“Oh. Where? Maybe I can come see you tonight.” Understanding dawns his face.
“The Wandering Raven,” I answer, and continue before he can crack the joke. “I know, I know. Raven working at TheWandering Raven. Ha ha. Trust me, you’re not the first person and you won’t be the last to think it.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he smooths it out before I can address it. “I may not be able to make it there, but I’ll see you Monday.” He turns and stalks back down the aisle. His shoulders are tense, and his boots hit the carpeted floor harder than necessary.
“Wait,” I call out, but he either doesn’t hear me or he’s ignoring me.
Great. The first time a guy asks me out and I’ve already been rejected.
Welcome to life, Raven.
“Fuck!”I kick the right rear tire on my car as rays from the sun heat my skin, only furthering my frustration.
“Mom, you shouldn’t say ‘fuck,’” Noah reminds me as he pokes his head out the car window.
I give him my back as I take a deep breath.
On our way home from the library, one of my tires popped. I was supposed to buy a jack and a tool kit before we even drove to Mystic River from New York, but I had other things on my mind. So now, here I am with a spare tire, but no way to change it. We live about twenty minutes outside of town, which in an area such as this is quite the distance. We were halfway there when I both felt and heard the tire practically explode. I don’t want to make Noah walk in this heat the rest of the way home, and somehow, I don’t have fucking service in this one damn spot. I can’t leaveNoah here by himself. I may be new to full-time moming, but I’m not dumb. And I haven’t seen a single damn car drive by.
This is just for a moment. It’s not forever. I’m going to breathe for a minute, then I will figure out a solution. I always do. I have no other choice.
I can do this.
With renewed determination, I turn back to Noah. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“If I can’t say ‘shit’ then you can’t say ‘fuck,’” he tells me very seriously.
The laugh that comes out of me is an uncontrollable reaction. I wipe away tears that I’m not sure are from laughing or frustration or a mixture of the two. “You’re right. If I won’t let you say ‘shit’ then I can’t say ‘fuck.’ You’re very right about that.”
Noah looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
The crunch of tires on gravel coming from behind me reaches my ears. Relief and terror flood my system.
This better not be some asshole.
When I turn around, I find a disarming smile that I recognize flashing at me from inside a dark green Ford F-250, a car that I’ve seen in the parking lot of The Wandering Raven. I’m not sure if my boss coming to my rescue is worse or better than an asshole being my Good Samaritan.
Griffin hops out of his lifted truck, and his work boots hit the rocky pavement. His arm naturally flexes as he shuts the door, and I feel my panties grow wet as I witness the movement. I didn’t think I had a type. I’ve never been able to explore that, but I’m quickly realizing that I crave a man with strength.
As he approaches me, Griffin’s look of concern as he eyes my shattered tire punches me in the gut.
When was the last time someone looked at me like that? Like they cared for what my situation was.
“What happened to your tire?”
I nibble on my lip, unsure of how to feel about all the emotions this man brings out of me without even trying. “I’m not sure. It decided it didn’t want to be my tire anymore when we were almost home, and I still haven’t bought a jack,” I joke.
“Mom?”
My eyes widen in alarm. I haven’t introduced Noah to many people. I’m not ashamed of my son. I’m just used to people using his existence against me, something I can never let happen again.
I run to Noah’s car door and get him to put his head back inside the car. “Just wait here, okay? Stay in the car until I say it’s safe to come out, little king.”
“Moooom,” he groans.
I ignore his protest of his nickname and turn my attention back to Griffin. My arm rests on Noah’s open window.
“You’re a mom,” he states. It’s not a question.
