Page 16 of Resisting Fate
“Hi, I’m Missy Higgins, reporting for the three to seven shift.”
“Nice to meet you, Missy. I’m Leah. Did you book your volunteer appointment ahead of time? We’re all booked up for the day.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” She picked up a clipboard with the sign-in sheet and located Missy’s name, checking it off. “You can tuck your things in the closet.” She gestured toward the back of the kitchen. “Grab an apron and hairnet. We start serving at five.” Leah looked around the busy space. “We’ll put you on potato duty.”
“You got it.”
Missy quickly stored her coat. She’d skipped the purse, preferring only the basics in her back jeans pocket. Not that everyone at the shelter was a thief, but desperate people sometimes did desperate things. She didn’t judge anyone for where they were at. Survival was an instinct and one she’d felt on a primal level as a teen.
She reported for potato duty a few minutes later, apron and hairnet in place. A young couple were already at work peeling the potatoes and setting them in large metal bowls. “Hi, I’m Missy, your potato-duty helper.”
“I’m Hannah,” the woman with purple hair in two low pigtails said. “This is Jackson. Could you wash and dry some more potatoes for us? We’re on a roll here with the peeling. Sacks of potatoes are along the far wall.”
“Yup.” She hauled a large sack of potatoes to the prep sink, set down some paper towels, and grabbed a scrub brush. Soon she got into a rhythm, the sound of the running water and the repetition of scrub and rinse putting her into a nearly Zen state. So when a masculine voice said, “I’ll dry,” she nearly jumped out of her skin.
He laughed. “Sleeping on your feet?”
Her heart still pounding, she turned and met Ben’s mischievous blue eyes. Maybe fate really was putting him in her path. He was here of all places, smelling like fresh soap and warm spice, looking more gorgeous in a hairnet than any man had a right to. His lips curved into a dimpled smile that made her knees weak.
“You do remember me, don’t you?” Ben asked in a teasing voice. “I didn’t dye my hair like some people.”
“What’re you doing here?” she asked softly.
“I always come here on Thanksgiving.” He grabbed some paper towels and began efficiently drying potatoes and putting them in a large plastic bowl. “It was a tradition with my mom.”
She bobbed her head and went back to work, having a weird out-of-body experience, staring down at herself and Ben volunteering together on Thanksgiving Day. He had depth, love for his family, caring for others less fortunate. He wasn’t just a gorgeous flirt. He was the total package. All of these thoughts floated through her mind before she returned to reality, suddenly hyperaware of him. His tall, muscular build made her feel safe not wary like she sometimes was with men. His gray Henley with the sleeves pushed up, jeans that molded to his frame, the way he moved—all of it said he was comfortable in his own skin. He seemed tough enough to handle her, not needing the sweetness and light men seemed to prefer in a woman. And he was so, so sexy. She rapidly dismissed every reason why she couldn’t have him and then just as quickly reversed it. He was making her nuts.
“No joke about this fate business?” he asked.
She forced a laugh even as the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. Itdidfeel like fate, and she didn’t even believe in fate. She secretly laughed at people who believed in such a ridiculous thing. A magical force bringing people together? Ha! Yet it felt right. Every instinct in her body pointed toward him.
“You okay?” he asked.
Her natural defensiveness melted at the real concern in his voice. “I’m good, thanks. Is your mom here too?”
He stared at the potatoes. “No. She, uh, passed.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a painful reminder.”
He met her eyes, his voice gruff with emotion. “It’s okay. It was a while ago. She died of brain cancer after a ten-year battle.” He cleared his throat. “I was fifteen.”
A jolt went through her. She’d been fifteen when her life took a turn for the worse too, running away from home. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”
He nodded. “She was a social worker, true heart of gold. Anyway, she always volunteered here, so I do too. In a way, it’s like she’s here with me.”
Her eyes got hot. She was not a crier, but he’d shared from the heart, and that touched her deeply. Throat tight, she turned off the water, facing him while she reached deep down for a rare sharing of confidences. “I get that. I go to church because it reminds me of my parents. They died when I was ten in a car accident. I was at a friend’s house.”
His expression softened, his voice sympathetic. “Sorry to hear it.” He paused before saying quietly, “I know that pain never really goes away. You just learn to live with it.”
Her chest ached in this rare moment of connection with someone who really understood the deep pain of loss. She had the strangest impulse to hug him, lifting her hands as she leaned a little closer and then pulling back, dropping her hands.
He squinted at her. “Were you about to hug me?”
Her cheeks burned furiously, mortified to be caught in an awkward hug impulse. “No.”
“I don’t mind. Here, I’ll start.” He opened his arms to her.
