“Depends on what I can find in the kitchen,” she says, twisting her lips. “Not sure if there’s anything that doesn’t come from a box.”
“I can help you look.”
She tilts her head to the side, considering. “I don’t even know your name, it’s my first day on the job, and you want me to break rules for you?”
“Rules?” I ask in mock exaggeration. “I’m not asking you to get in any trouble on my account. I just thought maybe you could make me a home cooked meal. It’s been too long since I had one.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes squint, considering.
“My name’s Buck,” I add. “And I promise not to rat you out to the owner if you make this one exception for me.”
“Well, Buck, let me see what I can do. No promises, though. The kitchen’s pretty sparse.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
I shrug. “Truth be told, this is my mom’s place.”
“You’re Cherri’s son?” She eyes me like she doesn’t believe me.
“Promise.”
She walks to the register and grabs a receipt book. “What’s your phone number, then?”
I rattle off the numbers, and she tabs the pad of paper.
“And your mom’s?”
I recite those too and she nods. “Okay,” she says slowly. “I believe you.”
“Tough sell, darling. And you never even told me your name.”
“I’m Rosie,” she says, offering me her hand as she walks back. Her eyes meet mine and without thinking. I take her soft hand and kiss it, like I’m some chivalrous knight, and not a man who lives and works in the woods.
She smiles and takes her hand back, tucking it under her chin. “I’m not exactly the most trusting person in the world,” she explains. “But your mom told me to call you if I needed anything, so I’m assuming she wouldn’t care if you came back to the kitchen with me.”
“And you want me back there, in the kitchen with you?”
Her cheeks flush, and she runs her hand over her collarbone. “Um. If you want.”
I stand from the booth. “Oh,” I tell her. “I want.”
4
Buck follows me in the kitchen and I admit that I did a little more swaying of my hips than is absolutely necessary. But there is something about this man that draws me in.
Which is interesting because the only way I’ve ever felt around men before is scared, disgusted, and used.
I’m usually cowering in the corner averting my eyes, and crossing my arms to cover myself, not wanting to demand any attention; knowing if any of my uncle’s partners find me desirable, they would up the ante for my body.
I don’t want to be purchased.
But Buck is not like my uncle or his friends.
Buck has gentle eyes, an auburn beard and a smattering of freckles on his cheekbones. Like he spends time in the sun, in the beautiful forest that surrounds us and not in dark nightclubs making shady deals.
No. Buck is a gust of fresh air, but more than that he looks gentle. Not in a weak way, but in an I’d never lay a finger on you way. In a there’s no reason to be scared because when a woman is near me she has my undying protection sorta way.
In a way that makes me want to make something out of nothing in this bare bones kitchen and offer this stranger a feast. I want to make his stomach full and his heart happy. I want to take care of him; and there is no rhyme or reason for that other than a relentless desire to have a man who makes me feel safe, by my side.
“Let’s see here,” I say, pulling open the fridge. I grab a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk, and a single stick of butter. Closing the fridge I see a few potatoes on the shelf, too, and add them to my growing pile.
Oil, salt, pepper, flour, sugar, and baking powder are all in the pantry, and though it’s dusty, I figure these staples won’t have an expiration date that will cause Buck any harm. “You have any idea why she has two random potatoes?”
“No fucking clue,” Buck answers. “God knows my mother can’t cook.”
“Why did she open a diner then?”
“There was already a gas station and bar in town. She took what was left.”
Buck leans against the counter, watching me fire up the grill, then cracking eggs, whisking flour and salt together, adding a cup of milk. I chop the potatoes, and turn on the deep fryer.
“You don’t need a recipe book?” he asks.
I shake my head, smiling for real, which is something my face barely remembers how to do. “I don’t have a ton of marketable skills, but I do know how to cook.”
He nods. “You don’t need to know how to do everything, just one thing well, that’s what I always say.”