Page 8 of Only By You: Prequel
My brow furrows. “About what?”
“That we’re on a date tonight.”
“Oh, well…yes.”
“Well, all right, then.” He parks the truck out front of the local diner, killing the engine and hopping out. I watch him come around to my side, unbuckling before he opens the door and offers me his hand. “Let’s get started.”
I snort, placing my hand in his and closing the truck door behind me. “Started on what?”
He pulls me in close, his heated palms never trailing lower than my waist as he looks down at me with a spark of life in his eye that wasn’t there a moment ago. It almost looks…familiar.
“Started on forever, darlin’,” he says smoothly.
I roll my eyes. Here we go again with the cheesy one-liners. Even if this one has my heart ready to dance out of my chest, it’s beating so hard. He might be a bit on the corny side, but he’s proving to be quite a few other things. A true gentleman, for starters.
Clayton simply smiles when I choose not to reply and keeps hold of my hand as he leads us inside. We take a seat at a cozy window booth, placing our drink orders and casually perusing the menu like neither of us has been here a hundred times.
“Where was he planning on taking you?”
I peer up from my menu, locking eyes with him across the table and quickly looking away. “I’m not sure.” It’s a blatant lie, but I don’t want to make him think this is a step down. If anything, this setting is preferred over a steakhouse for a first date, in my opinion.
He huffs, leaning back and raising a brow. “You’re not a very good liar, are you?”
Saved by the waitress, we place our dinner orders and linger a bit in an awkward silence. Neither of us knowing what to say next. Oh, dating. “So…what do you do?”
He chuckles. “We’re starting off strong here, huh?”
I shrug, smiling. “We have to start somewhere if we’re aiming for forever, don’t we?”
He leans forward, his big hands clasped together in front of him with his thick forearms resting on the table. “I’m glad we’re getting on the same page.”
I laugh.
“I do a bit of everything,” he says, and I raise a brow in question. “I work on heavy equipment. Trucks, trailers. Been leasing some land for lumber. I went in with a buddy of mine on some old logging equipment we plan to restore and either try our hand at running or rent out.”
“A man of many trades,” I muse.
He lifts a shoulder casually. “I enjoy working with my hands. Figure it can’t hurt to learn a little bit of everything so I can take better care of my family someday. Maybe even teach my sons a trade of their choice.”
A genuine smile lifts my lips. “Of their choice… I like the sound of that.”
“Yeah?”
“Looking back, I was lucky my parents even let me have a choice in going to school for nursing,” I admit. “If they had it their way now, I would’ve never wasted their savings on tuition or books and be off somewhere married and starting a family like my sister.”
He nods. “They tell you that?”
“Pretty much.” I scoff, shaking my head. “And here I am, trying to play the good daughter and take care of my parents in their retirement while they just…judge me at every turn. It’s exhausting,” I ramble. “I mean, is it so wrong to not want to be pushed around based on someone else’s outdated view of the world? Gosh. I’m twenty-four years old and they don’t even trust me to follow my dreams.”
“And what dreams are those?”
“I…” I hesitate. Do I tell him? Is this an appropriate ‘first date’ conversation? It feels a bit too deep, honestly.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he taunts, but it doesn’t sound taunting at all. He’s staring at me as if he’s holding onto my every word with bated breath. Like whatever I say will set the course for the rest of his life.
I wiggle in my seat, sitting up straighter. “My dream—” I pause, taking a deep breath before I blurt it all out in the open, “—is to get a job at the hospital in the maternity ward where I’ll work for the next thirty years or so. Somewhere in there, I’ll meet the love of my life and we’ll have four—no, five babies. Maybe more, I’m not sure.” A hysterical giggle burstsout of me. “And we’ll raise them in a big, white farmhouse with a wraparound porch just outside of town, right on the mountainside. Then I’ll retire early so I can take care of the dozens of grandbabies I’ll surely have and spend my days knitting little booties and socks that’ll be so ugly I’ll have to keep them forever and ever and…” Tears spring to my eyes at the very thought of it.
Maybe, just maybe, if I told this same thing to my parents they would let me get there on my own. It’s never been about my dislike for wanting to have a family of my own, it’s their endless pushing me in a direction I don’t want to take. I want them to trustmeto find someone to build this silly life dream of mine with.
