Page 60 of Building What's Meant to Be

“But you can’t sell a town,” I say, already on Team Butterbury.

Aiden remains silent as if thinking.

“Don’t tell me you think Stoll is trying to sell it to aliens,” Bubba asks.

He shakes his head as if the director instructed him to shake off a dark thought or distraction then he pounds his fist in the air. “Gatlin Stoll is more crooked than a dog’s hind leg.”

“Then why is he still mayor?” I ask.

“The governor was protecting him,” Bubba says.

“He’s the weak link. They need him in play. He’s their puppet, but they can’t say that. I almost had him. But the corruption went further. Now I know where it leads,” Aiden says almost to himself.

“Do you still want lunch?” Bubba asks.

“Definitely,” Aiden says with a smile as if having moved on from whatever dark place his thoughts took him mere moments ago.

We take a seat on the cleanest picnic table outside with two baskets of ribs, fries, and slaw along with a roll of paper towels.

Aiden digs in and I pop a French fry in my mouth. It seems safest. When he’s halfway done with his meal, he says, “Seriously, Tinsley try it. Like I said before, Bubba’s BBQ will change your life.”

“If I get tetanus it’ll change my life.”

“Have you had the shot within the last eight, ten years?”

“I don’t know.”

“Henley put gloves in the bag of work gear.”

“Are you suggesting I eat this with gloves on?”

Aiden tips his head back and laughs.

“I was thinking a fork and knife at least,” I say.

“Come on. Eat up. It’s going to be a long day.”

I relent and am glad I do because by the time we have the weeds and refuse cleared from the front outside the building, the sun dips toward the tops of the trees, and my stomach rumbles. Sweat and dirt form a fine sheen on my skin.

Backlit, Aiden stands a few paces away. He goes still and stares at me. I turn around slowly, afraid Sasquatch creeps up behind me and is preparing to bite my head off. Nothing there other than the field, bathed in golden light.

Gaze locked on me, Aiden stalks my way. Shivers run across my skin. He stops in front of me as a bee buzzes past. The shovel in my hand becomes limp.

Without taking his clear blue eyes off mine, Aiden leans the shovel against the wall. He pulls off each of my gloves and examines my hands.

“You didn’t even break a nail.” His voice is like the gravel under our feet.

“Not yet.” Mine is choppy like my body isn’t sure whether to inhale or exhale.

He turns my hand over and brings it to his lips before pressing them to my skin. His eyes capture mine again. Already flushed, my skin heats further. When he kisses the inside of my wrist, the heat moves from the outside in, flooding me with warmth.

Maybe my man-cation is over. I open and close my mouth, not sure what to say or what to do when Aiden walks across the lot to gather his tools and then waves goodbye to Bubba.

I remain rooted to the spot where the weeds just were, wondering what just happened and why he didn’t want more. Why I do.

The guys I’ve been with either want it all on demand or, like Taylor, keep a respectful distance. Aiden is somewhere in between.

Where does that leave me? Confused and really, really wanting a slice of pie.

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