside pretty much confirms it. Now”—he rubbed his hands together briskly, like there was nothing he relished more than a good moving day—“how can I be of assistance?”

  “If you saw the van, then you must’ve seen the two rent-a-hulks that came with it. That’s all we—”

  “I have just the job for a big, strong man like you,” Mom interjected. “Upstairs.” She headed toward the steps and crooked a finger. “Follow me.”

  Behind Mom’s back, Manolo gave Junie the V sign for victory.

  How dare he show up uninvited, aggravating an already stressful day? She watched him ascend the steps to the part of the house that was reserved for family, close friends, and anonymous movers she’d never see again. Her heart stopped when she remembered that yesterday’s panties were still on the floor where she’d dropped them and her bedroom door was open.

  The sight of his rear end conjured up pure leashed energy. No doubt he’d have sprung up those steps three at a time if Mom wasn’t in front of him, slowing him down. Manolo smelled like a honeyed blend of Middle Eastern spices and hot city sidewalks. If that scent were bottled, it’d be called Citizen of the World.

  For the next hour or so, Manolo hoisted armload after armload of heavy objects out to the truck like they weighed nothing. A slipper chair, a sprawling schefflera in a terra-cotta pot. A large framed print in one hand and a box marked LINENS in the other.

  What was it about Manolo Santos? Mom had known him ten seconds and she’d picked him over the bonded and insured movers to handle her most precious possessions. If that wasn’t proof positive Manolo wasn’t to be trusted, nothing was. How many sketchy characters from Matchup had Mom already taken a chance on, only to be disappointed? According to Red, lots of book-smart women got taken in by flashy smooth talkers. It was sheer luck that Dad, the man she’d married, had turned out to be the best of men.

  For the next half hour, Junie stayed out of the way, rearranging the things left behind as Manolo lugged more of Junie’s beloved childhood knickknacks out to the van to be wedged in between the larger pieces. There were the heavy, antique brass candlesticks and the box holding her paternal grandmother’s crazy quilt and hand-embroidered tablecloth. Finally, she heard the heavy truck doors slam shut and the bolts screech into place, followed by footsteps coming back into the house.

  “What else?” Manolo still seemed fresh as a daisy.

  “Whew! That’s it.” Mom sighed. “Junie and I already packed up my car before you got here. I don’t know where you came from, but I’m awfully glad you showed up when you did. How can I thank you?”

  In the kitchen, where Junie stared into a wasteland of a cupboard containing only three mismatched mugs, she rolled her eyes at the way Mom sucked up to Mr. Hot and Handy.

  “It was nothing. Just glad I could lend a hand. Sorry I didn’t get here earlier.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” said Mom. “Now, I apologize, but I have to be going. I want to get to my new place before—er, the movers . . . Junie?”

  Junie peeped out from behind the cupboard door.

  “That’s it. The movers are ready to go. I’m going ahead so I can get there first and unlock the door to the townhouse. Do you think you could fix Manolo a little breakfast, for all his trouble?” She turned to Manolo. “I’m afraid you caught us a little shorthanded, but I know there are some eggs in the fridge. Do you like eggs?”

  Manolo appeared in the doorway, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Love eggs. Eggs are my favorite.”

  Mom beamed. “Good! Junie, can you make Manolo some eggs, then, while I scoot?”

  Junie faux-smiled and gave her mother a death glare. “Suuuure!”

  “Great! I’ll see you later then.” Mom disappeared, only to reappear seconds later when she remembered to give Junie a parting hug and a peck. “Thanks for your help, sweetheart.” She cupped Junie’s chin and gave her a wistful parting glance. “I’ll call you.”

  Junie trailed Mom out to the porch to find her already skipping down the front steps, her mind three steps ahead of her body.

  “Mom, wait—who’s this guy you started to tell me about?”

  “Huh? Oh. A friend. Just a friend. I hope you’ll come to like him, in time. He’s very good for me,” she replied, digging through her bag. “Now, where’d I put my keys? Heavens. Oh! There they are!”

  Junie watched her mother’s SUV, loaded to the gills, crunch down the gravel drive for her last time as a Clarkston resident. Then the movers fired up the van, fracturing the peaceful countryside.

  The comforting warmth of an unseen hand settled on her shoulder. “You’re going to miss her.”

  Junie whirled around. “If you knew that, why were you so eager to help her pack?”

  He shrugged. “Not much I could’ve done to stop her.”

  Junie felt as though her guts had been ripped out without anesthesia and Manolo had assisted in the surgery.

  She turned and shuffled back to the kitchen. Taking refuge behind the fridge door, she squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose until later, when she could cry in private.

  She came out holding the egg carton. “How do you like your eggs?” she asked in a lackluster voice.

  Six feet, three inches of man planted in a wide-legged stance in the center of her kitchen made it seem suddenly smaller. All traces of mockery were now gone from his face. Junie shivered. They were all alone in this big old house, miles from anyone else. Anything could happen.

  “You going to be okay?”

  Damn, he was good. He had her almost believing he was sincere.

  He walked over and rescued the cardboard carton from where it drooped precariously in her hand. “I’ll do it.”

  “You?”

  “I really screwed up yesterday. You won’t let me take you to dinner, so . . .” He took over
, opening and closing cupboards with a clatter. “Your mom must have left you a pan around here somewhere—”

  She walked over and grasped the other end of the egg carton. “You don’t have to do that.” She tugged. The carton fell to the floor, a few eggs cracking open on impact. She lifted a foot. Ew. A clear, viscous membrane stretched out between her toes and her flip-flop.

  Before she knew it, Manolo was wiping up the mess with one hand and scraping out a chair leg with the other. “Sit while I rinse this dishtowel.”

  Mutely, she obeyed. Tramping around would only make a bigger mess.

  He was back in a flash. “Pull your pant leg up.”

  The stretchy fabric folded up smoothly over her knee. Last night had been shaving night. Thank God for small favors.

  “You’re stubborn, you know that?” Chocolate-brown eyes smiled up at her.

  Not stubborn. Just determined.

  Manolo wrapped her calf with the steamy towel, drawing its warmth down over her ankle . . . her foot . . . her toes. Then he folded it over to the clean side and did it again.

  She stared down at him, at a loss. She wasn’t used to being taken care of. She didn’t know how to react, what to do with her hands. Her fingers itched to reach out and ruffle his crown of thick hair. Her bird’s-eye view of his shoulders made them appear even broader, his waist narrower. The movements of his biceps stretched the fine knit of his close-fitting sweater. Her lower belly tightened traitorously.

  “Good news is, they’re not all broken. Now, where were we? You got that pan?”

  She got up and handed him a copper pan.

  He twirled it expertly. “This looks barely used.”

  “That’s because it is. When Mom’s home—that is, when she used to be home—she practically subsisted on bean curd and kombucha tea.”

  “What tea?”

  “Kombucha. You know. It’s green and it looks like it has pond scum growing on the top.”

  Manolo was already drizzling the pan with olive oil. “That some kind of Left Coast thing?”

  Junie shrugged. “One of those ew-tricious fad foods. I never traffic in the stuff, myself.”