Page 66 of Hello Handsome
Gray, rubbing my feet. The two of us alone in the diner.
I jerked my feet back, feeling like a teenager getting caught making out on the couch, and turned to see Max walking back in, the cook on his heels. Before I could excuse myself to get back to work, Gray stood up.
“Have a good night, Aggie.”
As I watched him walk away, my heart was still racing. It hadn’t given up on Gray.
40
GRAY
I wokeup the next morning still thinking about Aggie. Seeing Hayes out on a date had given me the courage I needed to go to her. And hearing she was single again? Even though I hated seeing her hurt, my heart was soaring that I might have another chance.
That small flare of hope grew even stronger as I got ready for the day. For both myself and for Hayes. He had seemed so happy yesterday with Della; I saw it in his eyes.
But when I walked out the front door to go feed the cattle, I saw his truck idling in the driveway. The wan morning light caught all the shadows on his face as he rolled down the driver’s side window. There were circles under his eyes and a pinch to his lips.
Worry doused my hope as I approached. “Everything okay?”
Hayes held out a travel mug I assumed was filled with coffee. “Had another dream,” he said.
My heart sank. “The one you used to have?”
He nodded.
I could have cried for him. After Maya passed, Hayes struggled with nightmares foryears. It was always the same one that had him coming to my room and afraid to fall back asleep.And the worst thing was, I couldn’t tell him the dream was just made-up monsters—it was real memories of losing his mom in such a horrible way.
On the nights he had dreams, I always took him with me to do the morning chores. Sometimes we talked, sometimes we didn’t. And it looked like we were doing the same thing today.
I brought the coffee to my lips, taking a cautious sip, then said, “Let’s get the girls fed.” At Hayes’s nod, I walked around to the passenger side, and he drove us to the pens where the heifers and their calves were kept. These were the cows having their first calf, so I liked having them closer to the house than the more seasoned mothers.
When we got to the feed truck, he turned off his truck and followed me into the older, bigger vehicle. The leather seats were faded and torn, patched with duct tape in some places. But the engine fired right to life, rumbling steadily under us and making dust rise from the dash.
I kept waiting for Hayes to speak, to open up, but we were silent as I filled up the back of the feed truck with rations for the cattle.
Once a mound of feed was visible over the trailer, I shut off the trap door spilling feed into the truck and then started driving alongside the cement feed bunks. The truck was a little squirrely in its old age, so I had to pay extra attention to make sure the feed was falling in the right place.
As the bunks filled with food, cattle hurried over and dipped their noses into the mixture. The morning light caught each drip of snot and saliva building on their snouts. Every so often, their tongues would dart out to clear their nostrils of the feed.
Something about the routine of it, knowing how they’d react every day, was soothing to me. It must have been for my son, too, for him to come over and join me after all these years.
Hayes stayed silent until the feeding was done, and then we got back into his truck so he could drive me back to the house. I kept waiting for him to open up, but when we pulled into the driveway, he still hadn’t said a word.
He parked the truck like he was ready for me to get out, but I shifted in my seat, leaning my back against the door. At his questioning look, I shrugged. “We gotta talk about it,” I said.
Hayes rolled his head toward me. “Like hell we do.”
I raised my eyebrows. Surely he hadn’t driven all the way out here this early in the morning to avoid the subject.
Hayes sighed, but I wasn’t budging.
“Your second date with Della is tonight,” I pointed out. My gut—and learning so much in therapy—was telling me that’s why his dream had come back.
Hayes frowned. Then he gestured toward his door handle. “Should I make a run for it to avoid this chat? I can definitely outrun you.”
This boy. I had to smile. But life wasn’t just smiles and jokes. There was real stuff, too, and we couldn’t avoid it. That’s something I’d learned in therapy, too. All those feelings I tried shoving down throughout the years? They weren’t gone, but waiting to be processed. “Your brain is trying to protect you from getting hurt,” I said gently, not wanting to scare him away or upset him more.
“But this is different,” Hayes argued. “Della and I are just going to eat dinner.”
