“Thanks for coming out.”
“You asked.”
I suddenly realized he was behind the chutes, where only select personnel were allowed. “How did you get back here?”
He gave me a confused look. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I can get anywhere, Babe.”
I think he was attempting to tell a joke, so I chuckled. We stood out of the way and watched the show for a while, neither of us speaking.
The rodeo was nearly over. They had barrel racing, an event primarily for women, and bull riding. I knew it was all Harrison could handle being there, so I threw my head toward the exit. “I’m hungry, are you ready to go eat?”
He nodded, grateful we didn’t have to stay for the last events. We walked across the gravel parking lot to his rental car. Harrison refused to take taxis or call for cars, no matter where he went. He needed to feel in control when he came or left.
The announcer and the music were still loud enough for usto hear exactly what was going on inside.
Jimmy was riding when the buzzer sounded, and the announcer screamed his impressive score.
Harrison opened the door for me, and I climbed in. It was a brand-new car, a rental, and somehow it already smelled like his expensive cologne. “Where are we going?”
Again, our options were extremely limited unless we went to the next town, so I suggested a little farmhouse cafe I had seen.
He drove, and I stole looks at him, my stomach feeling like a rock. I was nowhere near hungry. At one point, he put his hand on my thigh, something he used to do all the time in Chicago. I swallowed hard, wanting to give in to his touch, but knowing I couldn’t.
He pulled into the crowded parking lot, and we got out.
The place was unbelievably adorable.
Dee Dee’s Farmhouse Cafe
It was shaped like a barn, with a little porch, American flags, and a few benches. Harrison opened the door for me. There was a wood-burning stove, a small shop with clothes and knick-knacks, and vintage tables and chairs.
It was the cutest little restaurant I’d ever seen.
We took a seat near the little shop, Harrison signaling a waitress before I had even grabbed my napkin.
“Excuse me, could we get a bottle?”
The waitress was young enough to be in high school. She gave him a confused look, clutching her notepad like a lifeline. “Sorry, sir? What would you like a bottle of?”
He gave her a degrading scowl. “A bottle of wine.”
I put my hand on his. “Harrison, I don’t-”
“What is so hard to understand?” He snapped.
“We would both like some water, please,” I said to the poor teenager.
She nodded and ran off.
“Harrison, we are in a Mom and Pop cafe in the smallest town in Utah,” I whispered harshly. “There is no chance that they have wine, or any alcohol for that matter.”
He pulled his hand away from my touch. “Remind me again why we had to go somewhere with akid’s menu.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Can we please talk?”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
It was all I could do not to throw my hands up in defeat. Martha would be resisting the urge to smack him right about then. “Harrison, I want to talk about the proposal.”
