Page 51 of Sweet T

“Great. More challenges.”

“You love it.”

Tucker rolled his eyes and put the truck back in gear. They passed a post office, stopping long enough for Evan to run in and drop his package into the outgoing slot in the darkened lobby. Next was a bakery, The Divine Dough.

“Oh! Cute,” said Evan.

“That’s Brody’s business. And next is Chuck’s.”

“Holy Smoke Barbecue. I love it.”

“They’re good guys. Once I explain things to them, they’ll keep quiet.”

“I still don’t understand why we’re being so secretive.”

“Careful. We’re just being careful. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s nothing to worry about. The more time passes, the more we’ll know that.”

Eleven

At Walmart, they bought two pairs of Wrangler jeans, some shirts, socks, underwear, and a new pair of athletic shoes for Evan. On their way to check out, they made a detour through cosmetics and found some concealer makeup for Evan. The grand total for everything was roughly eighty-five dollars.

“I’m a cheap date,” Evan said.

“No, you’re not. You’re anything but.”

Evan studied Tucker, waiting for a wink, or maybe the twitch of a smile—anything. He got nothing. Tucker was busy pressing the PIN for his debit card into the self-checkout machine.

“You can add this to my bill,” Evan said, busying himself with bagging the purchases.

* * *

They went to Maria’s for lunch. The drive over to neighboring Morehead from Walmart was less than five minutes. Morehead’s town square was smaller, and much less vibrant than Spoon’s, with several commercial vacancies, and the landscaping was less well-kept.

The one difference was the restaurant itself, which was busy with several cars parked out front and in the side parking lot.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” Tucker said. “We could get takeout, or go back to Hardee’s.”

“Nope. You promised me a margarita. You can add lunch to my bill as well.”

Tucker winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a tight-ass back there. It’s not about money, Ev, I swear. I’m just not used to this.”

“I know. Same with me. Other than help with tuition, I’ve been earning my keep for three years now. Please don’t think I’m taking your generosity for granted. I would never do that.”

“I don’t.” Tucker’s smile returned. “I promise.”

They sat in a booth in a—thankfully—less crowded secondary room of the restaurant. They placed their order, both munching on deliciously fresh chips and salsa, when their pitcher of margaritas arrived.

“If you’re going to drink this with me,” Tucker said, pouring for both of them, “then no more painkillers today.”

“I haven’t had one today. I don’t think I need them anymore. Other than the headache yesterday afternoon, I’ve been fine. My chest hurts a little, but it’s more of a sore muscle pain, you know? When I twist a certain way.”

“That’s good.” Tucker pushed the salted glass toward him. “You’re getting better. We can cross that off the list soon.”

“Am I privy to this so-called list you keep mentioning?”

“It’s a short one. Like you.”

Evan raised his glass, toasting. “Haha. Nice to see your sense of humor is back.”

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