Best Laid Plans (Garnet Run 2)

“Shit! I don’t know! It’s so much. I just... I really don’t want to fuck you over.”

“Then don’t.”

He said it so clearly, so matter-of-factly, as if all it took was simply not to do something, that Rye almost laughed.

“Well obviously I wouldn’t do it on purpose,” he said, exasperated. “But it’s not like I ever got evicted on purpose either. Shit happens and I don’t want you getting caught up in it.”

“I wasn’t just saying that about the job at the store. If you want it,” Charlie said.

“Yeah? I mean, yes, of course I do.” Rye wasn’t sure this was the best moment for discussing employment plans, but okay.

“Well then you’ll be able to afford the monthly payments and it won’t be a problem.”

“Sorry, what?”

Rye felt like he’d missed a step.

“What what?”

“Huh?”

Charlie smiled. “Who’s on first?”

“First of what?”

“Rye!” Charlie said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Okay, okay. Can we just go back out there and Mike will lay out all the numbers. You’ll see.”

“Fine,” Rye grumbled.

Charlie raised a hand like he was going to smooth Rye’s riotous hair back into some kind of order, but stopped just before he touched him. They looked at each other for a moment and Rye wanted to say Thank you, he wanted to say You can touch me. He wanted to wrap his arms around Charlie’s middle and melt into his embrace.

He wanted a hell of a lot of things. And for the first time, it looked like he might get some of them.

* * *

They went out to lunch to celebrate the loan, Rye still reeling at all that had taken place, clutching a folder of paperwork like his future depended on it. Because it kind of did.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Rye said numbly. It was the only thought in his head.

“You’ve said that thirteen times already,” Charlie pointed out, unbothered.

“Yeah well, I’ll probably say it at least thirteen more,” Rye grumbled. “Cuz I just can not believe—”

“Okay, I get it,” Charlie said, smiling as he parked the truck.

Peach’s Diner was where Rye had gone his first morning in Garnet Run, needing a cup of coffee and a minute to get his head together. Its decor was a combination of floral prints and antlers that Rye was quickly becoming accustomed to in Garnet Run.

“Sit anywhere you like, Charlie and Rye,” the waiter said, winking.

“How does she know my name?” Rye said out of the corner of his mouth.

Charlie waggled his eyebrows and smiled.

Rye glared at him and slid into the booth in the corner.

“How’s the store?” the waiter asked Charlie as she handed them menus. Her name tag said Melba and Rye smiled.

“That’s a joke cuz Peach’s, right?” he said, pointing to her name tag.

Melba’s brow wrinkled and she cocked her head, looking to Charlie for an explanation. Charlie cleared his throat.

“Nope, no joke, Rye.”

“Oh. I just thought...because...you know. Peach Melba?”

Both Charlie and Melba just looked at him.

“Peach Melba,” Rye repeated. “The dessert. Named after the opera singer? Okay, never mind, sorry,” he grumbled.

“I’ll bring coffee and come check in with you in a minute,” Melba said, leaving them with the menus.

Charlie shot Rye a look.

“I wasn’t making fun of her name, I thought she was going by Melba because this place is called—”

“So you said.”

“I mean, okay, who is named Melba these days, though?” Rye whispered.

“Reckon you just saw who.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay.”

After they ordered, Charlie started going through the things Mike had said he needed to process the loan and Rye wished he’d brought in the folder. He’d snagged a pen emblazoned with the bank’s logo on his way out of the bank, so he scribbled some notes about what Charlie was saying on the paper placemat that cheerily announced Peach’s!.

Their food came: pancakes and bacon for Rye and a Western omelet with biscuits and sausage gravy for Charlie. Sausage had always disgusted Rye, but he had to admit the smells coming off Charlie’s plate were making his stomach growl.

“You want some?” Charlie asked.

He took a bite of Charlie’s biscuits and gravy, and then another bite. It was spicy and salty and creamy and Rye grudgingly admitted that it was delicious.

As he was revising his stance on sausage, a shadow fell over their booth. It was a tall white man, skin leathered from the sun, with a full head of steel gray hair, dark brown eyebrows, and heavily wrinkled brown eyes. Rye guessed his age at around seventy-five, but with the sun damage it was hard to tell.

“Mr. Wayne,” Charlie said in the voice that sounded like he was tipping a hat though he wasn’t wearing one. “Been quite a while.”

“Mr. Matheson,” the man said. His voice was lighter than his appearance suggested. “And...” He turned to Rye. “Mr. Janssen, perhaps?”

Rye forced down the automatic Batman quip since his most recent comment on someone’s name had gone over like a lead balloon.