Barrett
I set my fork on my empty plate and watch Abby tend to the other customers at the diner, making a final assessment that she doesn’t flirt with them the way she flirts with me. It’s subtle, but I want to be sure.
Since she moved back to town and hired on as a waitress seven days ago, this has become my favorite part of the day.
She rushed off to college to pursue her dreams immediately after graduating high school, and yet here she is. I’ve pieced together enough bits of conversation to know that she realized her dream wasn’t fulfilled.
She came back to her roots to regroup, and made it clear that her goal is not to be a diner waitress forever. I’d sure like to help her with that.
Using lucky number seven as my day to take action, I catch her eye and she heads over.
Her smile is bright and cheery even though she’s been on her feet through the morning rush. I tend to my animals and farm first thing then come in for a late breakfast, and to see her.
“Are you ready for your check? We barely had a chance to chat today.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say out of habit even though she’s five years younger than me. “But there’s something else I’d like.”
“Dessert with breakfast?” She eyes my empty plate, probably wondering what I’ll pair with biscuits and gravy.
No one’s ever praised me for my social skills or my use of fancy words. I’m a simple cowboy. I say what I mean. I mean what I say. “I want to take you on a date.”
Laughter bursts from her mouth. Not a good sign.
“I don’t plan on being in town long. Thanks, though.”
“I only asked if you wanted to go on a date.” Okay, this might be the first time I don’t say exactly what I mean. In my mind, we’re married. We’ve got a house full of kids and her belly is swollen with our next one.
She rests her arms on the bar, leaning forward. Her face is only about a foot away from mine. It’s still a foot too far. But I know better than to reach forward and grab her. That would be wrong, especially with all the talk about toxic masculinity I’ve been hearing.
She grins. “I didn’t take you for the one-and-done type.”
Oh, hell no. I slap my hand on the counter, drawing unwelcome attention. I say quietly, “That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s kind of what you said. You don’t need me to be around for long. Just for tonight?”
Her sass always gets to me. She can take care of herself, but I don’t want her to.
She pulls the receipt pad out of her apron and flips to mine, tears the page out, and slaps it on the counter with a wink.
“Wait, can we renegotiate what I said?”
“No need.” She knows I’ll pay in cash, not needing change, so she’s off to the next customer.
I fucked that up. Making a scene in her workplace would be idiotic, so I head next door to the bar to think… and lick my wounds. How did lucky number seven fail me?
Entering the hole-in-the-wall establishment never goes unnoticed.
My eyes haven’t adjusted to the dim lighting when a familiar, and unwelcome voice calls out, “I don’t appreciate you reporting me to the Water Commission, Barrett.”
“Well, Frank, you shouldn’t illegally tap into the irrigation water.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Should we head across the street to the Water Commission and ask them?” That would settle one problem, but it’s not where my head is right now.
“Fuck off.” Frank dismisses me and turns back to the bartender who’s already pouring my go-to drink.
It’s never too early to order whiskey, and I stare at the various shapes and colors of bottles sitting behind the bar, lost in thought. I’d been so sure today was the day to ask Abby.
