Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

“Hello,” I say, smiling as naturally as I can despite the ruckus in my head. A silent prayer goes up that I don’t look like one of those dogs in memes with my lips sticking to my gums in a fake smile.

His assessment is quick, yet thorough. I must pass because his broad shoulders ease. “Hi. I’m assuming you’re Mariah.”

“I am. You must be Jonah.”

“Correct. Sorry I’m a few minutes late. I got held up in the operating room.”

His words are stilted. There’s some relief in knowing he’s equally as unsure about this as I am.

“No worries,” I tell him. “Let me grab my purse and we can go?”

“Sounds good.”

Closing the door just in case he is a serial killer, I find my purse on the couch. A quick inventory confirms the small can of Mace in the hidden pocket, as well as extra cash for a cab. There’s also a tube of lipstick just in case I’m wrong about this whole thing and the date goes well enough for a quick freshen up in his bathroom.

He’s standing where I left him when I return. I flash him a smile while I lock up and wait for any indication there might be some sort crackling energy between us. My keys hit the can of Mace when I drop them into my purse.

Noted, Universe. Noted.

“Whitney said you like Peaches,” he says, a couple of steps in front of me. “I checked it out online. It’s not fancy but, since I’m in scrubs, I thought it might work.”

“It’s my favorite. Have you been there before?”

He opens my door. One point, Jonah. “I haven’t. I’m from Springfield originally and haven’t been here long enough to see much more than the inside of Merom Memorial. The life of an intern, I guess.”

“I guess. Thank you,” I say, as I slip in the front seat of his sports car.

I wonder if he actually hosed the interior with antiseptic spray or it’s a coincidence that the car smells like a janitor’s closet. By the looks of the spotless floorboards and streak-free windows, I lean toward the spray.

He grins at me while he climbs in. “Buckle up. Seat belts are one of the easiest and most effective ways to prevent injuries in automobile accidents.”

“All right. Thanks for the tip.” The lock slips into the latch and I try to focus on the considerate side of him. Not the one that made me want to include, ‘Yes, father,’ at the end of my sentence.

The drive to Peaches takes forever despite only being a few minutes from Linton. Every topic feels like we have to move a mountain to get through the conversation. Going from discussing his job to my career back to his job is way more work than it should be.

By the time we pull in the parking lot, I want to bash my head against the window but I’m afraid if I bleed on his interior he may freak out. On the other hand, it would be more exciting than spending another hour or two like this.

We enter my favorite little place which is nestled behind a tennis court. It’s cozy inside Peaches, a joint famous in these parts for their margaritas. Jonah asks me to order him a water and excuses himself for the restroom.

“Do you have a seating preference?” the hostess asks.

“Table, please,” I say, looking around. There are a few that overlook the parking lot and drive-through. At least by the window I’ll have something to watch. “Can we sit over there?”

“Sure. Follow me.”

Setting my purse on a chair by the wall, I thank the hostess. “Can I go ahead and order drinks?”

“Sure,” she says, taking a small pad out of the apron around her waist. “What can I get for you?”

“Water with lemon for him and a Coke, extra ice, for me.”

“Got ya.”

I get situated in my seat, shooting Whitney a text asking her what the hell she was thinking. When Jonah gets back, I drop the phone into my purse and smile at my date.

“Drinks are ordered,” I chirp.

“Great.” He grabs a menu off the table. “How long have you known Whitney?”

“Since elementary school. She moved to Linton in third or fourth grade,” I say. “I got hit in the face with a dodgeball and she helped me to the nurse’s station. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

The waitress stops by with our drinks and takes our order. She bats her lashes at Jonah and I’m surprised to see that he flirts back, albeit ineptly. Sipping my Coke, I try to care. I don’t. With a final breathy giggle, she’s on her way and he directs his attention back to me.

Silently judging my choice of beverage, he lifts his glass of water with lemon to his lips. “Dodgeball should be banned from schools. There’s no reason to risk a broken nose over an immature game that doesn’t involve skill.”