“You’re welcome, sugar,” Nancy says. “Want some coffee?”
“Uhh—actually, do you have any of that sweet tea from last night?” Layla asks, nose crinkling.
Nancy laughs. “Course I do, doll.”
Layla does this little excited wiggle in her chair, like sweet tea is the highlight of her day.
I lean back, arms crossed.
“How’d you sleep?” Dad asks her.
“Great,” she says easily. “Like a baby. I love that fireplace.”
“Well, if you need more wood, it’s out back,” Dad tells her.
“Can we hurry this up?” I blurt.
Layla freezes. Then she nods quickly. “Yes! I’m so sorry. I’m done. Thank you guys—truly. I’m really grateful for dinner last night and this morning. I’m going to the store, so hopefully I won’t be much of a bother.”
I nod once as she scoots her chair in.
I grab my keys and head for the door, Layla trailing close behind me.
“Whew, it’s only seven a.m. and it’s already hot out here,” she says, trailing close behind me toward the truck.
Well she won’t last a summer here. Not if she’s already complaining about the heat. Summers get into the high nineties.
I shake my head. “It only gets worse. Wait till July or August. You’ll be wishin’ you were back in good ol’ Seattle, city girl.”
She laughs as we both climb into the cab. As she settles into the passenger seat, buckling her seat belt, she digs through her purse and pulls out a folded piece of paper, waving it at me like she’s proud of herself.
“Got my list!” she announces.
“Thanks for lettin’ me tag along, Cole.”
Why does she act like this is a group activity? This is a favor not a field trip.
“Yup,” I reply, turning the key.
I crank the engine and turn on the radio, flipping straight to the country station I always listen to. It fills the cab, steady and familiar. She bobs her head almost immediately, staring out the window, tapping her foot against the floorboard.
Doesn’t take long before the questions start.
“So how long have you lived in Clover?”
Here we go, city folk always want to hear stories. Like cowboy life is some movie they are watching on tv but hell, I knew this was comin’. She talks. A lot.
“Since I was born,” I say. “What about you—always lived in Seattle?”
“Yup.” She smiles. “I miss it, but my goodness, Tennessee is beautiful.”
“Mhm.”
“Are you married?”
Woah, where the hell did that come from? This is exactly why I don’t make conversation.
I glance over. “Is that any of your business?”
