The Reason I Stay (18 page)

That fervent look in his gaze endures for a while more. I mimic it, gazing deep in those eyes that mirror the night sky. He brings his body forward, leaning his elbows over the tabletop. He raises one hand to cup his chin, and folds the other arm so his hand touches his opposed elbow.

Once more I copy him, leaning my body closer to the table, however instead of bringing my hand up to prop my chin, I stretch it over the table, letting my fingers fall extremely close to his arm. With an almost imperceptible movement, he covers my fingers with his. His thumb dips between my palm and the wooden surface, and at an unnaturally slow speed that gives me the best kind of chills.

When the silence becomes too much, I ask, “What are you thinking?”

“Honestly?”

I nod. “Always.”

He smiles. “I’m thinking that with the jokes, and the beer, and the possibility of being frisked under the table, you’re kind of perfect, and I really need to convince you that even though you’re tired and in your work clothes, that this should be a date.”

I blink a few times, at a complete loss for words. What do you reply to something like that? What do you say to a man who says the most inappropriate things, and still makes you feel like goo? I honestly have no idea, but deep down I’m dying to let him convince me that this should be a date, because he’s kind of perfect too.

“Well, people test-drive cars by driving them the way they normally would, right?” He nods, and I continue. “The only way to see if this experiment works is to treat it like a date.”

Anna stops by with our beers. We don’t even acknowledge her presence this time; we’re too busy staring at each other.

We take our bottles—me with my free hand, and him with the one that was cupping his chin—and clink the necks.

“To test-drives,” he proposes, and we smile at each other and take a dink. He stares at my lips, and I stare at his. We bring our bottles back to the table at the same time.

“So, are you an ax murder or a creep?” Matt’s eyes go out of focus for a second, then a small frown forms on his face as he shakes his head. “Good. So anymore expectations you’d like to discuss?”

“Nope, I’m good. But I do have a serious question to ask you. Are you ready?” Judging by his tone, it’s obvious that he’s joking, so I play along and nod after a long steadying breath. And then he asks, “What’s your weirdest talent?”

I deadpan. “I can imitate all the American accents, and seven accents from around the world.”

He laughs and dares me prove it, which I do, sending our conversation to a new and very amusing direction.

I have no idea how much time has passed since we first sat down to eat. What I do know is, one, adding a bowl of boiled peanuts, cake, extra beer, and a pitcher of Coke to our original order wasn’t the most intelligent thing we ever did, because we’re both stuffed holiday style, which isn’t comfortable; and two, I haven’t thought about the Wolfs, and the preparations for Tanie’s party since sitting my butt on this seat.

I blame both things on a very enjoyable time together. Our conversations are a weird, random bunch of whatevers—our eating obsessions, the stories of getting our tattoos, our views on spirituality versus religion, him being left-handed and me being ambidextrous, and all the stuff that happened during his first week here in Jolene. But still, we do, in fact, end up learning a lot about each other.

And all those little things, that are as random as they are him, make me flirt with the lines of liking him more than a lot, and whatever there is after that. Strangely enough, I’m okay with it and Matt seems to feel the same, which is why we both look equally annoyed at my phone when it rings, interrupting our conversation about musical instruments.

I fish the device from my purse and look at the screen that reads
Georgia Wolf
, just below the time—
6:43pm
. My free hand comes up to slap my forehead as the word
crap
rolls off of my tongue.

Matt sits straighter in his seat and pulls his brows together as he looks at me. I ask, “Could you ask for the check?” which deepens his frown. Regardless, he nods, and turns his face to look for Anna.

I press the answer button and bring the device to my ear. “Hey, Mamaw.”

“Thank God, you’re alive. We’ve been waiting you for almost three hours. I was starting to worry.”

I drop my arm to the table and then let my head fall over it. “I’m sorry. I’m okay, just got distracted and forgot.”

Georgia makes that “mmmm” sound that is all too familiar, and lets me know that gossip about my lunch with Matt is already spreading. Annoyed and afraid she’ll start asking questions while I’m sitting across from Matt, I let her know I’ll be there shortly. We talk a little more, though “talking” is a loose term, since I mostly listen to her assuring me that if my reasons for forgetting are good, then I shouldn’t hurry.

When I end the call and raise my head to look at Matt, he’s watching me with worry in his eyes. He tilts his head and points an index finger at me. “No knocking the noggin.”

It makes me laugh, and raise my head from my arms.

“Was that your mother?”

“Yes and no.” His brows pull together in confusion, so I explain. “That was Tanie’s mom, Georgia, but since my mother hasn’t been in the picture since I was five, she and Gammy took up that role.”

Matt’s brows rise. “Oh. So what happened?”

It’s not that I have a problem with talking about my mother—I don’t. But we agreed on not talking about the past right now. Besides, we have very little time together before I have to run to the Wolfs’, and I don’t want to waste these last precious seconds talking about my mommy issues. So my reply comes out dry. “She left.”

He tucks his hair behind his ear. “I’m sorry.” Unlike most people who’ve said those words to me, he says it with honesty, and for that reason I reply with an equally honest smile. “But what I meant was, what happened just now?”

I blink a couple of times as that information sinks in, then I giggle and explain. “Well, tomorrow is Tanie’s college graduation, and they’ll throw a party for her on Sunday. I promised I’d go help decorate, and I completely forgot.”

With a mischievous look on his face, Matt points his thumb at himself, silently asking if it’s his fault. I give a vigorous nod that makes his usual smug expression even smugger as he leans forward to touch my hand. He laces his fingers with mine, and brings our joined hands up toward his face. Twisting our wrists so my hand is facing him, he kisses it.

“I’m definitely not sorry I kept you, but I wish you didn’t have to go.”

For the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours, I melt over him, and wish I could stay. I wish it wasn’t the first weekend I’d taken off in nearly two months, because with everything that will happen in the next two days I have no idea when I’ll get to see him again, and I hate it.

“What you thinking about?” he asks, looking at the fingernail I didn’t realize I was tapping over the table.

I like that he remembers that it means I’m thinking. I like that he cares.

“Well, I was thinking that if I showed up at the Wolfs’ with an extra set of hands, they wouldn’t give me crap for being late.”

The moment the words escape my lips, a pleased gleam settles in his eyes. He brings his free hand up to his chin and places his index finger in front of his lips, looking into the distance for a second. “An extra set of hands would definitely make up for the lost time. The problem is finding someone willing to let you chop off their arms.”

I want to laugh at his silly humor that is so like my own, but right now I’d rather play along.

After a long, distressed breath, I press my lips together and frown. “Finding a doctor willing to attach them to my body won’t be an easy task, either.”

“And I don’t think insurance will cover that procedure.”

I close my eyes, hoping it will make me look pensive as I try not to smile. When I open them, the apples of his cheeks are almost at his eye line, proof of a huge grin.

“Well, that does it then. I’m screwed.”

Matt nods and we stare at each other, pondering a solution to my conundrum, when Anna stops by, hands at her hips. “I know y’all eating more means more money for me, but for the love of the baby Jesus, there can’t possibly be any more room in your bellies. Y’all are gonna be sick.”

We both laugh.

“No more food,” Matt tells her, shaking his head. “Just the bill, and coffee in paper cups. We need to find someone to donate and attach extra arms to Lexie’s body.”

I laugh at the puzzled look in Anna’s eyes. “Okaaay . . . I’ll be right back, and good luck with that,” she says before walking away.

Once Anna’s out of earshot, I look back at Matt. “The only solution I see is for you to volunteer your hands, and the body that comes attached. It’ll be torture to hang around your ugly mug all night, but I don’t see another way.”

He sighs. “You’re right. It’s my duty, but know that I, too, will be miserable.”

The shit-eating grin and the sexy wink he gives me finally cracks me up. As I snort, he kisses the back of my hand again.

Moments later, Anna shows up with the check and our coffees. Matt doesn’t let me look at the total, even though I know exactly how much our meal costs—thirty dollars and forty-nine cents, after tax—he just takes a few bills out of his wallet, and places them over the table.

He lets go of my hand long enough to slide off his seat. Once standing in front of mine, he offers me a hand to help me up, which I take. Then he lowers our arms, lacing his fingers in mine. Sure enough, my pathetic body acts like a sad teenager at that, and the idiotic butterflies start having a party in my gut.

Once we have our coffees, we walk hand in hand to the front door and out of the restaurant, which makes this test-drive a little less of a test and little more of a date.

“S
o, you just walk everywhere?”

We left The Jukebox ten minutes ago, and instead of following me to the diner’s parking lot where Greta is, Lexie tugged on my hand, which she’s been holding since I helped her up from her seat, forcing me to continue walking on the sidewalk. When I asked her about it she said that driving to the Wolfs’ was pointless since it takes only twelve minutes to walk there, which is what prompted this conversation.

Lexie looks at me from the corner of her eyes and nods. “Yeah, Jolene is like a matchbox. It takes longer to bake a cake than to walk across it. Besides, Quick is too old to leave the garage unless he absolutely must, and I like the free workout. Spending time enjoying the sea breeze, and looking at the beautiful flowers and hearing the birds chirping doesn’t suck either. Those are the good things in life, the ones you can’t enjoy from the inside of a car, and the ones you city people forgot about.”