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Finished and full, I pat a napkin over my lips and take a final sip of coffee. A wash of sentiment bordering on contentment, a feeling I’ve not had in weeks, flows over me. Sitting back, I sigh. And then I look up.
“I can whip up another batch if you’d like?” Amusement twitches around his mouth.
Goodness, where is a smart remark when I need one? Right now, I’m fat, happy, and I’m going to let it slide. But I do shoot him a dirty look.
I am surprisingly chipper now that my stomach is full, but reality and I will run headlong into each other soon enough, so I might as well enjoy this while I can.
Marco takes my plate—um, plates—rinses them, and sets them one by one in the dishwasher. “We can run to the store any time you want. What do you think?”
That you’re sweet. Sweet, kind, and just darned fun to be with.
“Umm, I’d like to shower, but I can be ready in about thirty.” The sooner the better for me. Time is ticking toward my next nosedive.
Closing up the dishwasher, he starts it running. “Thirty is fine. Come on out whenever you’re ready.”
∞∞∞
Forty-five minutes after parting in the kitchen—the delay Marco’s fault for bringing me one of Rachel’s clean t-shirts and a hair dryer—he and I are on the road again. The scenery consists of dusty fields with scrubby brush. Sprinkled amongst the dilapidated mobile homes is a handful of more prosperous looking homeplaces, but not many. Lots of yards are littered with old appliances, rusty cars, and falling-in trailers put out to pasture. Wandering amongst the junk in one of them is the skinniest, most swaybacked nag I have ever seen. Somebody needs to take a bucket of feed to the poor guy. There sure isn’t any grass to chew on.
I look over at Marco’s profile, his strong jaw, eyes on the two-lane ribbon of highway. We passed through his town, if you want to call the rundown wide spot in the road a town, and now we’re on our way to the next one, the one that boasts some actual stores. While the vastness of the landscape holds a certain charm, I have to be honest: this place is depressing, the lack of prosperity startling. I see very few haves and an abundance of have-nots.
The next town has more going for it. Marco points out the school where his sister attends and Marina is a custodian. The building is newish and well-kept, two shiny new school buses lined up in front. I spy the signs of a handful of familiar fast-food joints and one for a ubiquitous discount store.
We enter together, but quickly part ways so I can do my shopping. Well, sort of. Marco lurks around the fringes of the clothing section, keeping an eye out. Lucky me, my benefactor has the same mega-protector gene I grew up contending with. I throw a few casual shirts in my basket, try on a pair of jeans, then take two of the size that fits.
I shoo him further back when I move on to the lingerie section. I am not taking a man, no matter how good-looking, bra shopping with me.
I’m not picky here, and I also toss in a value-pack of underwear that look to be my size. They could be granny-panties for all I know, but who cares, right? No one—and I meanno one—is going to be seeing them.
Like a bored husband—uh,not—Marco trails me to the health and beauty section. I find deodorant, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. My hosts should appreciate that. I labor over which cheap foundation to buy, then toss my best guess into the cart and throw in some concealer for the dark half-moons under my eyes for good measure.
“I’m done.” I join Marco, keeping watch at the end of the aisle and play-slug his arm. “At ease, soldier. I don’t think the bad guys are on the move.”
He scowls.
Did I say he was more chill than Tripp? My mistake.
He looks pointedly down at my flip-flopped feet. “How about shoes?”
“I can make do with these.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. You need better footwear for what I have planned.”
I give him a squinty look, as if that will help me discern said plans. “Fine.” I jump into the lead, taking off back in the direction of the clothing. “Spending other people’s money is fun, isn’t it?”
I feel a tug on my ponytail. “You should know.” But I hear the smile. His hands land on my shoulders and press me in a new direction. “Shoes are this way.”
He insists on tennis shoes, so I pick out the cutest ugly pair I can find—which of course, requires I revisit the clothing section for socks.
As the checker adds up my haul, I gnaw my lip. I don’t want to run up credit card debt. I’m without a job, and Mom and Dad, doggonit, hold the reins to my trust fund for two more years. If they find out about my lousy decision-making lately, they might hold on until I’m thirty.
But when the total shows, my jaw sags. It’s roughly as much as my last pair of jeans, so, I swipe my card, and…it’s all good here.
Marco takes my bags, all but the one with the bra and panties. I smile to myself. Funny man, Mr. One-Night-Stand.
Halfway to the truck, I touch his arm. “Wait. You wanted half and half.”
“Nah, I’m fine. Besides, I want to take you somewhere, and cream would need refrigeration.”
