Page 64 of The Daring Times of Fern Adair
“When my father finds out I left Young Acres with you…”
He shook his head and set his mug back down. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Worry about me.”
“Why can’t I?”
He didn’t have an answer to that. Or if he did, he wasn’t willing to part with it. Instead, after another minute of silence, during which Fern sipped water through a paper straw, and Cal stirred a cube of sugar into his coffee, he looked out the window again.
“You’re wrong. I like the countryside,” he said. “Better than the city, in fact.”
“I never would have imagined that.”
“I prefer quiet,” he added.
“Maybeyoushould have stayed at Young Acres.”
Surprise transformed his face, a grin stretching so wide his teeth showed. A bark of laughter split through the roadside diner, directing more heads and eyes their way. Cal ignored them. So did Fern.
Their lunch plates were delivered, and when Cal peeled off the top of his sandwich to squirt ketchup on his egg salad, Fern balked.
“What are you doing?”
He replaced the top slices of bread, ketchup dripping down the sides. “Eating.”
“Ketchup on egg salad?”
Cal took a bite and frowned. “Can’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
She shook her head and picked up her turkey club. But he wouldn’t let it go.
“Come on, one bite. You’re gonna love it.” He pushed the plate across the Formica table. He’d consumed half of his sandwich so far, leaving the second triangle-cut half free for her to pick up.
Something told her she’d never hear the end of it if she didn’t accept the dare, so Fern let out a sigh and grabbed the sandwich. Ketchup dripped onto her fingers as she leaned forward and took the smallest of bites. She’d expected to gag but was pleasantly surprised.
“Actually,” she said, her mouth still full, “it’s not bad.”
“See?” He laughed as she put it back on his plate and finished chewing. Fern used her napkin to clean the ketchup off her fingers, andthen Cal tapped the corner of his mouth to let her know she had some there as well. Embarrassed, Fern tried to clear it away, but he shook his head. Then, taking a paper napkin from the aluminum dispenser on the table, he reached across and dabbed at her cheek.
“There. Now you don’t look like a vampire,” he said with a wink.
Fern tried to pretend the gesture hadn’t affected her as he ate the rest of his sandwich in three ravenous bites, but it had. Something about it had been strangely intimate. Fern caught a few furtive looks from him as she ate her sandwich and wondered if he thought so too.
The waitress dropped the check at the table and cleared their plates, and Cal got up to settle the bill at the counter. Only then did Fern feel the warmth of her face and the lovely ache of smiling too much. She didn’t always like to smile, considering the movement sometimes stretched her scars in an ugly way. But she hadn’t thought of that at all until then.
“Ready?” Cal came back toward the booth. She nodded and started to slide out from the bench seat.
He reached over the table to the small, glass vase next to the napkin dispenser and plucked one of the thin daisies that were sitting in water. As Fern stood, he held up the flower and tucked it behind her ear. She dragged in a breath, startled. She wasn’t sure what to think as he led them from the diner, but she did know that her mind wasn’t on the eyes lifting from lunch plates to look at her as she passed by. Her whole attention stayed pinned on Cal as he held the door open for her, the steamy summer air wafting into her face as they crossed the pebbled lottoward the Roadster. He opened the passenger door, and she slid inside, uncertain what any of the last few hours had meant. What any of his attention meant.
As they drove northwest, Fern tried not to think too deeply about any of it.
“This acquaintance you’re meeting,” she said, wanting something else to focus on. “How is he involved in your business?”
Cal hesitated. Maybe she’d asked something he couldn’t reveal. But he was bringing her along, so she couldn’t imagine it was too much of a secret.
He drove with his right hand on the wheel, and his left elbow propped on the door sill trim of the open window. “He operates one of our stills,” he answered. “Got a barn on his farm. Our runners load up at his place every week or so.”
