Page 17 of Hauling Ashe

“The lady will have a Cozy Dog, fries, and a drink. I’ll have the same.” I’m snapped from thoughts of my second son as Tucker orders for us. Reaching into my oversized bag, I scramble through the contents seeking my wallet when a hand comes to my lower back and gently nudges me to the side.

“What the—?” I stop when Tucker hands over his credit card. “What are you doing?”

Silvery eyes meet mine and the hint of a smile curls the corner of his mouth when he says, “I’m buying lunch.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I’m ready to burst into a lecture about how I can pay for my own damn lunch and have every intention of us taking care of our own meals and lodgings along the way. I hadn’t figured out the gas situation but assumed with the money I was intended to receive for hauling Mr. Ashford to California I could splurge on the gas charges. Obviously, I’d been planning to pay for everything all on my own anyway.

“I know,” he replies to my comment and then faces the young cashier to retrieve his credit card.

“Well, thank you.” I should sound more appreciative. His gesture is the first decent thing he’s done on this trip next to holding the door for me, but there’s still an edge to my voice. He confounds me.

After we’re given a number to claim our food when it’s ready, we take a seat. I notice a T-shirt pinned near the menu featuring two caricature hot dogs cuddling like a couple. It’s cute. I’d considered grabbing souvenirs from every place I went but that would financially add up, and I was holding out for something special. Something truly unique to mark my passage through each state. I’d know it when I saw what I wanted.

Then again, I should grab something for my boys and the T-shirt reminds me again of Owen. He loves graphic tees.

“I noticed you staring at that kid,” Tucker says. “Got a cougar thing happening?”

The inappropriateness of his question shouldn’t shock me, but my mouth gapes. “He reminds me of my son.”

The surprise on Tucker’s face is almost priceless and I wish I’d had my camera ready to capture the moment.

“You have a son?”

“I have two.”

Tucker’s eyes roam my upper body as that’s all that’s visible above the table where we sit across from one another. “And you had them when you were ten?”

Now who’s flirting with whom? However, he doesn’t mean anything by his comment. “You’re sweet, but I’m forty-three and had my first boy when I was twenty-three.”

Tucker’s brow arches as he stares back at me. He must know Jane is in her mid-forties and I’m close behind her. He’s simply teasing me and a hint of the man on the sidewalk returns.

“My oldest is Wyatt. He’s twenty and he’ll be a junior in college in the fall. I fool myself into thinking he’s there to study, but he’s there on a hockey scholarship and just changed his major to communications. He’s probably going to follow in his father’s footsteps and work for Eden Landscaping when he graduates.”

Adam’s parents originally owned a farm supply shop which he shifted into commercial landscaping. Then a boom in second-home owners in our small lake town and do-it-yourself gardeners led me to turn a little section of garden plants into a thriving business.

If I had my way, Wyatt would have gone into environmental studies. He could have grown the landscaping business by learning more innovative pathways along the lines of sustainable design and green spaces. However, Adam didn’t have to work too hard in his studies at our alma mater because he always intended to work for his father’s business. Sadly, Wyatt seems to be following Adam’s direction.

Tucker’s face shifts, hardening a bit. “Jane told me you were divorced.”

“I am.” Skipping those details, I continue describing my sons. “The boy at the counter looks like my second son, Owen. He’s eighteen and your typical second child. He keeps to himself and he’s quieter than his brother. He’s not much of an attention seeker but a sneaky troublemaker in his own right. He has a huge heart, though. If these were historical times, he might feel he doesn’t matter as much as his older brother, being the second son. He’s ignored a bit by Adam because he’s into art more than athletics.”

Sadly, Owen doesn’t receive the attention he deserves from his father. Our creative child has a vision that could also profit Eden Landscaping or Mae’s Flowers, but I’d be equally happy for him to forge his own path. While Owen is the lover and Wyatt is a protector, neither boy showed much interest in my spirit trip. I don’t want to find fault with their lacking enthusiasm, as they are males and teenagers, and both those traits can make them selfish, but a pinch of disappointment pierced me by their absent support of my decision to take this trip.

“Owen will be a college freshman this fall. I’m hoping he’ll major in art.”

Tucker tilts his head, ready to question the comment but our order number is called out and he slips from his seat to retrieve the tray with our food. When he returns, he eyes the batter-dipped hot dog.

“Ketchup?” I ask.

“No self-respecting Chicagoan puts ketchup on a hot dog,” he mocks, and I laugh, since I’ve heard this statement before from Jane. Only, the batter-covered hot dog isn’t on a bun.

“It’s a hot dog on a stick. I think you’ll be forgiven.” I wink at him, unable to stop myself. I hate to suppress what feels natural to me. I’m in a business where I interact with people daily, and there’s no reason to be standoffish. It’s not in my nature to be, but warning bells go off around Tucker and I almost apologize for teasing him.

He squirts a heavy dose of ketchup in the corner of the wax paper covering his plastic basket and I quietly laugh as he takes his first hesitant bite. When he hums next, the sound goes straight between my legs, and I imagine that hearty purr in response to him being touched some place private and sacred.

“I haven’t had food like this in I don’t know how long.” He slowly chews as he savors the flavor of greasy batter wrapped around processed sausage. “This reminds me of my grandfather.”

“How?” I softly smile, hoping he might open up a bit and prove he’s human.