Page 34 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

“A plain burger,” I tell her.

“You mean nothing at all, like a kid? Patty and bread?”

“Veggies are fine.”

“Like lettuce, tomato, onion?”

“Sure.”

“No onion,” Grant says.

“Extra onion,” I counter.

Becca looks between us. “All righty. Fries with that?”

“A double,” Grant says.

“I’ll steal some of his,” I say.

“Good on ya.” Becca takes off.

I think Grant is going to bring up the onion order, but he looks around the room, drumming his fingers on the table.

I haven’t had a date that felt like this since coming to California, but it’s familiar. This is exactly what high school in Alabama was like. Awkward. Unsure. The flashback is intense.

“So, Grant, do you work?”

He turns the tray of sugar packets around in circles. “Yeah. I repair lawn mowers.”

Interesting. “Is it a family business, or did you start that on your own?”

“My dad works at a garage, but I wanted to branch out.”

“Nice. How many mowers do you repair in a week?”

“Depends on the season. Summer’s started, so it’s kinda intense. Lots of people pulled out their mowers, and they wouldn’t start, or needed their blades sharpened.”

“Is it only you, or do you have some help?”

“I have a boy this time of year, usually someone from the ag class at the high school. I keep him on through summer.”

“I guess business gets slow in the winter.”

“Naw. I send out flyers, reminding people not to wait. It stays pretty steady.”

Huh. A real entrepreneur. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I’m saving up for a house. Should be able to get one when I’m ready. When I have a wife to help pick it out.” His face goes red, and I remember how easily he’s embarrassed. It’s one of his charms.

“That sounds lovely.”

Becca comes back with the beer.

Grant frowns. “Mine looks like piss water compared to yours.”

The stout is heavy and black.

I lift mine and tap his glass. “To piss water.”

---