Catching Fire (Hometown Heat 2)
I nod. “Yeah. I get it. I think I’d stab myself in the eye if I had to stare at a computer all day.”
He laughs. “Exactly. I wish I’d figured that out in time to change my major, but…” He exhales. “Whatever. A degree is a degree, and something to fall back on if I need to down the road. But honestly, I’ve been thinking about doing an EMT course or something. I’d like to be more…helpful.”
“I’m sure people who need new kitchen cabinets appreciate your help.”
He grins. “Yeah, but you know what I mean. I’d like to really help people. Like you do. I admire you guys a lot.”
“Thanks,” I say, warmed by the words. I mean, I hear things like that a lot, but I can tell he really means it. “So, do you think you’re going to stay in Bliss River long-term?” I ask, telling myself I don’t care one way or the other.
“I think so. It’s home, and my family is here. That’s started to seem more important lately. When Maddie and Naomi were going through their hard times this year, I was glad I could be there for them.”
“It’s good to be there when people need you,” I agree. “Though sometimes I wish my family was a little less needy. But it could be worse. I could still have to live under the same roof with them.”
He winces sympathetically. “Relatives—a blessing and a curse.”
“It’s mostly my mom,” I say, slowing as we reach the restaurant. “She’s been mid-crisis since I was like two years old. But she’s been in New Orleans with her latest loser since the week before Christmas so… I don’t know. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually starting to miss her.”
“Nothing wrong with missing your mama.” He opens the door for me and slips his arm around my waist as we move toward the hostess station. “I’m missing mine too. She and Dad have been in Florida since November.”
He turns to give his name to the hostess, and I allow myself a brief moment to relish how nice it feels to have his arm around me. We agreed on no hand-holding in public, but we didn’t say anything about arms around waists.
This is probably acceptable. Right?
Or at the very least, not a violation of our agreement.
Even if it were, you wouldn’t say a word. You’re weak, Miller. At this rate you’ll be stripping that sweater off him with your teeth by ten o’clock tonight.
I bite my lip and will myself to step away from temptation, but then the hostess motions for us to follow her through the restaurant and it’s just easier to let Mick’s arm stay where it is until we sit down.
Once we’re seated—at a candlelit table in a cozy corner of the darkened restaurant that I must acknowledge is unacceptably romantic—the easy conversation resumes without a hitch.
We talk about his parents, my mom, his latest remodeling job, and my rather odd work schedule.
“So, you don’t go back to work until…Monday?” he asks.
“Monday at noon,” I say, moaning with appreciation as I set my fork down and gaze sadly at my empty plate. “Oh my god, that really was the best ribeye I’ve ever had. I hate to see it end. I think I’m going to tear up a little.”
Mick laughs. “Don’t tear up. We’ll come back again before too long.”
I glance up, meeting his gaze across the table, confusion and contentment warring inside of me. On one hand, I’m so pleasantly full and enjoying myself so much it seems a shame to go poking at things. But on the other hand, it isn’t “low-key” to hint that we’ll be dining out at fancy restaurants together for the foreseeable future.
In the end, confusion wins out.
I’m about to ask Mick what’s up with him and if this is really what he considers a casual date, when my phone blares like a foghorn inside my clutch.
“Sorry, I should check this.” I fumble to grab the phone before the other diners band together and toss me out for destroying the mood.
It’s an unfamiliar number, but I answer anyway, thinking it might be one of my cousins. They have a habit of getting bored, hitting the road, then calling me in the middle of the night from Memphis, Biloxi, or some bar down in Panama City to make sure I’m aware of all the fun I’m missing.
“Hello?” I move my napkin from my lap to the table in case this lasts longer than a second or two and I need to step outside.
“Faith?” The second the voice on the end of the line sobs my name, I know the night is ruined.
That’s what I get, I guess, for saying I missed the architect of chaos.
Chapter Nine
Faith
Wincing I lift a finger to Mick’s curious face.