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Tessabarely made it to the diner right off the exit. It wasn’t that we were in the middle of nowhere; Portland to Gresham wasn’t a bad drive, but when there was no way to charge the car, we slowly putted up to the parking spot. I chuckled. Who’d have thought that a Tesla would putt toward a building?
Clay turned the car off and plopped his hands on his thighs, turning to give me the biggest grin.
“See? She made it.”
I formed a tight line with my lips, holding back a smile and laugh. “Yeah,” I choked. “She made it.”
Keeping his eyes on me, a corner of his lips up and his eyes narrow—a cheeky look I had seen plenty of times—he opened his door. His hair flipped to the side, and he turned his torso and climbed out of the car. I followed, closing the door with a click and meeting him in front of the car. Almost as if on instinct, I reached for his hand, and as if his muscle memory took over, he grasped my palm in his. The movement was so smooth, sonormalwe both let it happen, we both accepted it.
The girl behind the counter waved to us, and Clay gave her a slight head nod before he led me over to an empty booth.
“So, I doubt they have vegetarian tacos. . .” Clay smiled, his hand slipping from mine. “But I bet their burger is the best.”
“Order anything. Tonight’s on me.” I folded my arms on the table and leaned closer to him. “Thank you for taking me to two different stores to get fabric and running out of juice for me.” I smiled, his eyes instantly locking with mine.
“Anytime.” He smiled, a sparkle in his eye.
Man, his eyes. . . a dark hazel, almost brown, with just enough green to get lost in. I heaved a sigh and broke eye contact, just in time for the waitress to come up. Despite being after eight, Clay ordered a coffee and a burger. I stuck with water but opted to get a plate of fries.
“That’s it? Fries?”
“Yes, but if I decide your burger looks good. . .”
“I’ll cut it in half.” He smiled. He blinked and cleared his throat. “So, now that we have the fabric, what’s next?”
I rolled my shoulders and sat up a little straighter. “I cut it to the measurements and piece them together. If you keep coming by, you’ll see the entire process, and I bet it will blow your mind.”
He smirked. “I’ll make sure my schedule is cleared.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he ever going to tell me? “How is Jackson and Rye? You still work there, right?”
He heaved a sigh and nodded. “Uh, yeah; still there. Still. . . chugging along.”
“Is it everything you thought it was going to be?” I nudged. Maybe if I poked and prodded, he would give in.
What was he afraid of? That I would be mad? That I would tell him I told you so? That I would rub New York in his face? If that's what was going through his head, then he had me all wrong. Well, let me rephrase that. A few weeks ago, I would have done that but not today. Not after remembering why… I shook my head, pulling myself back to him.
“It's exactly what I thought it would be. I climbed the ranks so quickly. I loved going to work, I loved getting that office with my name on the glass door, I loved going out with my team after, and I loved my apartment. I loved Seattle.” He stopped, as if noticing all the ‘ed’s he was adding after the word love. Helovedit, not lovesit. “But working from Portland isn’t that bad. I get to set my own schedule basically, and since my team does all the heavy work—”
“Except those data entry days,” I added.
He scoffed. “Yeah, except those. I’m able to take the time away. I never vacationed before, so I had a lot of time saved up.”
“You never came to see your parents? How are they?”
He raised his eyebrows and sighed, his shoulders slumping. I could tell he wanted to talk about anything but himself, yet, that was all I wanted to talk about.
“They’re great. My dad’s recently retired. . .”
“Paul retired! I can’t see that?”
He laughed. “Yeah, and he’s working with his hands. Building things out of wood. Pens, chairs, tables, clocks. . . all kinds of things. He’s pretty good actually. He’s been begging me to take that job at Home Depot so he could get a discount on wood.” His smile grew.
He slipped, and I raised my eyebrows. “Job at Home Depot?”
Clay’s laughter stopped. “Oh, well, just a joke. He thinks I’m here for an extended amount of time so I must be unemployed.” He chuckled through the lie, bringing his hands up to the table to play with the sugar packets. “I have to go see them next weekend. Family dinner time.”
I smiled. I had always loved Clay’s parents. They were accepting, kind, and always a joy to be around. I wondered if they missed me like I missed them sometimes. “I’d love to come,” I said, surprising even myself.
