Her lower lip is between her teeth when she nods and finally releases it. “Yes, I do. Thank you, Mr. Horton.”
She’ll learn soon enough that nobody under the age of seventy goes by a title around here. Instead, I nod at Bob and clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll walk you out.”
I follow the man to the front and notice that in the time it takes me to walk back through the store, Bob’s nephew, Tyler, has pulled up and is idling their shitty company pickup beside my bike.
“Hey, Ty.” I lift my chin at the kid. “How’s the starter? Any better?”
Tyler nods. “Yeah,” he grumbles, avoiding eye contact. “Been running fine,” he adds, his voice weirdly close to a whisper.
I watch as Bob climbs into the passenger seat, mumbles something to his nephew, and they take off.
When I turn back to Latterature, four old ladies are watching me through the glass. I yank open the door, and I swim through the sea of colorful blouses. “See that?” I ask, gesturing toward the door. “Bob’s gone. You can all go on and pick on some other aging electronics salesman.”
Bev and Sassy start talking between themselves, while Carol tugs my mom’s arm and points to the large television that Bob set up in the reading nook.
It seems like my work here is done, but I feel Chloe’s eyes on me. I turn to her and watch as a pretty shade of pink brightens her cheeks.
I don’t know if this woman was in on my mother summoning me over here, but even if she was, she’s only in town because she suffered a loss.
“I’m sorry about your aunt,” I say sincerely, meaning every word. “She was a great lady. Made my favorite sandwich in all of Star Falls.”
Chloe’s whole body seems to relax at the mention of her aunt. “Mine too,” she says. “Grilled cheese with chicken and bacon. She made it special every time she visited my mom and me.”
I cover my belly with both hands and groan in spite of myself. “That’s the one. My favorite sandwich. Just don’t tell my brother I said that. He’s a cocky son of a bitch when it comes to food.”
“Franco, maybe you should take Chloe to dinner tonight.” Ma has disentangled herself from Carol and has nosed her way between me and the new owner of Latterature. “She’s new to town and doesn’t know anyone. Take her to your brother’s restaurant. You do like Italian food, don’t you, dear?”
“Oh no, that’s… I mean… Yes, I like Italian, but…” Chloe’s stammering, but her eyes are searching my face. An innocent, sweet smile brings light to those green eyes. “You don’t have to. I…I’m fine, really. I have so much to do here in the store.”
I’m looking her over, the long, luscious locks of auburn hair and that sweet face that somehow doesn’t match the dowdy, nerdy clothes she’s wearing.
I see just a hint of the curves buried beneath the blanket-like layers, and my fingers suddenly itch to peel them back one by one.
And then I stop myself.
Something about the woman has my body paying attention.
My gut tightens at the way she’s biting her bottom lip again, and I wonder if she likes being bitten as much as she seems to like biting.
But my mother’s voice is in my ears, loudly demanding that I take Chloe on a date, and I know right there I have to put a stop to the whole thing. If I let myself get set up by my mother once, my entire life will become an episode ofMatchmaking with Lucia and Company.
“Chloe, no offense, but this—” I motion toward Ma and her lady gang “—is my mother’s not-at-all subtle attempt to set her single son up with the new—and I assume single—woman in town.” I give Ma a sharp glare.
“She is single,” Ma adds. “That was the first thing I asked, son. I’m not trying to wreck a happy home here.”
I nod. “Hmm-mm,” I mutter. “Thought so.” I lean down and plant a kiss on my mother’s hair, and she swats me away before fluffing the curls that I flattened back into place. “Ma, I’ll talk to you later. Chloe, it was nice meeting you. Enjoy the television.” I point at Bev, Sassy, and Carol, all of whom are standing by just waiting, like they’ll break out into applause if I agree to take Chloe to dinner. “Ladies.” I nod. “I’d appreciate if the next time my ma gets an idea in her head related to my love life, you’ll remind her—” I grab the door handle and yank it open “—to butt out.”
I hear a chorus of disappointed sighs as one by one the ladies say goodbye.
“We only want what’s best for you, Franco.”
“Your mother means well, Frankie.”
“I told you this wasn’t going to work, Lucia. Your son isn’t the dating kind.”
Isn’t the dating kind?
That stops me in my tracks, but if I go back in, I’m only inviting the lot of them to start analyzing my love life. And I’ve had more than enough time on that topic for one day.
