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“Something I was never able to do.” My dad always ran a tight ship. Sunday was his day to relax, but usually we had to do all kinds of chores. It’s quiet for a minute, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “My dad had a visitor this morning.”
Gillian chuckles. “Yeah, I won’t fill you in on the rumors about your dad over the years.”
“Thanks.”
“They say he’s a big romancer.”
“I thought you weren’t going to tell me?” I glance at her, and she smirks.
“Changed my mind.”
I shake my head, and she leans forward, changing the radio station. Once she finds a song she likes, she lays her hand on the bench between us. My right hand tightens on the steering wheel. It would be so easy to go back to how it used to be and take her hand.
We arrive in Hickory, and I park the truck in a row of empty spots at the end of the block.
“Um, are you in need of exercise?” Gillian asks.
“You jumped in my truck like you just robbed a bank, and you want me to park right in front of The Stack?”
“You’re sharp in the morning. I’m in dire need of coffee.”
I chuckle, forgetting how easily she made me laugh.
When I park, she reaches for the handle of the door. I place my hand on her left one, warmth spreading up my arm. Her soft skin makes me ache with the need to touch more of her—to touch all of her.
“Just sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
“What? What’s your plan, Noughton?” She shuts the door and narrows her blue eyes at me.
“Just wait. I promised there would be no rumors, so let me do my thing.”
She bites her lip, probably praying I don’t see her smile.
I leave her in the truck, walk with my head down the sidewalk, and slide into The Stack. A flood of memories hit me like I was blindsided by a two hundred and fifty pound linebacker. The booth by the window was always ours, and the memory of the first time I took her here, when I was amazed at the amount of cinnamon rolls she could eat, is front and center. It was almost more than me.
An employee comes to the register, and I give her the fake name for my to-go order. She inspects me while pressing buttons on the cash register. I hand her over cash since they don’t accept credit cards, and a kid brings me my bag.
“You sure ordered a lot,” the woman says.
The kid studies me, and I tip my head down further. Maybe I should’ve sent Brooks to pick up the meal and meet me somewhere.
I accept the bag and toss a twenty into the tip jar, getting the hell outta there.
I’ve sneaked around a lot over the years, but never did I feel as desperate for someone not to recognize me. It’s one of the rare times I wish I could not be Ben Noughton, wide receiver for the San Francisco Kingsmen. Then again, that’s not who I am anymore. Now I’m Ben Noughton, who used to play for the San Francisco Kingsmen. That realization is still hitting me months after I retired.
I climb into the truck, placing the bag of food between us.
“God, it smells so good.” She puts her entire head into the bag and inhales. “I’ve missed you, little ones.”
I’m not sure I understood why she had never returned here until I walked into that small diner and was slammed with all the memories. I could almost envision us sitting at that table. The way she’d put her shoes up on my bench while we waited. Our conversations consisted of our dreams for our shared future. While I was out in the world in places that didn’t remind me of Gillian or our time together, she was here, where memories of our time together were unending. Of course she wants to push me away. I’d do the same.
“Where are we going?” she asks, putting her seat belt back on.
“Just wait.”
“You aren’t getting lucky, so you can cut the romance.” Her face is etched with seriousness.
“I never thought I was. But we can’t be seen together, so that leaves us with few options. That means you’re going to be alone with me. Are you okay with that?”
