Page 42 of Michael: The Hawthornes

“I can get you some tires,” Michael said in my ear as he opened the door for us.

“I don’t want you to buy me tires,” I countered, my voice quiet as I slid past him.

“Tough.”

“Micky Hawthorne,” the hostess said with a smile, coming around the front of her little podium. “I haven’t seen you in months!”

“Hey, Nova,” Michael said, stepping around Rhett and me so he could give the girl a hug.

My stomach dropped as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground, swinging her a little from side to side.

“Who’s this?” she asked, still smiling when he set her down.

“Oh, this is Emilia,” Michael said, gesturing toward me. “And our son, Rhett.”

“Your what, now?” she sputtered, her mouth dropping open.

Michael reached up and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “My son.”

Nova’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she realized that she was standing there gaping like a fish and changed her expression. “It’s nice to meet you, Emilia and Rhett,” she said with an awkward smile.

I smiled back and nodded as Rhett watched her silently.

“So, uh, table for three, right?” Nova asked, going back behind her podium to grab menus. “Come on back.”

“You still workin’ at the craft store?” Michael asked as we followed Nova to our table.

“Yep,” she chirped, smiling at him over her shoulder.

I followed with Rhett a couple steps behind Michael, my stomach in knots.

“Both places then,” Michael said. “Damn, girl. When do you sleep?”

“I’m picking up extra shifts whenever I have a spare minute. Sleep is for the old and the dead,” Nova joked. “I’m hustling.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Here’s your table,” she said, setting our menus down. “I’ll go see if I can get some crayons so Rhett can color while you guys wait for your food.”

“Thank you,” I replied, setting Rhett on my side of the booth. He crawled across the seat, going for the little sugar packets on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Nova giving Mick’s forearm a squeeze as she walked away.

“Nova, huh?” I asked casually as I sat down. “She seems nice.”

“She is,” Michael replied, handing me a menu.

“Is she our age?”

“Few years younger.”

“I don’t remember her.”

Michael put his menu down and looked at me. “She went to a different high school.”

“Huh,” I mused.

“She actually went to a private school. On scholarship.”

“It didn’t seem to do her much good,” I mumbled, glancing around the diner. I don’t know why I said it. It was snarky and rude and just plain shitty.

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