Page 33 of Shifting Sands

He grunts, which could mean anything. Approval. Disgust. Indigestion.

We keep working in the thick blanket of the afternoon heat until the topic drifts to women and dating.

“So,” Anson says, adjusting a bolt, “Brew met someone.”

That gets a pause from Willis’s nonstop grilling.

“Met someone, huh?” the old grump repeats. “Does this mythical ‘someone’ have a name?”

“Brandee.”

“And where did you meet Brandee?” he asks.

“At Whiskey Joe’s. She and some friends came to see Cody play.”

“I see. And you want to court this young woman?”

“Court? I think it’s too soon for those plans, Willis. He just wants to take her out on a date. And get this: she doesn’t know who he is. She thinks he’s a broke bartender, so he wants to keep it a cheap date.”

Willis whistles low. “Bad move, Brew. Women are scary creatures. They can sniff out the truth faster than a bluetick hound.”

“Right? All they need is your first name and an iPhone, and before you know it, they know your address, employer, bank account, and Social Security number,” Anson agrees.

Willis just blinks at him. Then he cuts his eyes back to me. “So, where are you planning on taking the young lady?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I admit. “I want it to be cool, but you know … on-a-budget romance. And it can’t be anywhere we might run into someone who knows me.”

“Well, that narrows it down. Maybe you should bring leftovers home from the bar for you two to eat in your truck,” Anson quips.

“Maybe.”

Willis scoffs like I just said I was gonna take her dumpster diving.

“Romance ain’t got nothing to do with money,” he mutters, standing up stiffly and limping toward the car with a rag in his hand. “But it also ain’t microwaved leftovers.”

Anson laughs. “What would you suggest, Casanova?”

Willis narrows his eyes at him. “Boy, you wouldn’t know romance if it slapped you over the head with a dozen roses.”

Anson grins. “Tabby’s not complaining.”

“Give her time,” Willis spits.

“Okay, fine. Enlighten us. What did you do when you were young and broke? Pick her up in your wagon and take her to church?” Anson asks.

I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.

Willis leans against the car and scowls. “Back when I was courting I barely had a pot to piss in, so I had to get creative. I once took a girl dancin’ in the middle of a parking lot with nothin’ but my truck’s headlights and a radio.”

“That actually sounds … kinda cool,” Anson admits.

“It was. She married some other guy later, but that night? That night was magic.”

I glance at him, and the old man is actually wearing a faint smile.

“All right, so … ideas. What about the beach?” I say. “A picnic maybe?”

“This time of year?” Anson says. “Unless you’re doing a bonfire, it’ll be awfully chilly.”

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