Page 70 of When Love Takes Root

“Don’t judge me, Mr. Brooks.”

“I’m not judging. I’m intervening.”

Her smile tried not to show up and lost. “Intervening?”

“There’s a Mexican spot around the corner. Good food. Booths in the back. I’m taking a break before I finish labeling this run, and you need real food before you drive home.”

Her eyes lit before she could hide it.

I leaned against the counter and let myself smile. “Your pretty self wants to spend time with me.”

Her mouth fell open. “Josiah.”

“I said what I observed.”

“You observed wrong.”

“No, I didn’t.”

She grabbed her purse, still smiling. “I’m only going because I’m hungry.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ten minutes later, we sat in a corner booth, surrounded by the clink of dishes and low conversation. Celeste looked at the table and laughed.

“We ordered like we just got rescued.”

“You said you liked Mexican food.”

“I do.”

“So do I.”

“This is excessive.”

“This is research.”

She dipped a chip into queso. “Research?”

“I needed to know if you were a fajita woman, an enchilada woman, or a taco woman.”

“What if I’m all three?”

“Then you’re balanced.”

She laughed again, easier this time. She moved some locs behind her ear, and I made myself look at the menu I’d already finished reading.

“Okay, electrician. What else do you like besides over-ordering and making up food assessments?”

“Cars. Boxing. Paintball. Wrestling when I was younger. Working with my hands. Science. Figuring out why something works, why it fails, and how to make it right without guessing.”

Her brows lifted with a spark of interest I felt immediately. “Science?”

“Always.”

“That makes sense for you.”

“What about you?”