The Single Undead Moms(52)

Danny needed poster materials for the “superstar project” for Ms. Jenkins’s art class. The students had to make a poster featuring art and mini-essays about things at which they excelled, what made them “superstars.” It was a project focused on color scheme and self-esteem bolstering, so it landed in Ms. Jenkins’s educational sweet spot. Danny swore he’d told me about it. And while I was sure I’d never heard him mention any such thing, I went on the glitter run, because that’s what moms did.

Fortunately, the Copy Shack had a large selection of poster board and adhesive letters for parents who needed to help produce grade-saving projects at the very last minute. I double-checked the list to make sure I got all of Danny’s must-have materials and heard the now-familiar squeak of work boots behind me, accompanied by the smell of iron and citrus. I smiled, turning to find my favorite smartass mechanic standing behind me, hands stuffed in his pockets, giving me a smirk that drew a little dimple on the left side of his mouth.

It was normal to be overwhelmed with the urge to lick someone’s cheek dimple, right?

“Do you only run your errands at night?” Wade asked.

“I can only run my errands at night. What’s your excuse?”

“Superstar project?” we chorused, and then burst out laughing.

“Danny swears he told me.” I sighed. “But I honestly don’t remember him asking me for neon green poster board and glitter stickers. He doesn’t ask for glitter stickers very often, so I think I would remember.”

Wade snorted. “At least Harley admitted that he forgot.”

“Well, apparently, there was a note in their backpacks, so neither one of us is off the hook.”

Wade grimaced. “Damn it.”

I helped Wade pick appropriate supplies for Harley’s project, and we checked out and lugged our purchases to the parking lot. Despite the fact that I had superstrength, Wade insisted on carrying my bags for me. There was an old-fashioned sweetness to that, which, while not exactly progressive, touched the wearier parts of my heart. I was so accustomed to doing things on my own that a little gesture like that had a lot more impact than I expected.

I was actually sorry that we reached my van. I so rarely got to see Wade when it didn’t involve the kids. It was nice to be able to talk to him without being interrupted with requests for juice boxes.

We stood near my van, plastic shopping bags twisting in Wade’s hands, neither of us willing to drive away. A strange feeling of anticipation seemed to seep up from my belly to my chest, this desperate, longing ache that made me feel like I was coming out of my skin. I didn’t know whether that ache would be eased by getting closer to Wade or farther away, I just knew I needed something to happen. Quickly.

Was this how teenagers felt when they were falling in like with someone? No wonder they acted so insane all the time.

Maybe it was because he sensed my mind wandering, but suddenly, Wade abandoned his story about a frustrating customer, who didn’t seem to understand that you had to put oil in a motorcycle to keep it running, to say, “So I’m gonna ask you out. Probably not dinner, since you don’t eat. But I was thinking a movie. The old drive-in at Possum Point is showing a bunch of John Candy movies next weekend. And who doesn’t like John Candy?”

I stared at him for a long time, blinking, and a smile slid across my face. “Crazy people.”

“Exactly. I thought maybe bein’ outside might keep you from gettin’ sick at the smell of popcorn. And besides, you probably feel cooped up, havin’ to stay inside all day. So we’ll take my bike, spread out a blanket, and watch John Candy shoot a grizzly in the ass with a shotgun lamp.”

It sounded like the best date I could imagine. Hell, he’d actually put some thought into what I would enjoy, which was more than I could say for the handful of men I’d previously dated. But there was Finn to consider. He hadn’t exactly asked me to go steady, but it seemed sort of rude to go out with someone who wasn’t my sire . . . without my sire’s approval. That seemed backward.

Right, respond to social situations like a normal person. I could do this.

“And just to clarify, this does not involve the boys?”

“No. This is one-on-one, grown-up time,” he swore, holding up his fingers in a mock Boy Scout salute. “Noncrazy John Candy fans would call it a date.”

I laughed. “Wade, I haven’t been on a date since . . .”

“Since you were turned?”

“Since my husband died,” I admitted.

He took a step closer to me. “Are you saying no because you don’t want to spend more time with me?”