“Hey, Beauford. How’s it hanging?” She grinned at me, placing her hand on the back of the booth.
“What are you doing here?” Not even thinking about it, I skootched out of the booth and gave the girl a big hug.
She laughed, squeezing me back, then broke the embrace and shook her head at me. “You look exactly the same.”
I noted her accent was diluted, she almost sounded like a Yankee. But that made sense based on where she’d gone to college—Washington, DC I remembered hearing. As I leaned away I took note, Simone did not look exactly the same.
For one thing, her hair was different. Growing up, her momma had kept it in long strands of tight braids. But now she had it unbound, in a curly halo around her pretty face.
Also, she no longer looked like a girl. She looked like a woman. And that thought had me wondering if Roscoe knew she was in town.
“Simone, this is Shelly Sullivan, she works with us down at the shop. Shelly, this is Simone. Daisy’s daughter and a real pain in the ass.” I turned to Shelly, finding her watching us with interest.
Simone hit my stomach with the back of her hand, drawing my attention just in time for me to spot her mock-aggravated look.
“Nice to meet you, Shelly.” Simone gave Shelly a little wave and a full smile. “What did Beauford do to trick you into going out with him? Hide your keys?”
“He kissed me.”
I pressed my lips together, giving myself a moment to inspect the table before glancing at Simone.
Her mouth had dropped open, likely at Shelly’s candor, but then she laughed. “I like her.”
I grinned at Simone and then at Shelly who was still inspecting us with curiosity. “Me too.”
At that, Shelly’s almost smile became a true one and my heart skipped five beats, maybe more. Truth is, I lost count. I was momentarily stunned by the sight of her beaming up at me and missed half of what Simone said next.
“. . . with the menu? Or do you know what you want?”
“Pardon?” I asked, pulling my attention away from Shelly’s grin with great reluctance. Simone was giving me a sideways look.
“I said, do you need a moment with the menu or do you know what you want?”
“He wants a hamburger with cheddar cheese, tomato, lettuce, pickles, onions, but no mayo, and a side of tater tots. I’ll have the buttermilk pancakes, banana on the side—not sliced, not peeled—butter on the side, no powdered sugar,” Shelly answered for both of us, turning her soft smile to Simone.
“Sure thing.” Simone had whipped out a notepad and wrote down our order. “Anything to drink?”
“Water for me, no ice, no lemon. Strawberry shake with no whip, Beau?” Shelly looked to me.
I examined her, this woman who ordered for me with such thorough knowledge of my preferences. “Yeah, strawberry shake.”
“Sounds good, I’ll be back with your drinks.” Simone nodded once, turned on her heal, and left us.
Staring at Shelly, I took my seat in the booth and waited expectantly. “Well?”
“What?”
“How did you know how I like my hamburgers?”
“It’s what you always order from here.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
I glared at her in mock suspicion. “Are you planning to order for me every time we go out?”
She shrugged, and it was the first time I’d seen her make such a careless gesture. “Only if I know what you want.”
“You like ordering for people?”
“No.”
“So just me?”
“Yes.” Her smile returned, smaller than before but just as genuine and stunning.
It occurred to me in that moment, transfixed by her exquisite smile, that Shelly likely didn’t know how to be disingenuous. She may have hidden behind her defenses, but whenever I flat-out asked her a question she always answered with honesty—sometimes brutal, but always real.
The thought brought me comfort, made me like her even more. I would never need to guess with this woman, not if I had the courage to ask.
Honesty, what a novel idea.
Shelly met my gaze, but I must’ve been staring for a while because eventually she shifted in her seat and cleared her throat, lifting her chin toward the diner counter. “She seems nice.”
“Who? Simone?”
Shelly nodded, rearranging the condiments so the salt was to the left of the pepper and the mustard and ketchup were perfectly aligned.
I grinned, hoping she would return it. “Like I said, she’s a pain in the ass.”
“What makes you say so?”
“Growing up, Simone and Roscoe—my youngest brother, I don’t think you’ve met him yet—were best friends. She was always over at our house, and that’s how I know.”
But something had happened their freshman or sophomore year of high school and they’d stopped talking. I’d missed having Simone around after their spat. She baked darn good cookies, with macadamia nuts and white chocolate. Plus she was smart, knew stuff and wasn’t stingy about sharing knowledge—unlike my brother Cletus.
“Why was she a pain?”
“Oh jeez, let me see.” I glanced at the ceiling, searching my memories. “She and Roscoe had this monopoly game going for years; they had to invent new currency that went up to millions of dollars and instead of hotels, they had industrial complexes. I think Roscoe learned this from Ashley, ’cause she had a game going with Jackson James for years. So, none of us could ever play Monopoly or touch the board, or else Simone would get us.”
“Get you how?”
“She replaced our toothpaste with caulk.”
Shelly’s lips parted and her eyes went wide. “That sounds disgusting.”
“It was.” I laughed, scratching my cheek. “One time she and Roscoe filled our—Duane’s and my—shoes with Vaseline.”
“Why?”
“Because we touched their Monopoly game. She was a huge prankster.”
Shelly’s gaze dropped to the table and one side of her mouth hitched, her eyes losing focus. I got the sense she was remembering something from her own childhood.
“Hey.” I tapped her shin with my foot, bringing her attention back to me. “What are you thinking about?”
Her smirk still in place, she leaned forward like she was about to confess something big. “One time, I welded my older brother’s driver’s side door shut.”
I was surprised, but grinned at her sneakiness. “What did Quinn do?”
She stared at me for several seconds, and most of her good mood seemed to dissolve. “Not Quinn, he is younger. My older brother was Desmond. Quinn and Janie named their son after him. It’s also my dad’s name.”
I blinked at her use of the word was, as in past tense, and searched her gaze. She wasn’t icicle Shelly again, but something about her posture and the brittle look in her eyes made me want to reach out to her.
“My brother died.” She confirmed my unasked question, her tone flat as the brittleness turned hard.
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged, her attention moving to some spot over my shoulder. “Happened a long time ago.”
Deciding to assuage my curiosity, I asked, “What did your brother want? Wednesday, when he came by.”
Shelly pulled a napkin from the metal dispenser and placed it flat on the table in front of her. “Assurances.”
“Like?”