Page 11 of Fight For Us
“Me too. For Lilly I mean.” I gestured to my phone. “I’ll call the order in and then would you want to sit outside? It shouldn’t be as humid now that the sun’s set. We get a nice breeze from the beach.”
“Sure.” She had the prettiest smile I’d ever seen in my thirty years.
I called in the order, adding in a meat lovers for Dad and me, and a plain for Lilly, as well as some cans of Sprite. It would be here in about forty-five minutes. Which meant I had to make conversation with this stunning woman, distraction free, the entire time. I should have been happy, but I was terrified.
I showed her out to the porch after checking in on the kids again and we settled down in the pair of worn wooden rockers. My joints ached from a busy day at the restaurant but sitting in companionable silence with Olivia made it easier to not focus on the pain.
“What do you do for fun? You know, besides yelling at people.” My lip twitched as I took in a ghost of a smile on her face in the dim light.
“Fun? Let’s see.” She tapped her chin. “Does playing Legos with Alex count? Because I can build a hefty set in record time.”
“No shit? Sounds thrilling.” I sipped my nearly empty beer, wishing I’d gotten a second one before sitting down.
“Oh, it is. It’s all fun and games until you step on a Lego shark and nearly lose a limb.”
I smirked, thinking how someone uttering that phrase a few years ago would have sent me into a shitty mood. I bent at the waist and lifted my pant leg to reveal my prosthetic leg. “Courtesy of a Lego shark. There’s no nearly about it. I stepped on that thing and did lose a limb.”
The tiniest hint of shock played out on her face before she brought a palm to her forehead. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Wow, that was a real insert foot in mouth moment.”
“I don’t know if I should. See, the shark only left one foot and I’m not sure it can reach my mouth.” I chuckled watching her horrified expression.
“Shit, I did it again.” A combination of a groan and a squeal came from underneath her palm.
“Olivia, I’m kidding. You gave me the perfect in.”
She peeked one eye out from between spread fingers, reading my playful expression. “I’m going to go bury my head in the sand now. Tell Alex if he needs me, to find a shovel.”
“Come on, Tiger. No need to hide. It’s all good.” She shook her head from side to side, still hidden behind her palm. Her dark painted nails gave off a luster from the single light of the porch. “That had to be the single best way I’ve ever told someone yet.”
She dragged her hand down her face, inch by inch. When her fingers slid against her full bottom lip I had to avert my eyes. It was too easy to let my mind run wild. With a sigh and another sip of her beer, she finally responded, “Do you want to talk about it?” She gestured toward my leg. I garnered fromour few encounters that she was polite, but I didn’t expect her to ask about it. I’d usually get an uncomfortable apology before whoever it was suddenly remembered they needed to be somewhere else.
“Nah. Not tonight at least.”
She nodded, not prying for more. “I can’t help but notice the chef uniform. Where do you work?”
“This?” I pointed to my coat. “This is my costume for the strip club. The ladies love it. I get more tips than the fireman and the construction worker.”
“Wow… Well, more power to you.” She laughed and I was reminded again how much I enjoyed the sound. “I guess I’m missing out on the real fun in town. Too busy holed up in my room with Star Wars Legos.”
“Get your singles ready. Oh, and insider tip, don’t order the food there, no matter how tempting it sounds. Baby oil is known to make its way into the kitchen.” I didn’t know where this side of me was coming from, but hell, it felt good. Like a tiny sliver of myself was waking up from a years long nap.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“To answer your question… yes, I’m a chef. Not classically trained or anything. I did a program in high school and got a culinary certificate.”
“Culinary certificate. So fancy.”
“Yup. That’s me. Fancy as can be. We own a restaurant in town. It’s been in my mother’s family for a few generations.”
“That’s awesome. You must be so proud tobe a part of that.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Proud isn’t exactly the term I’d use. More like obligated. I guess I shouldn’t complain. It pays the bills and gives me a reason to get out of bed. That, and when Lilly is here on Saturdays and I fumble my way through single fatherhood one night a week. “When are you thinking of moving here?”
“As soon as I can figure out a plan. My life is sort of complicated.” I caught her gazing out at the waves. “Moving over a thousand miles away isn’t a decision I’d make lightly. But it’s time for a change.”
We made more small talk. I asked about their hometown and Olivia answered in short one or two word responses. When she wasn’t teasing me, she sat back and quietly listened to the sounds of the shore and buzzing insects.
Our peace didn’t last long though. My father pushed through the front door, muttering under his breath. “Kelly called me.”
