Page 92 of Stuck With You
SLADE: Fine.
ME: I can tell there’s a smile under that ‘fine.’ I bet the guys have to wear sunglasses to handle all that sunshine.
SLADE: When you get home, you’ll have to turn on the shut-off valve.
ME: Aye, Aye, Captain. If the flood waters rise, I’ll Mayday.
I smile. I just can’t help messing with him. He’s like a giant geode I want to crack open to see what lies inside.
I got one smile that showed off his hidden dimple and a couple of chuckles. They were deep and warm and soothed my wary insides likerain after a long, dry spell. I want to hear that low rumble again and know I made it happen.
I rest my elbow on the desk and drop my head into my hand. Iwill notwant to hear that subtle, deep laugh again. I have absolutely no right to wish for it.
But it’s a really nice laugh. The kind that makes your belly leap with joy, then charges up and bursts into a smile.
I groan. I’m on Operation Get My Life Back.Thatis what I’m doing. I won’t be thinking about my neighbor’s rare smiles, his tattooed muscles, how warm and safe he feels, or the fact that my kids seem to love him.
No. No. No. Nooooo. No. No. No.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
I slump in my chair.
I was sidetracked by one man, and that won’thappen again. Ever.
Chapter 21
SLADE
“Yes, sir. I’ve worked on all types of machines. Mostly farm equipment, but I helped my brother rebuild a Chevy.”
The young man lifts his cap and places it on his knee. He can’t be more than nineteen or twenty. He’s tall and lanky and looks like a farm boy fresh out of the fields.
“Do you own any tools?”
He shakes his head. “No, sir, but I’ll work to purchase them.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you in school?”
He shakes his head. “No, sir.”
“You can drop the sir. The only thing those guys out there call me is asshole.”
He smiles.
“Where are you from?” This kid seems bright, and I want to know why he’s not in college or still working the land he clearly came from.
“I’m from a small town in Illinois. I know how to work hard and learn fast.”
I try again, knowing he’s either escaping or running, and I want to know which. “What are you doing in Cincinnati?”
His shoulders rise with a deep breath, and his eyes meet mine. “Truth?”
I nod.
“I followed a girl. She was accepted into the university with a scholarship, but I wasn’t. My parents wanted me to stay and help withthe farm. Go to a local school. They told me if I left, not to come back.” His shoulders droop, his eyes dropping to his clasped hands. “She broke up with me last week. Apparently, four months of college showed her we don’t fit anymore.”
I stare at him, knowing what it feels like to need a chance. “Why don’t you go home and run the farm. It could be a good life.”
