Page 54 of Bone Dust

“What are you wearing?” Curiosity steals Sam’s tough-guy image and replaces it with a nosey old bitty.

A grin splits my face. “Who the fuck are you? The fashion police? I mean, if you’re taking notes, I showered, shaved, and used deodorant—and I’m wearing a suit. Satisfied?” I toss the blue tie around my neck and twist the fabric as I attempt a knot.

“I’m living vicariously. Don’t get all uppity on me.”

“What does that mean? That you’d like to be going out on a date with Savi?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? She’s like a daughter to me.” He deflates a breath sounding like a blown-out tire. “You’re a sick bastard, Ian—and, Savi, huh?”

“She told me I could call her that. Her friends call her that, she said.” As I goad him, I make a second attempt at a knot, which is no more successful than the first.

“She must like you.” He pauses. “You know I love her, but I’m glad for you, too. You spend all your time at my bar or working at your place. You go out less than she does. You both need a break.”

“Come to think of it, I don’t remember you ever mentioning going out with a woman.”

“It’s just been a long time—though, I might consider it if there’s a good steak or Italian food involved,” he says.

“So, you prefer the meal to the company. Got it.”

“I’m just joshing you, boy. Don’t be an asshole.”

Boy? True, he’s old enough to be my father but the way he says it, makes it sound like an endearment.

How can such a simple thing pluck at my heartstrings? For a minute—maybe even less—I got a taste of that sense of belonging. That good feeling when a dad shares an inside joke with his son or uses a familiar nickname. With a light-hearted feeling, I return the serve.

“Alright, old man. If you really want to know how well it’s going, I’m about ready to chuck this tie out the window. I can’t knot the fucking thing for love or money.” I roll my neck as frustration pricks me.

“You don’t know how to tie a tie?” He asks.

“The last time I wore a tie was to Dash’s funeral. It was a clip-on,” I confess. My throat locks up and I go still. Fear drops a chill down my back. “Maybe this is a mistake.”

“What?”

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“Stop with all that sign bullshit, Ian. Like you said, ‘It’s not a date.’ Just because you can’t get the tie right doesn’t mean it’s a sign.”

“I need a tie. Then again, I’m not all that refined. I’d probably get sauce on it anyway.”

“Ah, so you are going to the Italian place! Yeah, you don’t need a tie for Bruno’s anymore.”

“No?”

“No. Wear a T-shirt and, if you wear a dark one, you’ll barely see the sauce. Plenty of guys go there with T’s and a jacket.”

“I’m sure I can keep from spilling.” Sarcasm drips in my tone. “And I’m pretty sure Savannah isn’t into food fights.”

I throw the tie on a chair and quickly unbutton the crisply pressed white shirt I’m wearing and toss it aside. Fetching a black T-shirt from the bureau drawer, I slip it over my head. When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. Defined muscles fill out the sleeves with full, tight material at the biceps, the bulk evidence from working on the ranch. My arms used to be spindly sticks that hung from my shoulders. I undo the belt and zipper, tucking the bottom neatly inside. “I’m going to go, Sam. I hope I can pull this off.”

“You’re fine; ‘it’s just dinner’.” His high girly voice makes a comeback.

“Riiiiight,” I respond, shaking my head. I look at the clock. “I really got to go. I told her I’d get her at eight.”

“I’ve got to go too. I have a date of my own.”

“What?” My curiosity piques. “Oh, you mean the bar?”

“Nope. I’m going to Cora’s. She’s got a meeting of her painting club ‘till nine. I’m babysitting Gigi ‘till she gets there. It’s a good thing, too. That little one is a weasel. She’ll try to negotiate her bedtime, but Cora will set her straight when she gets there.”

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