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“I’m worried about you,” I say. “I’m glad you’re not homeless anymore, but we still need to find you a job and a place to live. I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of something.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Elijah gazes out at the lake. “There’s this older guy named Mr. Reinhart.”
It seems like he’s going to continue, but he doesn’t. He just grabs another fry and chews it slowly. I poke him in the arm with the pointy end of my fry. “What about him?”
“He lost his son in a drunk-driving accident. I guess it changed his life or something, because he started volunteering at the group home when I was about ten.” Elijah’s features us
ually darken when he talks about the group home, that muscle in his jaw always taut during his flashbacks. Now, his forehead relaxes and his lips curve upward slightly. He looks over at me. “I liked him a lot. He took us out to baseball games, me and Anthony and some of the other guys. Even bought us a Christmas present a few years in a row, before I got moved to a different home.”
“The world needs more people like that,” I say. The tragedy here is that not only did someone as wonderful as Elijah end up completely alone, but there are kids in group homes right this second, probably experiencing the same neglect.
Elijah nods, his eyes crinkling when he looks at me. He reaches out and runs his thumb across my cheek. “One time, he gave me his home phone number and told me to call him if I ever had an emergency and needed help. I lost it a long time ago, but I’ve been thinking about trying to find him. Maybe ask for a place to crash for a while until I can get my life together.”
I shift on the bench until our knees touch. “Elijah! That would be awesome. You need to find him.” I set down my food and pull out my phone. “What’s his first name?”
“Joseph. Last name Reinhart, and I’m pretty sure the area code of his number was 512.”
I’m no private investigator, but I get to work. There are four Reinharts in Austin, Texas, and my heart leaps at the first result. I turn the phone to Elijah. “Is this him?”
He pulls his brows together as he stares at the screen. “How did you do this?”
“Facebook,” I say with a shrug. I click on Joseph Reinhart’s profile, and it’s set to private, but there are a few public photos of an older man and his wife.
Elijah looks up at me. “That’s him.”
“I’m emailing you the link to his page. Make your own profile and then you can send him a message. Do you want me to do it with you?”
Hesitation colors his gorgeous face and he shakes his head, reaching for another fry. “I’ll do it later.”
“Okay.” I kiss his cheek. “I’m excited for you.”
“Thank you.”
The days are getting shorter now. Sasha always loved the winter months. In her opinion, nothing was better than curling up next to the fireplace and reading a romance or watching one on TV. It’s only five o’clock when we finish eating, but the sun buries itself beneath the tree line, leaving the park covered in shadows.
“I should head back,” I say. “We have a ton of orders to fill.”
“No worries.” Elijah rises from the bench and stretches his arms up over his head. We throw away our trash and then start on the short walk back toward the flower shop. Elijah laces his fingers into mine as we walk, stepping around tourists who are lined up outside of an old-fashioned ice cream parlor for a slice of their famous cherry pie. His hand fits into mine like it was molded specifically for me to hold. I lean against his shoulder as we walk, positively high on the fluttery feeling he gives me, and the hope that this man Elijah knew as a kid will show him kindness now that he’s an adult.
“You haven’t left yet and I already miss you.”
He chuckles. “I would say I could stay until you get off work, but I’m not sure your parents would be cool with that.”
“On a school night?” I say with a snort. “Definitely not. Although they’ve been asking about you a lot.”
“Oh yeah? Good or bad asking?”
I lift an eyebrow and let him get all nervous about it for a second. “Good asking,” I finally say. “I’m sorry for all of that … stuff … the last few days. I just want you to stay safe.”
“I know.” He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands grabbing my waist and lifting me until my feet are floating and I’m at his eye level. Giggling, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer for a kiss. When I’m in his arms, it’s so easy to forget all of the unknowns we still face. “You’re making it really hard to go back to work,” I whisper, peering down at him.
He sets me back on the sidewalk, his bottom lip rolling under his teeth. “You have no idea.” His voice is a low growl that sends a shiver into my toes.
“Maybe you two should get a room.”
All of my muscles tighten at the sound of a familiar voice. Zack stands just a few feet away, his fingers woven with the slender fingers of Savannah Weststar, varsity softball player. She smiles uncomfortably at me. We’ve never really been friends, but she was a part of the Dying Sasha Fan Club for a short while.
My heart crawls up in my chest, but then Zack winks as they walk by us.
