Page 43 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
He puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Who will cut down your tree if I’m not there?”
She lowers her menu and looks at her grandson’s arms. “I think Owen can handle the task.”
I can’t help but scan my own eyes over Owen’s shoulders and arms, then down to his large hands and long fingers. Yes, I’m sure he can handle an ax quite well. It’s only when the waitress returns with our drinks that I’m able to tear my eyes away.
We all order the cheeseburger and fries, while Rheta asks for her usual. Why she even glanced at the menu is a mystery.
“Miles, tell us more about what my mother’s done around town,” Marianne says.
Miles obliges. A new roof for the community center; three pickle ball courts at the park; a bigger sign at the citylimits; repaving some of the outlying roads. Each time he mentions something else, Rheta swats at his hand, though it’s more like a pat.
Marianne thinks it’s wonderful, but I can’t help wondering how horrified Rheta’s other two children would be if they knew how much she donated to York. They would definitely be annoyed Marianne isn’t trying to talk her mother out of spending their inheritances. Maybe it’s a good thing they didn’t come today. I can’t imagine they would like the conversation or this place. Spencer wouldn’t.
When our waitress brings our food, I’m not surprised to see Rheta’s usual order is four chicken nuggets and a small fry with a side of mustard. After watching her eat soup and salad last night and oatmeal this morning, a simple meal fits her.
Owen and I both reach for the ketchup at the same time. Our fingers brush and I jerk back.
“You first,” I say.
“No. You. Let me be a gentleman.”
“No, it’s fine.”
I’m not sure why I’m making a big deal about this, but my hand still tingles from our contact hours ago when he helped me from the car. I ball up my fist under the table and will myself to be indifferent to Owen.
I wait for him to grab the glass ketchup bottle. He waits for me. I’m afraid if I reach out he will reach at the same time. Then we’ll have accidental contact again. It’s when my skin touches his that I doubt my ability to remain just his friend.
It’s Brady who lifts the bottle and plonks it down next to his brother’s plate. “A gentleman listens to a lady.”
“Something you picked up from your fantasy novels?” Owen asks with a lopsided grin, but he takes the bottle and shakes it over his plate.
When nothing comes out, he shakes more, then more violently. A large glob lands on top of his fries and drowns them.
“Want some fries with your ketchup?” Brady says with a smirk.
Everyone laughs at Owen’s disgusted face. I remember how he barely dipped the fries in ketchup at the drive-in. Was that only two nights ago? It feels like weeks.
Owen hands me the bottle without a word. A few shakes and I get a small blob, probably because that’s all that’s left. I take his plate and push mine in front of him. We ordered the same meal, so the only thing he’s missing is the ketchup lake.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, reaching to take his plate back.
“I actually like ketchup,” I say.
He stops trying to swap plates and falls against the seat back. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” I use my fork to free a fry. It’s delicious. I love the sweet of the ketchup with the saltiness of the fry.
Rheta isn’t the only one who wrinkles her nose. “We can get you fresh fries. There’s no reason to eat ketchup soup.”
“That is honestly the way she eats them,” Owen says.
“How would you know?” Brady asks. He looks between me and his brother with more interest.
Owen says in a rush, “This burger is really tasty. How did you find this gem of a place, Grandmother?”
Am I the only one who notices he hasn’t tasted his burger yet?
The food is decent, but the company is lovely. Marianne is kind and has a ready laugh. Miles can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. Seeing Owen interact with his mom and brother is fun. He teases and takes teasing easily. Rheta enjoys watching them as much as I do. I wonder if she regrets the years she missed in their lives. How can she not?
