Page 62 of Homebody
Swallowing hard, he made the decision to not question her strange, and strangely pertinent, advice. Instead he said, “Good advice. Thanks.”
Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to be able to sit here in the USO, chit-chatting with a bunch of strangers he had no desire to talk to while pretending he was okay.
He put the pen down and pushed the clipboard away from him. “Actually, I think I’ll go grab something to eat on the concourse before my flight.”
She nodded. “I think that’s a very good idea. The beer and burger place is nice and big and usually pretty quiet. The perfect place to sit and make a phone call.”
Again she was dead on. And again she was not so subtly telling him what to do. And once again, he wasn’t going to get into it with her.
“Thanks.” He spun and strode away, fast before she tried to read his palm or something.
He took the tram to the correct concourse, then read the overhead signs, locating the direction that would lead to his gate. He was still pouting—about life, about love, about nosy USO volunteers—when he smelled the aroma of broiling beef.
His stomach gave a rumble and he realized it wasn’t too early for lunch considering he’d been awake since zero-three-thirty. He glanced up at the restaurant to his right and, dammit, it was the beer and burger place Blessing had mentioned.
Worse, it was exactly as Blessing had described. Spacious and pretty much empty considering the early hour. Dimly lit, which would fit his mood and his need to hide away in a dark corner. A perfect place for him to sit, eat, drink a beer to calm himself, and finally make a phone call.
He walked up to the person setting up the bar. “You serving lunch yet?”
“Yes, sir. Sit anywhere.”
“Thanks.”
He chose a table in the back corner, as far away from the door, the bar and the hostess stand as he could get. His back to the wall, he waited for the server to take his order—bacon cheeseburger medium rare and a draft beer—then took out his cell.
Navigating the screen, he hit the second most recent number in his call list and waited through the ringing until he heard, “Dean, sweetie. How’s the trip been?”
“Mother. We need to talk.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dean hadn’t texted like he said he would. It didn’t matter how many times Tessa had checked her phone from the moment she opened her eyes that morning, no text appeared.
Now, facing the wall of stone-faced women in front of her as she walked through the door of Ruby’s salon, the lack of texts from Dean started to make sense.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” Tessa asked, breathless as her mind went to bad places.
Had his plane crashed? She resisted the urge to double over and vomit at the thought.
Finally, Susan stepped forward and took both her hands. “Tessa. I’m so sorry.”
“What’s wrong? Tell me. Please,” she begged on a whisper.
Contrition and empathy mixing in her expression, Susan said, “He knows. Dean knows I paid you.”
Now she really worried her morning piece of toast was going to come back up.
“He knows?” she repeated, while having trouble wrapping her head around this. “How?”
“Juniper,” Ruby spat. “Who is now banned from my salon, FYI.”
“Maybe he just needs some time. I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” Red said, her uplifting words not matching her compressed lips and furrowed brow.
“I really liked him,” Tessa whispered, more to herself than to the three women.
“I’d hoped you did,” Susan said, smiling sadly before she visibly rallied. “That makes it even more important that we fix this.” Susan turned to Ruby and Red.
Both women nodded.
