The sign on top of the building says “Bubba’s.”
“Oh, I think I’ve heard of this place but I’ve never been,” I say.
“You’re in for a treat then,” Daniel says, giving my hand a squeeze before hopping out to open my door and help me down.
When I step out of the truck, the aroma of Texas brisket knocks me out. My stomach growls—no, roars!—in response.
“My gosh, that smells amazing,” I say as we head inside.
We both order a sample platter of pulled pork, brisket, and barbecue chicken with sides of fried okra and mac and cheese. Like an old married couple who are in sync with each other without the need for words, Daniel carries the food out to a table while I fetch our teas, napkins, utensils and extra hot barbecue sauce.
I pass him coming back inside on my way out to the tables. “What’s up?” I ask. But he looks like he’s on a mission. I turn and I see him go behind the counter, pull out some bills from his wallet and hand them over to a staff person, who immediately disappears into the kitchen.
I’m so confused. What makes him think he can simply go behind the counter like that?
But a moment later, one of the workers comes out with a gingham tablecloth and heads outside to set our table for us. He has set out a picnic cloth for the table and another one for the bench.
“So your nice dress doesn’t get snagged,” Daniel explains.
Knowing how hungry he is, this extra step warms my heart.
The food is utterly fantastic and might be the best barbecue I’ve ever eaten. But what really softens me, warms my belly, makes my head spin and my thighs tingle, is knowing that Daniel is so interested in taking care of me.
This is the moment I believe that when he says he intends to give me a fair price for my property, he means it.
And maybe, just maybe, I should consider taking it. I could go somewhere else, not far away. I could keep the same clients. Hell, I wouldn’t mind a place that butts up against Bubba’s, and that’s a fact.
“What?” Daniel says, grinning at me, and I realize my emotions are showing all over my face.
“I was looking at the sunset,” I lie, pointing my fork to the west.
But Daniel doesn’t take his eyes off me. “I noticed it too,” he says. “The sunset looks beautiful on you.”
A few days ago this man made me want to spit nails. Today we’re on a date, and he’s giving me warm fuzzies all over with small gestures and compliments.
“You’re a good egg, Daniel. That’s what I think my MeMaw would say.”
At this point, he pivots. “Tell me about your MeMaw.”
The question calls up a small lump in my throat. I have to put down my fork so I can talk.
“My parents were…are…very religious. They were not abusive or anything, but it got to the point where the church and its school began to take over my whole life. I always had church activities to do when I wasn’t doing my homework. I could never casually hang with my school friends unless it involved studying or a service project, especially if my weren’t ‘saved.’ And certainly never with boys. I could never go on dates. After I hit puberty, I was constantly being hit with lectures about boys. About teen pregnancy. About the sin of premarital sex. This went on and home, at church youth group, and in chapel services at school. The stories they told me scared me to death and I bought it hook, line and sinker. All the adults in my life said having sex before marriage was a sin, and it would amount to cheating on my future husband.
“I even did one of those purity ring ceremonies with my Daddy, even though my heart wasn’t in it. But all my school friends were doing it too.
“The only truly happy time for me was going to MeMaw’s house and helping her in the garden, playing with her dogs and chickens, running around and being wild.
“When I was getting ready to look at colleges, I was told I had to choose a religious college where I’d find a suitable husband, or I could leave my parents’ home with no support. So, I left.
“MeMaw took me in and I’ve been here ever since. I took care of her until she died. My mom and dad picked up and moved to start a mission church, or something, down near Corpus Christi. But I stayed with MeMaw.
“I went to community college during the day, waited tables at night. I didn’t really know how I was going to pay for vet school, but all I knew was I wanted to be around animals. Dogs, specifically.
“So when MeMaw died, she left me her place to do with as I saw fit. I left college, turned the place into a dog daycare and then the rescue part of it sorta happened. People drop off their dogs and sometimes never come back.”
When I finish my story, I realize Daniel has stopped eating and is staring at me, hands folded, listening.
Nobody has ever merely sat and listened without interrupting me before. But nothing is “mere” about this. This is huge for me.