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She snorts. “Depends on how much you have to repent for.”
“I never repent,” I state baldly.
“You never feel guilty?”
I give her a look. “Why would I?”
“I don’t know.” She stares out the window, her expression blank. “I guess I don’t know much about what you do when you’re not fighting with me.” She finally looks back at me. “What do you do, Grady? When you’re not fighting with me, I mean. What’s your life like?”
I am slightly taken aback. “Let’s go get a table, and we can discuss it.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. She points toward the diner. “You want to have lunch?”
“Dinner,” I correct with a grin. Everyone in the South knows that if you eat after church, it’s dinner. “I want to have dinner.”
She points to herself. “With me? Like, at the same table?”
I roll my eyes as I open my door. “No, I’m going to make you sit across the restaurant, far away from me.”
“That sounds more like it,” she says quietly.
“Get out of the car, Clifford,” I say loudly. “Right now.”
“Fuck you, Grady,” she tosses back. But she opens her door and gets out.
We go in and sit at a booth near the window. The waitress comes to take our order, and Evie gets pancakes while I get eggs, sausage and gravy, and a biscuit.
“You’re going to eat all that and then be lazy the rest of the afternoon.” She taps her hands on the table to get my attention. “We have work to do today, Grady,” she warns.
“I’ll be fine.” I tilt my head toward the bathroom. “You want to go change? I can go next.” I grab the edges of the table. “I’ll hold the table for us.” I grin at her.
She rolls her eyes. “Still corny,” she mutters as she walks away, her bag over her shoulder.
The waitress comes to bring our drinks, and she leans close to me as she sets them on the table. She even sets her knee next to me on the bench so she can reach across me to get the salt shaker from the other side, as she switches it out with a new one.
“How you been doing, Grady?” she asks, her knee still resting on the cushion next to me.
“Fine,” I say simply. “You?” I lift my drink to my lips so I’ll have something to do with my hands.
“Just fine,” she says. She smiles at me. ?
?I was hoping you’d call, you know…” She lets her voice trail off. “After you came out to quote me on the grass cutting, and then you stayed for a glass of tea… Well, I thought you’d call me after that.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Did you want me to come and cut your grass?” I ask. “I didn’t get a message from you.”
She opens her eyes up wide. “That’s because you refused to give me your cell phone number.”
Now I’m even more confused. “I gave you my card. It has my business phone number on it.” I tilt my head as I stare at her. Her cheeks are pink and I have no idea why. “Was my voice mail full? I had that happen once last year when my daddy was in the hospital, but it only happened that one time. I’m pretty sure that was before I came out to quote you for grass cutting.”
She blows out a breath. “I didn’t call you,” she says quietly. “I’d hoped you’d call me about more than the grass.” She shakes her head and turns to leave. “Never mind.”
Evie comes back to the booth as I watch the waitress walk away. I can’t remember her name. I should have looked at her name tag.
“Hey, Grady.” Evie snaps her fingers to get my attention. “Your turn. Go change. The food will be here in a minute.”
I get up and go to the restroom to change my clothes, still puzzled about that interaction. I had quoted her a price for grass cutting, and she’d offered me a glass of sweet tea. It was honestly some of the worst tea I’d ever had, but I drank it because it would be rude not to.
And that’s all I can remember about that encounter. Once I’ve given someone a quote, unless I hear back from them I forget about it.
