“Uh, hello. Pretty sure he almost asked for your hand in marriage instead of what you wanted to eat.”
She shakes her head, and then widens her eyes at me in a shut-up signal when he returns with our waters. He winks when he sets hers down and I have to stifle a giggle.
Once he’s gone, I burst out laughing at her stiff posture.
“For goodness sakes, Lark. Do you imitate a corpse every time a guy flirts with you?”
She shrugs and sips her water. “He’s not my type.”
I glance over my shoulder and give him another once-over as he waits on a table a few rows over. The ladies at that table are clearly appreciating his obvious assets more than my lunch date is. “Ah, yes. Tall, broad-shouldered, square jaw, crystal-clear smoke-colored eyes and a chin dimple. It’s like GQ custom ordered him. I can see how you’d struggle to find him attractive.”
Dixie’s cheeks redden and I feel bad about teasing her.
“I didn’t say I didn’t find him attractive. He just isn’t my type, that’s all.”
I snort out loud because he’s exactly her type—he’s everyone with ovaries’ type for that matter—minus the fact that he isn’t Gavin Garrison.
“Speaking of Gavin,” I begin, but Dixie cuts me off.
“We weren’t. Speaking of him, I mean.”
“Well, we should be. I’ve been a crappy friend lately due to my job and everything with Dallas. So give me the scoop. What the heck happened?”
“Did you invite me to lunch just to gossip?”
I nod. “Mostly. I have some news, too, but once I tell you mine everything else will pale in comparison, so let’s talk about you first.”
Dixie makes a face that can only be described as a grimace. Her features are so pretty, though, she’s still attractive even with her face all twisted up.
“Jesus. That bad? What did he do? Rob a bank? Kick a puppy? Kill some nuns?”
“He didn’t call me.”
Okay, that was anticlimactic.
“He didn’t call you? Like after sex you mean?”
She sighs and leans forward, her bracelets jangling against the table. Even her jewelry is musical. “No. I mean yeah. Sort of. He just didn’t contact me. Like at all.”
I nod encouragingly, hoping she’ll explain further.
“His last words to me were ‘Wait for me.’ ” She huffs out a breath as if becoming increasingly angry. “Wait for me, he said. So I did. For the most part. I mean, I drove my grandparents’ RV around the country for a few weeks, but it wasn’t like I was picking up guys or anything. Dallas didn’t tell me that Gavin didn’t go on the unsigned artists tour, and when I called him out on it, he seemed to be under the impression that Gavin would’ve already told me himself.”
“But he hadn’t?”
“Nope. Not a word.”
Gavin always kept to himself, but in my years of dating his best friend and handling the social media outreach for Leaving Amarillo, I did learn that his mom is a drug-addicted townie who had no business being a mother, from what I saw and what Dallas told me over the years.
“And you still haven’t heard from him?” Dixie’s face pales and I feel bad for pressing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t—”
“Oh, I heard from him eventually. Not because he called or even texted to say he was alive. I ran into him by accident, actually. And he wasn’t happy to see me. At all.”
Tiny fissures form in my heart as she continues. I knew the first time Dallas introduced me to his sister and his best friend that there was something between them. It was obvious, even if Dallas chose to remain oblivious; anyone with eyes could see how much they cared about one another. Sparks practically flew in the air between them every time their eyes met.
“Maybe you just caught him by surprise or something,” I offer, knowing my words probably don’t help.
“I caught him by surprise all right. He was with someone.”
The fissures widen into full-blown cracks.
“Oh no. I’m so sorry, hon. Are you sure? Maybe it was something else?”
Not that I have any alternate suggestions.