“All the swooning gets on your nerves?”
He just raised his eyebrows for a second like,Something like that.
“We could get takeout,” Shiloh said. “There’s nobody at my house to salute you.”
They stopped at a steakhouse on the other side of the park. Every meal came with mashed potatoes and a small salad with creamy Italian dressing, all packaged in Styrofoam containers.
When they got to her house, Shiloh moved the food to real plates, which Cary said was silly if she hated doing dishes so much. She told him to sit down—she sounded like his mother. Shiloh put his plate in the toaster oven and found a couple Fiestaware candleholders for the table. She got out the Zippo lighter he’d sent her to light the candles. That made Cary laugh.
When Shiloh brought out his chicken Parmesan, she frowned at his white shirt. “Why’d you order red sauce?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Let me get you a bib.”
“I don’t need abib.”
“At least take off your fancy shirt.”
He took off his uniform shirt and hung it over one of the empty chairs. He was wearing a V-neck undershirt. She gave him a big cloth dish towel to tie around his neck, but he put it in his lap.
When Shiloh went to get her own plate, she took the engagement ring off her necklace and slid it onto her finger.
Cary noticed right away. He raised an eyebrow and smiled at her.
“Your mom thinks she’s moving home,” she said.
“Yeah”—he picked up his salad bowl—“but she also doesn’t want to leave her new apartment. I’m making progress with her. And I think I’m getting through to Angel. I sat her down and showed her the bank statements. The truth is, my mom can’t keep that house if I stop helping with the mortgage. And I’m not going to subsidize a bad and unsafe situation.”
“You’re paying for the nursing homeandhelping with the mortgage?”
He’d taken a bite. He covered his mouth. “At the moment.”
“Does Angel have a place to go?”
Cary swallowed. He was making a stern face. “I can’t let that be my problem. I can’t letallof them be my problem. It never ends, and nothing changes.”
Shiloh touched his forearm. “I’m sorry. I don’t know the whole story.”
“It’s okay. I mean, I’m willing to tell you the whole story—it’s just a messed-up story.” He took another bite. “You already know I’m white trash.”
“Cary.” She touched his arm again and squeezed it. “I grew up a few blocks away from you, and I still live here. With mymother. ‘Ich bin ein Berliner,’ as they say.”
“It’s not the same, and you know it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think of you that way. I never have.”
“Your mom does.”
“That would be the pot calling the kettle trash. Also”—Shiloh poked his shoulder—“my mom likes you. She’s been trying to get me to hook up with you since I was sixteen. If I tell her we’re engaged, she’s going to dump Gatorade over my head.”
“‘If,’ huh?”
Shiloh felt her face get serious. “When.”
Cary looked down at his food again. His cheeks and neck were flushed.
“Can I take a photo of you?” she asked.
