Rye nods. “Yeah, we should. And look, I'm not saying she shouldn't be here. I'm just wondering who she is.”
“Well, it's nice that you're protective,” I say, “but she's my date tonight. Okay? So let me do the protecting when it comes to Abby.”
“All right.” Rye runs a hand over his beard. “Enough said.”
“Good,” I say as Lemon comes into the kitchen with Abby at her side.
“What are you grumpy boys talking about?” she asks with a deepening frown on her face.
“I swear, the two of you,” I say, pointing to Rye and then Lemon, “are both constantly so irritable.” I walk out of the room, taking Abby’s hand as I do.
Abby asks me what that was all about.
“Honestly, I think they both need to find someone to date and get laid.”
She laughs then leans in close, her warm breath on my ear. “And what about you, Bartlett? Do you need to get laid?”
I groan. “You trying to drive me wild before we sit down to Sunday supper?”
She bites her lip. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, it could be something we continue talking about when we're not about to sit down at the dinner table with your parents.”
She points to the room full of my family, a few feet away.
I grin. But my hand is suddenly at her waist and she is at my side. “I'm happy you're here,” I say, standing close to her, feeling her warmth. I realize I like this girl. I like the way she smiles and laughs. The way she's comfortable in her own skin and the way she entered this big, wild house without cowering in the corner. She was just here, talking to Plum and my parents and me like she's been here all along.
“What are you thinking?” she asks.
“I'm thinking I'm really glad you came home.”
4
ABBY
When we drivedown the Rough Mountains, back into town, Bartlett reaches over and takes my hand in his. The feeling is electric.
I'm not alone in that.
He looks over at me, his other hand still on the wheel. He groans, “How have I been living my whole life without knowing you?”
There's a drawl to his voice, and he may not live in the country, but he still lives far from any big city. Far from skyscrapers and towering complexes. He is a small-town guy, through and through, with a family who understands the true meaning of family. I don't think he has any idea how lucky he is.
“So, your family is pretty special,” I tell him.
“They didn't scare you away? I know the questions at dinner got a little intense.”
“Nobody asked me anything that I couldn't answer.”
The questions were pretty simple. What do I like to do for fun? Do I have a favorite movie? What's the last book I read? It was like they'd all been prepped on how to ask appropriate questions that didn't press too hard, too fast. I appreciated it. Someone in their family along the way got the memo that religion and politics were off limits. And also, any visitor's history might be a little too much, too soon, because they didn't go into those kinds of details. Didn't ask why I was all alone with my dog Hijinx and a backpack and nothing else to my name. They didn't ask things I wasn't ready to answer.
Maybe Bartlett gave them a heads up that I’d had a hard day. And if so, I'm more smitten with him than ever, but maybe they're simply good people who have decency and respect and boundaries.
Regardless, that dinner was maybe the best dinner of my life. And it had nothing to do with the home-cooked food that Annie made, which was incredible: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green peas, iced tea, pound cake with homemade whipped cream for dessert. Heavenly. Ten out of ten.
“You were right,” I tell Bartlett. “All eyes were on Fig.” That girl, she was determined to get her way.
“Oh man. She was so mad though. Leaving the dinner table in a puddle of tears is not a happy way to go,” he says.
“Do you think she'll get over it quickly?” I ask, having no idea how families like his resolve conflict. In my family, it was yelling, fighting, and one-word answers. That's why I was kept for so long. I wasn't in a cage like the elephants and the tigers, though I felt like it. I wasn't allowed out.