“It doesn’t matter what this was. If you ever go out with a guy and he makes you pay, don’t go out with him again. You understand?”
She stares at my mouth. “Is that an Alabama thing? Are all the guys here like you?”
I straighten up, giving her a smirk that brings out that damn smile of hers. I had my cocky response ready, but my face breaks into a grin and wipes my memory of whatever line I was about to give her.
“Shit,” I mumble, running my hand over my jaw as she stands from the booth.
How can a fucking smile knock me off my game? It’s a smile. It’s not like she’s pulling her dress off, and then beaming up at me like that with her tits out. That would definitely prevent me from coming back at her with something. My mouth would be too busy worshipping every part of her.
She looks up at me. “What?”
I form my hand to her lower back and move her with me through the restaurant. “I don’t know. Just pretend I said something really witty. And maybe give a guy a warning next time you’re planning on smiling like that.”
“A warning?” she asks, hesitantly as we step outside. Her eyes cast upward to the sky. “Oh hey, it stopped raining.”
I don’t even register the change in weather. Just another thing that slips by me when I’m in her presence.
I open up the passenger door and step back, allowing space for her to get in front of me. “Yeah, a warning. Like ‘Hey Reed, I’m about to fuck up your chances of forming a complete thought. Just wanted to give you a heads up.’”
She climbs into the truck with my assistance, looks down at me after situating her dress, and frowns. “Hey, Reed?” she says more as a question than anything. Her voice suddenly apprehensive.
“Yeah?” I step closer, cranking my neck back to stare up at her. Holding my fucking breath to make sure I don’t miss whatever it is she’s about to ask me.
Pathetic.
“Fuck,” I utter through a rough shake of my head as she does it again. I shut the door, muting her animated laughter. Catching her eyes in the front window as I walk around the truck, she pins me with the happiest face I think I’ve ever seen.
That smile.
Damn.
Beth
I STEP THROUGH THE LARGE, rustic doors of the church and descend the staircase to get to the basement. Once I reach the bottom level, the room opens up into a large space. Long tables with bench seating fill the area, reminding me of the cafeteria at my high school back in Kentucky. It’s busy in here, but not a lot of noise. Everyone is eating and focused on their food. Tables of families huddled together, talking softly between bites. Other people sit alone, but they don’t look lonely. They don’t look despaired or destitute. They have a quiet hope about them as they eat their meals and keep to themselves.
I move past the line of people waiting to be served and head for the doorway that leads to the kitchen. A woman looks over at me, pausing with a soup ladle in her hand.
“Hi, can I help you?” she asks, using the back of her free hand to push the brim of her glasses up on her nose. She’s young, not much older than me if I had to guess.
Smiling, I step further into the kitchen. “I spoke to someone on the phone yesterday about volunteering. I was told to show up around eleven today.”
“Oh, yes!” She pulls her gloves off and drops them into the trash bin on her way over to me. Taking my hand in a firm shake, her light-blue eyes shine with a familiar light, but I can’t understand why. We’ve never met.
“I’m Riley. You spoke to me on the phone.”
“Beth, hi, it’s nice to meet you.” I drop her hand and follow behind as she moves back toward the table covered in hot food, the steam billowing above the containers.
“Thank you so much for coming. We’re extremely short-handed lately,” she tells me over her shoulder. She stops behind the two other volunteers. “This is Wendy, and Tonya. Ladies, this is Beth. She’s going to be helping us out occasionally.”
We exchange quick hellos as Riley grabs an apron for me off the wall. After securing it around my waist, I rub my hands together and eagerly step up behind the table. She gives me a quick run-down of the procedure for serving the people who come in. Everyone gets portions of whatever they’d like, and if there are leftovers after they go through the line, people can come up for seconds. Riley tells me most days they have enough for that to happen, except for holidays when the crowd wraps around the building.
“This is so great,” I say to Riley as I scoop a generous portion of green beans onto a plate. I hand it to the woman waiting across the other side of the table. “I wish they would’ve had something like this where I’m from. I could’ve used it.”
She looks over at me, empathy in her eyes, and I see the moment she decides to go a different route with her response. The hesitation forcing her lips to close, then the slight tilt of her head. “Where are you from?” she asks.
“Kentucky. I just moved here a few days ago. I’m staying with my aunt and uncle.”
She spoons some soup into a bowl and hands it to the man in front of her. “I would love to travel. I’ve lived here my whole life. But my family is here, and my boyfriend. He’s not much for getting out.”
I chuckle when she wrinkles her nose in disgust. “How long have you been together?”
“Few months, I guess,” she answers, almost dismissively. “I . . . he’s . . .” She huffs. “I don’t know. It’s complicated, which sounds like such a cliché thing to say.”
“Some relationships are.”
“Cliché?” she asks.
“Complicated.”
Her head drops into a quick nod.
I may have touched on a sore subject, so I decide not to pry any further as I scoop out a hearty serving of green beans onto the next plate and hand it off. Maybe changing the subject would be best.
“Have you ever been to an engagement party?” I ask.
She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head as she hands out another bowl. “No, I don’t think so. People have engagement parties?”
“Apparently.”
I tap my spoon on the edge of the serving tray, knocking off a few beans. The idea of throwing a party to celebrate locking down a mate seems a bit unnecessary to me. Isn’t that the whole purpose of the wedding?
I lean my hip against the table while my hand absentmindedly stirs the beans. “I’m trying to decide if these parties are usually formal events or not. I own one dress and I’m not sure it’s fancy enough. It’s pretty plain.”
Riley tilts the large pot of clam chowder toward her and peers down into it. “I guess it depends on the couple having it. If they have money, why not throw it around?” She looks up at me as she lifts the pot off the table. “I’m going to get a little bit more before people start coming up for seconds. Are you good?”
I look down into my tray. Not many people stopped for the green beans, although they look and smell delicious.
“I have more than half. I think I’m good.”
As she walks to the back of the kitchen with her pot, I slip my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and step away from the table.
I have no idea what Reed’s ex-girlfriend’s money situation is. She could’ve blown all her cash on the heavily perfumed invitation sitting on my bedroom dresser. This party could be low-key and informal. It could also be an event that requires Reed to wear a tux.