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"Johnnie I can't..."
"Do you really want there to be no one standing up there saying some parting words?"
"But he's not who I thought..."
"Baby, he was whoever he was. Everyone knows my side of this story. Everyone knows their own side. No one knows yours. I'm glad he was good to you. And they should know that too. So tell them."
I wanted to refuse, I really did. How could I get up there and say nice things about a man who, for most of his life, was not the man I knew and loved? Then again, what did that say about me? I was supposed to believe in second chances, in turning your life around. That was the job I was in; I helped people start over; I helped them repair the damage they created all the years they were using. It would be hypocritical of me to feel so differently about Ben now that I knew his sordid history. Because he did take his damage and try to set it to rights. I knew that because I knew how good he was to me. So I had to get up there and say those things. I needed people to know that Ben Allen left the Earth a different man than the one most of them had known most of his life. I owed him that for the years of friendship he gave to this lonely, prickly recluse.
"Okay," I said, nodding at the two men as I moved to stand.
"Then that's settled," Johnnie said to Father Sanders then turned to me. "So, it's time."
"Time?" I repeated, brows drawing together.
"Yeah. For lunch. Let's go."
"What? I have to..."
"Let me treat you to lunch," he finished for me, reaching for the cup in my hands and, no lie, pushing it into Father Sanders' hands. Then he reached down and wrapped my pinkie in his pinkie and started pulling me down the aisle toward the front door.
I was so frazzled by the gesture that I didn't think to object until we were already outside on the front steps. "I, ah, I need my purse," I tried dumbly.
"Not familiar with the concept of being treated to lunch, huh?" he asked, swinging our entwined hands between us as we walked down the street.
"Johnnie, I really don't think..."
"That there is anyone in the world you would rather share a meal with? I know. I'm pretty fucking phenomenal."
I felt myself smile, but shook my head at him. "That's really annoying, you know."
"My charm?" he asked, turning toward me with a wink.
"You cutting off my sentences," I corrected.
"But mine are a whole lot nicer than yours."
"How do you know that when you won't let me finish?"
"Because I know you are intrigued by me. You think I'm interesting. And I know you've thought about me naked." At that, I felt a blush creep up my cheeks and he smiled huge. "See? Now, because I know you feel that way, I also know you are going to do everything in your power to try to shut me down."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because you're smart," he said simply, opening the door to the diner for me and dropping my pinkie. I felt unreasonably sad for the loss of contact. I thought he was done speaking but he moved up behind me as we waited for the hostess (Carol, a sixty-plus year old woman who moved with the pace of a snail) to make her way up to us. His fingertips brushed my hip and his breath was warm on my ear, making a small shiver run through my body. "And smart girls know I am nothing but trouble. But let me tell you, angel, I am worth the risk."
"Johnnie!" Carol greeted him, ignoring me completely and, for once, I wasn't offended by it.
"Miss. Carol," Johnnie smiled disarmingly as he reached for her hand and brought it to her lips, making the mother of five and the grandmother of fifteen giggle like a darn schoolgirl. "You look lovely today."
"Oh, you," she smiled, swatting his arm as she moved to reach for menus. "Two?"
"Yes ma'am."
She led us across the half-full diner to a table in the center. "I'm so sorry about your daddy," she said as we sat and she placed the menus in front of us on the table.
"Thanks," was Johnnie's unusually clipped reply.
"Well, Jennie will be your waitress. Oh, it is so good to see you," she smiled, framing his face with her hands for a second before bustling away.
"What?" Johnnie asked over his menu when he saw my smirk.
"That thing you have. Apparently it works on females of all species, huh?"
"That... thing I have?" he repeated, knowing darn well what I meant.
"Yeah and I listened to her whine for an hour about her fight with Mindy Sue," a voice broke in from over Johnnie's shoulder, drawing my attention. It was a table of early-twenties-something guys, all in jeans and tees with baseball caps on. "Then that fucking bitch puts me in the friend zone?" he asked the group who exploded in support for their poor, sexless friend.
I felt the anger well up inside, making my skin feel itchy, making me want to reach over the table and slap the jock-jerk across the face. Not just for using the b-word, but for assuming that being a friend to a woman could possibly be a bad position to be in.
Johnnie's head cocked to the side while watching me before he suddenly scooted his chair back and turned it so his profile was toward the guys at the table behind us. He reached out and tapped the one who had been speaking on the shoulder, making him turn slightly in his chair to look at him.
"What?"
"Women don't trade pussy for kindness," he started. "Thinking you're owed something for not being an asshole, makes you an asshole. She ain't a bitch 'cause she doesn't want your dick, but you sure as fuck are a dick for calling her a bitch just because she has some standards that you obviously don't meet."
