Fine. Elizabeth grabbed the pen and wrote on the napkin.
>JF>When I’m thirty-two.
She turned the napkin to Tina.
“Sign it,” Tina said.
“Sign it? Are we making a contract?”
Tina tapped the napkin with her finger. “Yes. Sign it.”
Elizabeth shook her head, laughing, and penned her name across the bottom. “There. Happy? It’s not binding, you know.”
“Of course it is.” Tina tucked the napkin under her laptop and took a bite of her salad. “Girl, when I met my husband, I was a goner.” She patted her heart. “Nothing mattered but him. We rushed down the aisle, had three boys—bam, bam, bam—while he built a great construction business. He’s the one who told me Ella’s was being sold, if not closing. Together we figured out a way to buy it. He wanted it to be all mine. Little did I know he was going to be arrested by the FBI for fraud a few years later. But he knew enough about his dealings to keep them from taking this place.”
“Have you ever let love back in?” Elizabeth said, a tone of knowing in her voice. “You’ve been divorced for what, ten, fifteen years? What about Marty? He seems keen on?—”
“We’re not talking about me.” Stab, stab, stab at what remained of her salad. “And for your information, I have agreed to dinner with Marty. But we’re just friends.” She jabbed her fork at Elizabeth. “You’ll be at school by then.”
“I want photographic evidence.”
“You won’t be dancing at my wedding anytime soon, but sweetheart, I hope to be dancing at yours.”
“Why do you care so much?” Elizabeth said. “Your marriage didn’t turn out so great. How do I know Ryder won’t commit fraud or cheat on me or die? Love is not without risk.”
“Everything is a risk. School. Work. Love. Life. If I hadn’t fallen in love and married, I’d not have the boys: Cole, Chris, and Cap. My grandchildren. My husband was a good man who made a big mistake, and he paid for it. He’s remarried now. Doing well.” Tina slid from the booth with her salad bowl and empty tea glass. “Do me a favor. If you have any feelings for Ryder Donovan, keep in touch. You may think thirty-two is the right time to pursue love, but men like Ryder Donovan don’t come along every day.”
20
Ryder hauled the last of the pine to the fire tower as Elizabeth drove out of town. He paused every few boards for a drink of water and to stare over the charred, barren landscape.
Today, the view felt like his life. Not to play the melodramatic card or “poor me”—he’d had enough of that as a kid—but losing Elizabeth hurt.
He’d put himself out there. Told her he loved her. Right in this very spot where he nailed boards. Where future WMA officers would look for fires. Or newly engaged couples would carve their initials.
In this square box, he’d shared the most amazing kiss ever, not involving lip-to-lip contact.
Ryder glanced again toward the burnt area. An early-morning rain made everything look shiny, but the afternoon’s hot August sun drank up all the moisture.
By evening, he’d placed the last board on the tower and stood back, the fresh pine filling his senses.
As he packed up his tools, Dad called. Was Ryder free for dinner? Mom was heading out of town in the morning, and Dad had a golfing weekend set up with Karl and a couple of friends.
“You’re welcome to join us. It’s a course in Wisconsin. Lovely this time of year.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m not much of a golfer.”
“No, I guess not. I never could get you to see the point of it.”
“But dinner sounds nice.”
“Invite your friend. The Dorsey girl.”
“She left today.” He settled the cordless nail gun into the case, then gathered the rest of the tools. “Headed to Wharton.”
“Good for her.”
“What time for dinner, Dad?”
