Big Man

“Normally I’m not,” he replies simply.

I lift an eyebrow. “Is this a special occasion then?”

“I’m normally not the partying type,” he clarifies. “But I am the attend-a-local-social-event-with-a-sexy-as-hell-woman-on-my-arm type.”

“Ah.” I grin a little more deeply. “Well, in that case… I’d love to go.”

His smile deepens, just for a second. “Good.” Then he turns his back to set down his coffee cup on the back table and dust off his hands. “Well. I should get back to work.”

“I should start work,” I reply with a sigh. “I don’t know how you get up and at it this early.”

“Stamina,” he calls over his shoulder with a wink.

My cheeks flare red, even as I smirk back at him and scoop up his cup to bring it inside. Out front, I stand and confront the mess of the front yard. Right. To work it is.

I lose track of the hours, elbow-deep in grease as I am. I oiled and cleaned and adjusted the front gate until it shone, until there wasn’t a single speck of rust on the whole thing and it swings open and shut without so much as a squeak or a creak.

Then I weeded the front garden, a little patch of flowers and herbs that Mama used to keep around for cooking. There are still a few surviving ones, so I pick some fresh basil and oregano for dinner tonight. I figure if Grant wants to eat before this party, whatever it is, we can whip up a simple chicken dinner with the oregano, and I’ll make a side salad with the basil and some veggies.

God, listen to me. I’m starting to sound like a country bumpkin. Like a housewife.

Like my mother, part of my brain calls out, and for a second, I pause in my work to wonder if that would really be so bad. Living life her way. Mama was always happy. She didn’t love that I hated this town so much, of course. And while she visited me plenty in NYC, I could tell she didn’t love the city itself. But every time I’d talk to her, she’d be bursting with excitement over something. A new flower that took in the garden, a new dish she figured out how to cook, a new friend she made in town, whatever hapless new neighbor had just moved nearby enough for Mama to latch on and start introducing them to everyone in sight. She was a social butterfly, my Mama, country girl or no.

A life like that might not be so bad, I find myself thinking.

But. I remind myself why that was our life. We didn’t have any choice. Not after my father up and abandoned us both. Ran away, left Mama brokenhearted, a heartbreak she never really recovered from enough to date again. And left me holding the pieces together for years, until she finally healed enough to feel okay. She was happy in her later years, content without a partner, but still…

I shake my head.

Not to mention how I felt… But no.

I don’t go there. Not anymore. Not ever.

I finish weeding just as a clatter inside lets me know Grant is stomping around the house. He sticks his head out the front door long enough to holler, “Lunch is on the table,” then he’s gone again.

I bag up the weeds and dust my knees off, then head inside the house to find fresh sandwiches on the counter and a salad full of veggies he clearly harvested from the farm out back.

“You really need to let me cook sometime,” I call in the general direction of the shower, where I can hear him puttering.

“Dinner tonight then,” he replies. “If you insist.”

“I do,” I answer, grinning.

“Fair enough.” He pops his head out of the bathroom, and I have to suck in a breath at the sight of his shirtless chest. Damn. The perfection of those muscles manages to shock me every damn time. “Make it 7 though, cause the party starts at 8.”

“What kind of party are we talking exactly?” I ask, digging into my sandwich. It’s nothing complex, but it’s delicious nonetheless. Simple, fresh ingredients. Just the way I like it.

“Nothing big. Just a little get-together over at the Johnsons’ farm.”

I mull that over while I chew a big bite of lettuce. By then, Grant is back at the table with me, scooping up his own sandwich and taking a huge bite while he pours a glass of water. He plunks that down in front of me with a significant, pointed look, and my cheeks flush at the memory of yesterday. Sufficiently cowed, I accept the water and take a long gulp.

“You sure you want to be seen with me in public around here?” I ask with a smirk. “I’m not exactly on the county’s most popular list.”

“I went out with you yesterday, didn’t I?” he points out, and I have to give him that one.