Page 51 of The Boy from Half Moon

“Thanks, Mom. I mean it. And I love you.”

“Look at you,” she observed. “Making your mom’s day like this. And I love you too, honey. Do the work with your friend. Especially if he’s worth it.”

I clicked off and looked at my notes. My mother had provided me with tools, with real suggestions I could put into practice.

Luke is nineteen. I’m thirty-two. Could we really make a go of things? His world? My world?

“Treat him like an equal,” she’d advised.

“In all ways,” I whispered, drawing a heart around Luke’s name.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Luke

I’d probably swept the aisles closest to the front windows, facing the street, at least five times. Every time I went to the back room or swept further away from the windows, the draw to check the parking lot was too much for me. I’d rush back to the showroom, pledging to be a perfect warrior for God if Tate was there. I’d bargained good deeds, more bible study, whatever it took to get my prayer answered.

“If I do stop by, it’d likely be Thursday night,” Tate had said. “No guarantee, but I’ll try my best.”

The work week dragged as I anticipated Thursday and the possibility of seeing him again. Tate had taken up one hundred percent of my thoughts, no matter what I was doing or where I was. The experience was completely new to me, and I wasn’t sure what my intense feelings meant. Perhaps this was what my brothers had been harping about for years when they looked forward to courting one of the girls on the ranch.

As usual, the rest of the crew left for the ranch promptly at five-thirty. They’d arrive home in time to dine in the community hall by suppertime at six-thirty. My meal would depend on Ma acquiring food for me in my absence. If she failed, I wouldn’t get to eat.

While putting the broom away in the backroom after another failed check of the parking lot, I was alerted to the front door buzzer. I silently said a prayer that we didn’t have a late-in-the-day customer. My concern was wiped from my face, instantly replaced with a grin, when I found Tate standing there.

“I brought you something,” he said, smiling that incredible smile he had, his hands behind his back.

My heart actually ached at the sight of him. Ached or swelled too big. I didn’t have a name for it, but something occurred in my chest whenever I saw him. “That is mighty nice of you, Tate,” I said, coming to stand in front of him.

He brought his hands to his front. “Ta-da! McDonald’s!” he announced, holding a bag in one hand and two bottles of Coke in the other. “And caffeine-free Coke from the gas station.”

“For me?”

“Well, for me too,” he said. “I knew you’d want the caffeine-free stuff. I hope you like Big Macs, handsome. They’re my absolute fave fast food.”

His calling me handsome made my chest want to burst. “I’ve never had fast food or McDonald’s.”

His smile disappeared for a fraction of a second, but he quickly pulled it back. “Fantastic! Then I’m glad it’s me who gets to introduce you to good old Micky Dee’s.”

Tate’s bubbly personality was like a bad cold, contagious. “Gosh,” I remarked, nervous, yet excited about the food, but more so because he’d thought about me. “I’m real excited,” I added, beaming back at him.

Tate did something nice for me and I hadn’t even asked him to. I wondered what made him think of doing such a thing. The feelings that always set up shop in my heart when he was near felt bigger, if that was possible. We were becoming friends, which I appreciated, but I already had enough friends. This feeling was bigger than friendship in my mind. And just when I figured I didn’t have more space in my heart, he found some for me.

“Where shall we eat then?” he asked, shaking the bag at me. “The fries inside this bag are gettin’ cold, Luke.”

I spotted a dining room set hidden away from the busy street. “How about over there?” I asked, pointing in its direction. “I could get some paper towels.”

“That’d be kinda fancy, Mr. Luke,” he teased.

I liked this side of Tate. He was funny and full of energy. And he was as handsome as I remembered. Today he had a tight T-shirt on with denim jeans like mine. He looked like he could be in high school.

“I’ve never seen you wear jeans like mine,” I pointed out, feeling proud we dressed the same. “You look real nice.”

“I always wear jeans when dining out at McDonald’s,” he quipped. “Plus, I’ve been admiring yours,” he added, winking at me. My knees almost collapsed.

“Okay then,” I said, motioning to the dining set before I left to get some paper towels. “Be right back.”

On the way back, I pulled a plaid tablecloth from a picnic table we had on display and brought it around the corner. Tate hadn’t sat down yet.

“For me?” he asked.

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