Page 30 of Bailey

“We’ll take the cookie crumble pie,” Bailey said thoughtfully. “And a fountain drink.”

She looked at Reeves as another couple of people came over and peered at the tablet in front of her. The worker read back their order, handed over the cups for their drinks, and indicated they should go down the line.

One of the workers who’d come over started building Bailey’s salad, and she had him add more croutons, and then more croutons, and then even more, until she was satisfied. The other worker worked on a hot line with his back to Reeves, and they went down the length of the counter where someone had placed her multicolored rice-cereal-and-marshmallow treat and his cookie crumble pie, which looked mostly to be made of Oreos and whipped cream.

Bailey had somehow found a tray, and Reeves took the items and loaded them onto it. Their meals came on real dishes, which she placed on the tray while he paid.

Then Bailey went to fill up his soda for him. She chose a table in the corner away from the door and the ordering line, and Reeves wanted to kiss her again for her thoughtfulness and consideration of his feelings. She’d already moved his chair so he could sit with his back to the world by the time he arrived with their tray of food.

“I hate eating off a tray,” Bailey said, and she unloaded her enormous salad bowl and put it in front of her place, then did the same with his plate.

He removed their desserts and turned to find a place to store the tray. The garbage can had a rack above it with other empty trays, and he moved in that direction to put his there as well. Then he returned to the table and Bailey, who’d sat down and laid out a napkin for herself already.

She smiled at him. “I can’t wait to see if you like this.”

He took his seat and looked down at his open-face sandwich, where two pieces of focaccia had been laid out and covered with tater tots, cheese, and steak. Brown gravy covered the entire thing, and he had an extra cup of it in front of him. The scent of salt and roasted meat met his nose, and Reeves’s stomach growled.

“It looks amazing,” he said. “I can’t imagine I won’t like it.”

“Hot dish usually has vegetables,” Bailey said. “But one of the best parts about this one is that it’s literally just bread, meat, and potatoes.”

“Don’t forget the cheese,” Reeves said with a smile.

Bailey giggled as she started to mix together her crouton salad with a side of chicken, bacon, lettuce, tomato, and ranch.

“You’re a real crouton aficionado.” He nodded the brim of his cowboy hat toward her bowl.

“I love croutons,” Bailey said. There was not an ounce of defensiveness or humiliation anywhere. “When my parents asked us what snacks we wanted, my brother always said peanut butter crackers, and my cousin always wanted potato chips—you know, just the plain ones in the yellow bag?” She grinned. “I wanted croutons. Butter and garlic were my favorite growing up, but I switched to the ranch-flavored ones in college.”

Reeves blinked, her joy filling him from top to bottom. “You eat croutons out of the bag like chips or pretzels?”

She laughed, the sound of it brightening his life in a way that made Reeves realize how dim it had become. “That’s right,” she said, and she put her first bite of her salad in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she moaned. “Yes, I love this salad.”

Reeves picked up his knife and fork and cut off a corner of his steak and cheese hot dish sambo—a word he’d never thought he’d think or speak in his life. He got plenty of tater tot with the focaccia, steak, cheese, and gravy, and put the whole thing in his mouth. The different textures made a party, and he got salt, meat, and a hint of dryness from the provolone that made him give the same reaction she’d just put on display for him.

She laughed again, but even as she shook her head, she said, “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s really good,” he said, plenty of surprise in his voice.

“And we’re practically eating downtown.” Bailey gave him a knowing look and took another bite of her salad.

When she’d started talking about OJ and Bryce, Reeves thought tonight would be a really great time to tell her about his online persona and business. But only a few sentences in, he’d realized that she needed tonight to be about her, and that once she told him what she needed to, she’d simply need reassurance and comfort from him, not his own confession. So, while the tension between them had definitely shifted and broken and dissipated, it seemed to have all found a way into Reeves’s heart and soul, where it was slowly squeezing the life out of him.

“Thank you for letting me talk about the Youngs,” she said.

Reeves looked up to meet her eyes. “Of course,” he said. “Like I said, you can talk to me about anything you want.”

She nodded and looked out the window to her left, her gaze taking on a faraway quality. “For a while there, after Bryce and I gave up OJ, I wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake.”

“I’m sure,” Reeves said, though he honestly had no idea how giving up a baby for adoption would feel.

“But then I see them,” she said, shaking her head. “And they’re touring the world for Country Quad, and playing on stages, and they have these great big careers that everyone knows about.” She shook her head, her eyes coming back to his. “And I realized that’s not what I want.”

“What do you want?” Reeves asked.

Bailey wore open vulnerability in her expression. “I want the small-town life,” she said. “I want my clinic to thrive, and I want to work with animals, but I don’t need accolades. I don’t want celebrity.”

Reeves’s throat closed up immediately, but Bailey continued. “I just want what we have—our farms out of the way, Friday night dates, hiking dates to meadows, and the slow, simple problem of putting in a duck pond, though it’s beyond my capabilities.” She laughed lightly, and Reeves managed to smile.