Page 18 of Property of Bull
“My grandfather…”
“No bullshit, Go-Go,” he growls, and I’m sure that the hand he reached out would have closed around my wrist if the waitress hadn’t come over.
“Here’s your root beer, sweetie,” she says, placing it in front of me. “Bull, your food will be up in a moment. Did your, um, friend want to order? Did I hear you might be working here? That’ll be fun!”
When she finally takes a breath, her eyes flicker between Bull and myself before they settle on me.
“I might be, butmy friendhere hasn’t decided yet,” I answer one of her questions with a smile.
“Bring an extra plate, she can have some of my lunch.” Bull’s tone tells us both that’s the end of the small talk and she scurries off.
“What if I don’t want some of what you ordered?”
I have no idea how to take the smirk he gives me in reply, but this time instead of reaching out to grab my arm, he sticks a finger out to my wrist and delicately lays it over my pulse for a few seconds.
“Yep,” he drawls out the word. “You’ll want some. Now, I believe you were about to tell me why you’re here?”
I open my mouth to respond with my well-practiced answer. “Because—” I stop talking when he places his finger over my pulse again and I feel my heart start beating in overdrive.
“We both know your grandfather would be halfway to engaged by now, if you weren’t around. So, try the truth and shame the devil.”
Just then the waitress returns with a mouthwatering display of food. There’s a platter of small portions of cornbread, beans, and potato salad, but it’s the larger tray that has me drooling.
“What is that?” I ask, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Pulled pork, Captain smokes it out back year-round. The fresh jalapenos are from my greenhouse, and they cover up the best house-made mac and cheese that’ll ever pass your lips,” he says, grinning at me as he holds up the extra plate the waitress brought. “But, if you want to order something else, be my guest.”
“Nope,” I say, reaching for the plate. He keeps it out of my reach, dishing up a generous portion of the main and bits of the sides.
“I don’t want the cornbread,” I say, stopping him before he divides his piece.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I don’t like it. Besides, I want to focus on the other thousand calories you put on my plate!”
“I not much of fan either. That and sour cream,” he tells me.
“I don’t like sour cream unless it’s mixed into something. I don’t understand just willy-nilly spurting it over food.”
“Agreed. But you’re stalling.”
I look at him, placing a large bite of pork with mac and cheese into my mouth before I close my eyes in pleasure. I wasn’t sure about the jalapeno being in there, but I love that too.
“I’m not stalling. I simply don’t feel any need to share my business with you,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders.
I finally take a sip of the root beer and it’s every bit as good as the food.
“Do you know,” I start after another few bites of food, studiously ignoring the glare he’s throwing my way as he eats. “I don’t think I can work here. I’d gain way too much weight.”
“Good. I could use you over at the funeral home,” he says without missing a beat, then jutting his chin in the direction of the waitress who’s greeting some newcomers. “There are a dozenJades that I can get working in here. Girls that I don’t mind being hit on by every man in the county. Over there, I need brains and discretion.”
Suddenly, my throat tightens up and I lean back, willing myself to relax as the delicious food in my mouth threatens to choke me.
“I remember,” I whisper are the only two words I can push past my lips, when I’m finally able to breathe again.
“I know, Margo,” his voice is as low and painfilled as mine when he responds. “All these years, I’ve thought of you every time I’ve walked into that room.”
Thrust into that long ago moment, we both seem to have lost our appetite and just sit quietly until his hand reaches for mine under the table, where I’ve been busy shredding my napkin.
