He snort-chuckles. “Did you now?” Smiling as he rounds the front of the car, he slides into the driver’s seat then turns to me. “It’s easier for Christian to get into a car without that much lift.”
My cheeks flame with embarrassment as the picture of his son flashes in my mind. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
He starts the car. “Nothing to be sorry about.”
There’s nothing dismissive or hurt in his voice, just sincere acknowledgement, and I feel myself relax just a little, thankful I didn’t frustrate or anger him with my assumption.
Not more than forty-five seconds later, we’re pulling into another parking lot. I get the idea we could’ve walked here if it weren’t for the fear of ice on the sidewalks. I laugh. “This really is a small town.”
“You say it like you aren’t used to walking out of your apartment in the city and going down the street to a restaurant.”
“Who said I had an apartment in the city?”
He shuts off the engine and tilts his head. “I thought everyone in New York City lived in an apartment.”
I stifle a smile. Looks like I’m not the only one full of assumptions today. “Not true at all,” I inform him. “There are condos, co-ops, townhomes, row houses, duplexes, and even single-family homes in the outer boroughs.”
“Well, then. I stand corrected. So which one do you live in?”
“I don’t live there anymore. Not as of this morning. But…” I shrug, letting a small smile slip through. “It was an apartment.”
He laughs. “Are you always this feisty?” Then he winks and hops out of the car, quickly freeing Amelia from her car seat like a tried-and-true dad.
When we enter the restaurant, heads turn. Conversations stop. All eyes are on the three of us, as if the King and Queen themselves have made an appearance. It’s… odd. And completely the opposite of how things are in the city, where nobody gives two shakes who’s coming and going.
Carter nods to a guy behind the bar who tells us to take a seat wherever we’d like.
“Booth?” Carter asks.
“Sounds good.”
Amelia slides in before I do, and when I go to sit next to her, she holds up a hand. “I want to sit next tohim,Mommy.”
Embarrassed, I say, “I don’t think Mr. Cruz should have to deal with your messy eating habits.”
“I won’t be messy. Please?”
Why do four-year-olds have to say every little thing that’s on their minds? As I attempt to come up with a reason why my daughter shouldn’t be sitting next to a virtual stranger, Carterstands behind me and offers to take my coat. I turn slightly as he eases it off my shoulders.
He hangs my coat on the metal hook mounted between the booths then puts his on top. “I won’t bite,” he says, low enough so only I hear him. “I do have a little experience with children, you know. Especially messy ones.”
He’s a stranger. Some random mechanic who answered the call to tow my car. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t let an unfamiliar man within ten feet of Amelia, let alone share a bench with her. So why am I caving so easily?
I shrug, trying to brush off my reluctance as concern. “Don’t blame me if you get ketchup all over your shirt sleeve.”
He holds up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Then he slides into the booth, helps Amelia take off her coat, and folds it up, reaching over her to tuck it between her and the window.
“Hey, Carter,” a woman says, handing us menus. She’s talking to him, but her eyes are laser-focused on me.
“Hi, Ren. Ren, this is Kenna and her daughter, Amelia. They’re going to be in town for a few days while their car is repaired. Kenna, this is Serenity Calloway, one of the owners of Donovan’s.”
Another small business owner. Doeseveryonein this town own a business?
I politely extend my arm. “Nice to meet you, Serenity.”
“And you.” Serenity looks to Amelia. “Would you like some crayons?”
