Page 11 of Echoes of a Southern Song

When she gets tired of me or decides I’m too much work, is she going to want to kick me to the curb? I still don’t really know what went wrong between her and her husband. It seems like she was fine with things and he’s the one who walked away. Why? I look at her and I see the kind of woman I’d fight giants for. What makes a man up and walk away?

Did she push him away? Was she the one who got bored? She said it was an impulsive mistake. Maybe she shut down and made it clear she didn’t want him around and he took the hint.

What if she sees Sam again and changes her mind? What if—

“I’ll give you ten bucks if you tell me what’s on your mind,” Jinnie says suddenly, laughing.

I blink. “What?”

She gestures out the windshield. “You passed the street four blocks ago. Where’s your head at?”

Shit. I glance in the rearview mirror. She’s right—the turn for the restaurant is long behind us.

“Damn.” I rub the back of my neck, forcing a chuckle. “Guess I was distracted.”

“By?”

By you. By us. By whether I’m just another guy you’ll want to ‘get rid of’ one day.

“Just stuff,” I say instead, making a U-turn at the next light. “My dad. The farm. The usual.”

Jinnie studies me for a beat, then nods, accepting the half-truth. “Well, for tonight, let’s pretend none of that exists. Just you, me, and whatever greasy appetizers this place serves.”

I squeeze her hand. “Deal.”

The restaurant is packed, buzzing with Friday night energy. We’re seated in a corner booth. I feel a few people looking at me. Or maybe they’re looking at her.

She’s beautiful. I take a sip of my water and study her. She’s put on makeup tonight. It highlights her natural beauty instead of looking like spackle.

“You’re staring again,” she says without looking up.

“Can’t help it.”

She peeks over the menu, that sparkle back in her eyes. “Cheesy.”

“Accurate.”

The waiter comes, and we order—some fried monstrosity to share, burgers, fries, and milkshakes. It’s the meal I wanted to have earlier when she shut me down. It’s my comfort food. The food arrives quickly, and for a while, it’s easy. Just us, stealing fries from each other’s plates, laughing too loud at stupid jokes.

But beneath it all, the tension hums.

Every time Jinnie checks her phone, my stomach knots.

Every time someone glances our way, I wonder if they’re judging us.

Every time Jinnie smiles at me, I wonder how long it’ll last.

“So, what’s winter like around here? I mean, I know it’s not Wisconsin-level cold, but is it bad?”

She raises an eyebrow at me, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “Big, bad winter expert over there,” she teases. “I bet you’re one of those guys who brags about how you shoveled snow uphill both ways just to get to school?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Not exactly. But yeah, winters back home are brutal. Negative temps, feet of snow, wind that feels like it’s peeling your skin off. You learn real quick how to bundle up.”

Jinnie waves a hand dismissively. “Please. Southern Illinois winters are basically a mild inconvenience compared to that. Sure, it gets cold—like, maybe down into the teens sometimes. And yeah, we get ice storms that shut everything down because no one here knows how to drive in it.” She pauses, her smirk widening. “But we don’t get that ‘arctic tundra’ vibe you’re used to. No frozen eyelashes or icicles hanging off your beard.”

“No icicles?” I feign disappointment, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “What’s even the point of winter without icicles?”

“How do the cows handle that kind of cold?”