Page 19 of Heartless
I’ve never felt cooler than I do hanging out with a five-year-old.
Especially when he sits across from me at the table, pats his belly with sticky chocolate fingers and exclaims, “You might be better at cooking than my dad!”
I point my fork at him. “I cannot wait to tell him that.”
His little blue eyes go comically wide. “You can’t tell him that. He’ll be sad.”
“Don’t stress, little man,” I reply, trying not to melt over how sweet it is that he’s so worried about his dad. “Your dad will be able to handle the loss.”
He sighs deeply and gazes at me expectantly. “What now?”
“Anything you want.” I grab my plate as he picks up his and hands it to me.
“Anything?”
I peer down at him, one brow shifting up. “Almostanything.”
“One of the kids at school said that he and his dad drove really fast down the back roads and threw heads of lettuce out the window and watched them explode on the road.”
I stare at the little boy, all earnest and genuine. It’s like he doesn’t even realize what majorly hillbilly shit he just asked me to do.
Goddamn, small towns are weird.
“It’s day one. Are you trying to get me fired?”
“You can’t get fired. We like you too much!”
“Who is we?” I ask, loading the dishwasher. And I freeze momentarily when his response is, “My dad and me.”
I will not burst his bubble by telling him that his dad does not, in fact, like me. He just needs my help and is stuck between a rock and a hard place.
A hard place where I’m literally his last and only option.
I shrug. “Okay sure, why not?”
Hillbilly shit it is.
* * *
I take the top off my Jeep, and we cruise to the grocery store blasting some of my favorite ’80s hits. Luke cackles maniacally from his seat in the back when I do my best Billy Idol imitation.
I rolled my eyes when I saw the booster seat already installed in the back seat. I told Cade I could handle it, but he went into my vehicle while I was sleeping and did it anyway.
Control freak.
In town I easily find the grocery store. I took a bit of a detour on my way out to the ranch and gave myself a pep talk. I considered turning my ass around and heading back to the city where I could stick to what’s comfortable, but I’ve never been one to say no to new experiences. So I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and got a lay of the land so I wouldn’t be totally useless without someone showing me around.
“How many are we getting?” I ask Luke, who is strutting through the grocery store like a tiny king. Cowboy heir to the deer antler throne. Or something equally rustic.
“Ten,” he replies decisively.
“Ten? That’s a lot.”
“It’s just the right amount.”
I stare at the section of iceberg lettuce before us. If we take ten, we’re clearing out more than half of what’s here. “Five.”
His head shoots in my direction so quickly, little brows furrowing. He instantly looks like his dad. “Seven.”
