“I might have to walk her to her car if she keeps it up.”
“Do you have a bat I don’t know about?” he snickers.
“So funny,” I say, rolling my eyes for effect. “What are you ordering? What’s good?”
“Well, being that I haven’t been here in forever, I’m going with the steak cooked medium and a baked potato with extra butter and no sour cream. You?”
“Probably the chicken breast. But if you like steak,” I say, setting my menu down, “one of these days I’ll take you to Hillary’s House. They marinate them with kiwi, I think. Like they rub it on there and lets it sit overnight. It’s delicious.”
“Is that around here?”
“No,” I blush, realizing what I’m doing—considering spending time with him in the future. “It’s in Savannah.”
He fidgets in his seat and I do the same in mine.
“I didn’t mean to insinuate anything,” I say. “I just …”
“Have you given more thought to your brother’s offer?”
“Yeah. I’m still not sure.” The struggle that sweeps through me every time I think I have the right answer to Graham’s offer pelts me again. There’s a wide swath of pride that makes me want to wear a sign that says he asked me, just so people know. Then there’s reality.
Going to work for him would feel like a failure despite the victory it also carries. It means I gave up on my dream. It means I need him to be successful. It means I’d be stuck there for the rest of my life because I could never quit. I could never fail or bail on Graham.
There would be no more random travel, no more doing anything that’s not on my schedule.
No more Walker.
“It’s a pretty great offer,” Walker notes, his words weighed carefully.
“Yeah, it is. I’m not totally sure it’s the right choice for me.”
Our drinks are placed in front of us, our orders sent to the kitchen. Walker pays no attention to anything but me.
“I took over my father’s company,” he says, stumbling through the sentence. “I remember a lot of people,” he says, clearing his throat, “thought it was stupid to want to do it for a living. But there’s a part of me that really likes being able to carry on that tradition.”
“I get it.” Those three words seem to mean something to him, his body actually softening as I watch. “I totally understand why you wanted to do that. Especially after he passed. It gives you a connection to your history. That’s important. Your kids may even want to work it someday.”
“I can’t imagine that.”
“I can,” I laugh softly. “I can see a little Walker in bib overalls bopping around the lobby. It would be so damn adorable. But you’d need to keep little Walker away from little Peck. I can only imagine the shenanigans those two would get in.”
Walker laughs the freest sound I’ve ever heard come from him. “It’s little Lance that you’d have to worry about. Trust me.”
I take his hand and lace our fingers together. “I told Graham I’d let him know this week.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Do you want me to go?”
He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to keep you from doing what you want to do. I don’t want to play a part in that decision.”
“You don’t think I’m taking into consideration leaving you when I think about going to Georgia?” With a final squeeze, I withdraw my hand. “I don’t want to make things weird or put pressure on you or jump in too fast, but … the thought of leaving makes me really, really sad.”
“Then don’t go.” Something changes and he roughs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to go. Okay? I have to say it because if I don’t and you leave, I’ll never forgive myself for not telling you how I feel. But …”
“But what?” My forehead creases, my heart thumping in warning that this isn’t a normal “but.” “But what, Walker?”
“Nothing. I don’t want you to leave.”
Our plates are put in front of us, the scents of basil and garlic floating through the air. We pull our attention to our meals, avoiding the elephant in the room.
I’m ready to take a bite when Walker speaks.
“I want you to know that I want to be with you,” he says, his eyes shining. “Only you. No other women. I want you to come to church and Nana’s and let me take you to dinner and for you to bring me lunch at work just so I can kiss you in the middle of the day.”
“Does this mean I’m fired?” I joke through tears that start to fall down my face at his sweet words.
“This means you’re promoted,” he laughs, shrugging. “I don’t know what the fuck it means, to be honest. It’s just me telling you how I feel so you can make whatever decision you want to make off it. There are things we’ll have to figure out, but none of that matters if I let you go without you knowing. Right?”
“Right.” I get up from my seat and walk around the table and slide into the chair next to him. He folds me into his arms, pulling me to his chest, and holds me in the middle of the restaurant. The clinging of silverware and hushed conversations of the other patrons suddenly don’t exist. It’s just me and Walker. “This is my favorite place in the world.”
He holds me for a long moment, letting his sturdiness be the rock he seems to know I need. When I pull away a few moments later, he clears his throat. Something about it makes my skin prickle and I furrow my brow in anticipation of his words.
“I’m going to be leaving town for a few days coming up,” he says, wrestling with each word. “I’ll be gone a couple of days, a few at most. But I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” I go back to my seat, my food forgotten.
“I just have a few things to take care of that are overdue. I’ll explain when I get back. I just wanted you to know.”
“Okay.” A sense of uneasiness settles over me, but is washed away with the simple way he touches my cheek. “Can I do something now that you’ve asked me to stay and promoted me?”
“What’s that?” he smiles.
“I want to buy new towels for the shop.”
He shakes his head, picks up his fork, and goes into a long lecture about frivolous spending that’s both irritating and so freaking adorable I can’t quite handle it.
Twenty-Seven
Sienna
The week has gone by fast, the shop bustling with work and laughs and muffins. I’ve found myself there every day. Some of those days I wasn’t supposed to be. I was supposed to be looking for a new place to rent since my lease is coming up or having lunch with Delaney. Instead, I’ve ended up at some point at the desk in Crank with a smile on my face.
The customers know me now. The old men that come in on Saturday mornings wearing their seed catalogue logo hats and cans of tobacco in their pockets bring me goodies. They entertain me with stories of Walker as a child, the “good old days” as they call them when Walker’s dad, who seems to be more like him than his brothers, ran the shop. There are stories of coal mining explosions, tales of Vietnam, arguments over who makes the best lemon pie in town and who remembers the basketball game where the Linton Wildcats came in runners-up in the state tourney even as the smallest school in the state with a team.
I’ve been invited to an ice cream social at the Methodist church, a book club at the library with Ruby, to help Mr. Mitchell’s wife bake ten pies for a raffle, and even filled in one day at Carlson’s during the lunch rush when I stopped to get Walker and Peck a sandwich. Each day that goes by is another day that I fall in step with the sleepy town that’s starting to win me over.
Walker taps on the window from his backyard and winks before disappearing again.
I think I’ve already started to fall in love with him.
I wipe off the counters in his kitchen, listening to him and Lance laugh outside the open window. My heart sings as I clean up the meatloaf lunch I had to call my mom and get the recipe for.
The kitchen is small and is in desperate need of a loving touch
, but I’m afraid Walker will have a coronary if he comes in and I’ve completely redone the whole thing in one day.
When I was here earlier this week, I folded all the washcloths in the drawer and reorganized the silverware, putting them all back in the little compartments of the divider. Emboldened that he didn’t say anything from that, I quietly redid the cabinet he had shoved full of plastic cups and container lids.
The front door squeals as it opens, Lance’s laugh ringing through the house. Drying my hands off on a towel, I mosey through the kitchen and into the living room with the guys.
“Did you get the weed-eating done?” I ask, kissing Walker on top of the head.
“I did,” Walker answers. “Lance sat on the mower playing with his dating app.”
“You use a dating app?” I laugh. “Seriously?”
“Hell yeah. It’s great. Women are so much more open about what they like without being face to face.”
“But how do you know if you like them?” I ask, sitting on Walker’s knee.
“They post a picture—sometimes of their faces, sometimes of their … you know,” he grins devilishly. “You can see what you like and go from there.”
“Oh my God.”
“Wanna see some?” he asks, reaching for his phone.
“No,” I flinch. “I don’t want to see that. I can’t get over the fact you look at … that,” I say, making a face, “and then meet them and …”
“Fuck?”
Walker works his way around me until his hand is pressed against my stomach. I put my own hand on top of his, feeling his fingers flex against my shirt.
“Why don’t you just meet a nice girl somewhere?” I ask Lance. “I have friends I could introduce you to. Nice ones. Pretty ones. Ones that like to have sex as much as you.”
“I’m open to that.”
“Don’t do it,” Walker chuckles. “They might never look at you the same again, Slugger.”
“They also might consider you the best friend in the universe,” Lance shrugs. “I don’t want a relationship. Too … that.” He nods towards our hands. “I don’t want that.”
“But you want to pick the girl you spend time with by the look of her vagina?” I ask.
“I don’t always pick them like that,” he scoffs. “Just the ones that look tight.”
“Enough,” I laugh, getting to my feet. “I can’t deal with this.”
“I’m leaving.” Lance rises too, stretching. “I swiped for a little get together with a redhead this afternoon.”
“Enjoy.” I give him a little wave and head back to the kitchen. I no more than hear the door shut when Walker is twirling me around. “Hey you,” I whisper, the sight of him all sweaty taking my breath away. “Want some dessert?”
“Why’d you think I came in here?”
“I was hoping for me,” I admit, trying to ignore the butterflies taking flight in my belly.
“Damn right for you.”
He backs me up to the counter, kissing me the entire time. His lips taste of salt and heat, a precursor of all the things I want him to do with them. Before I’m ready, he breaks the embrace.
“I wasn’t done,” I pout, trying to pull him to me again.
“Before I sit you on this counter and eat your pussy,” he grins just before his face sobers, “I want to tell you something.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Two things, actually.”
“Hurry up so I can say yes. You promised things.”
He grins, but doesn’t quite laugh. “I told Machlan we’d come by Crave tonight. I haven’t seen him in a while and he wanted to catch up on a few things before I leave town … which is the second thing.”
My throat squeezes shut, something about the look in his eye makes me nervous. “Right, I remember. For how long?”
“Hopefully I’ll be back Monday. That’s the plan.”
“So just the weekend?”
“That’s the plan,” he reiterates. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, then runs both hands across my head and pins my hair away from my face. He looks at me like he’s never seen me before, like he’s trying to memorize everything about me in just a few seconds. “When I get back, I want to sit down and talk. For real.”
“We can’t do it now?”
“Do you want to do it now?” He licks his lips, reminding me of his promise.
“No,” I giggle, hopping up onto the counter.
“That’s what I thought.”
He slides between my legs. “This is the first time you’ve ever opted not to talk.”
“Now you know how to shut me up.”
He laughs, dipping his lips to touch mine. Even though it’s not what he promised, I’ll take it.
Twenty-Eight
Sienna
“Which one of you told Blaire about the dating app?” Lance eyes his brothers and then Peck. “Was it you?”
Peck holds his hands up in front of him. “Wasn’t me. I haven’t talked to her in a couple weeks, not since I needed to know the legal ramifications of borrowing Kip’s Sheriff cruiser.”
“Why did you do that?” I laugh, snuggling against Walker’s shoulder. He strokes my arm, leaning his cheek against my head while we listen to his family.
“It’s a long story that really won’t come out right,” Peck winces. “You had to be there.”
“What did Blaire say?” I ask.
He shrugs, bringing a bottle to his lips. “She called Kip. I don’t think he’s coming after me or anything.”
“Back to the topic at hand,” Lance says, “which one of you told her about the app? I got sixty-two texts from her today, detailing the hazards of using an app and meeting people online.”
“Like she hasn’t fucked some dude she met online,” Machlan snorts. “I don’t believe that bullshit for a second.”
Nora places a hand on Peck’s shoulder as she looks around the table. “Anyone need anything? Sure is quiet up there without you, Mach. The women don’t want to talk to me, I guess.”
Machlan smirks, his eyes as dark as Walker’s are sparkling. “Give ‘em enough whiskey and you can get them to do whatever you want.”
“Ew,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Peck scoots away from the table, taking his bottle with him. “Come on, Nora. I’ll go talk to ya.”
The bar is quiet for a Friday night; the “regulars,” as Machlan called them, are the only ones in the place. The music isn’t too loud, the chaos not as crazy as it has been in times past. I keep looking around for Tommy, but Machlan assured me he hasn’t shown his face again since Walker rearranged it.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, he kisses the side of my head. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” I say. Glancing around at the Gibson boys, Machlan giving Lance hell about a woman they both apparently know, Peck at the bar entertaining Nora, I realize just how good I am.
“What are you thinking?” Walker asks, his mouth pressed against my temple.
“I’d like to bring my sister here someday. She wouldn’t have a clue what to do with your brothers, but she’d get a kick out of Peck,” I say. “I should bring her in the winter and make her see what I’ve been dealing with up here.”
“I love the winter,” Walker says.
“You what? How could you? It’s horrible.”
“This year we’re taking you to Bluebird,” Machlan says, leaning forward. “It’s old stripper hills that we’ve been sledding since we could walk. Funnest shit you’ll ever do. Even Mr. Lame here goes.”
“I’m not lame, you asshole,” Lance snorts. “I’m often busy with work-related responsibilities.”
Machlan looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “I know what you were doing and it had nothing to do with history.”
“It’s history now,” Lance grins before taking a long drink of his beer. “But, yeah, we’ll take you out there, Sienna. You’ll love it. We fill thermoses up with hot chocolate
and spend the day out there acting like idiots.”
“Grown men sledding?” I laugh. “Do you go, Walker?”
“I usually take a car hood or two to use as sleds,” he shrugs. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
“Look at these pics from last year …” Machlan digs out his phone and starts swiping through the list. “Come on. Get over here, Slugger.”
“Not you too,” I whine, untangling myself from Walker. Moving around the table, I look at Machlan’s phone. Pictures of all of them in the snow, bundled up in overalls and beanies, trying to go down this ginormous hill fill the screen. There are snaps of snowball fights, a little blood in the snow from a busted lip, and someone trying to stand on one of the car hoods.
It looks like one of the best days ever.
“That’s amazing,” I tell them, pausing on a picture of them with their arms around each other. “We need to print that.”
When I look up at Walker, his eyes are trained over my shoulder. My smile fades as his jaw drops slowly towards the table.
“What?” I ask. Looking at Lance, he’s looking the same direction. “What’s going on, guys?”
I turn around to face the door, my heart sinking. Scanning the bar, from Nora and Peck to the wall of beer signage and mirrors on the other, there’s nothing there. Just a group of people that have been there all night.
Just as I’m about to ask the guys what they’re seeing, a ripple of goosebumps, a warning from something in my psyche, rolls through my body. It’s so hard, so violent, that I actually shiver.
Then I see her. A woman with inky black hair that’s cut into a bob with high cheekbones heading our way. Her steps are slow and pointed, her pink lips twisted into a “gotcha” formation. An eruption flares from my soul, a fire-breathing dragon shooting towards the woman walking towards us.
My shoulders go back, my face deadening in a self-preservation mode I’ve managed to develop over years of being in public situations with people I dislike. You stand still. Smile pretty, don’t sweat it. Sweating it gives them an advantage.
Gibson Boys Box Set Page 22
