But the way she smiled at me as she crossed into the kitchen was interesting. It made me feel like maybe the next time I talked to her it wouldn’t go so poorly.
“How is work coming along missing a man?” Aiden asked as the waitress, a new girl who looked like she was still in high school, dropped off our plates.
“It’s busy,” I said. “Maybe a bit more than I bargained for, but I’m figuring out a good rhythm.”
“Hiring Wendy didn’t hurt,” Carter said. “That was a stroke of luck of epic proportions.”
“No luck about it,” I said, grinning as I eyeballed the steak. It looked like it was out of a different kitchen. One with big chef hats and French accents. “I’m just that good at scouting talent.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” Aiden said, “then I need you to help me pick my next fantasy football team. Carter is kicking my ass this year.”
“Sorry,” I said. “My skills don’t translate away from hiring people to help me at a job. My own fantasy football team is doing absolutely terribly.”
We devolved into talking about sports and what leagues we were doing online for a while as we ate. Every once in a while, I would see Helen cross into the main dining area or go between the office and kitchen. Each time, she looked up and our eyes met. It shook me up pretty hard. I wasn’t prepared for all that.
When we were finally finished with lunch, it was determined that it was my turn to pay, and I got up with the ticket to take it to the counter. I expected the new girl to take care of it and was surprised into a stupid grin when Helen came out and stood in front of me behind the register. She smiled up at me and held out her hand for the ticket, which I handed over wordlessly.
“I hope your meal was alright,” she said.
“It was delicious,” I said. “I love the new menu choices.”
She smiled even brighter, her eyes dropping down to the register as she punched the numbers in, but I noticed a distinct burn of red on her cheeks and the top of her chest, just visible between the two buttons of her black shirt. Snaking tattoos from her shoulders ran up them and one went all the way up the side of her neck. I found myself wanting to rip her clothes off and see what they were.
“Thanks,” she said. “Have a good day.”
“You too,” I said, taking the change and going back to the table. I tossed the tip onto the center and followed the boys out of the door.
Looking over my shoulder, I glanced back to see if Helen was still at the register, but she was long gone. Maybe it was just professional courtesy. She realized I wasn’t going anywhere, and it was easier to make money off me if she were nice. Or maybe there was some change of heart? Who knew? Either way, I had business to take care of at the office and couldn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it.
On Sunday, I arrived at Brett’s place for the weekly cookout and bonfire. It was a tradition that was even more important than the weekly lunch and involved our growing circle of friends. I got there a little early and was helping Brett carry the cooler out when I saw Deacon’s truck pull in. I didn’t pay it much mind until I heard three doors slam shut. Curious, I turned to see who else had come with them.
My heart started slamming in my chest when I saw who it was.
Helen was holding a huge watermelon and carrying on a very animated conversation with Deacon about food. When she put the watermelon down, they continued their conversation and I realized I was staring. Blatantly. Openly. And way too much.
I averted my eyes and went inside, helping Brett carry some food out to the grill and then focusing on helping him cook. Then I joined Deacon by the bonfire and helped him get it started. If I kept myself busy, thoroughly busy so that I didn’t have the ability to think about anything else, I would also avoid staring so much at Helen.
She was gorgeous in short cut-off jean shorts that showed off long legs and tattoos that covered them. She wore a tank top that also showed off her impressive bust and just enough cleavage that I was going to have a hard time sleeping tonight. On another woman, showing off that much skin might have seemed slutty, but on her, it just seemed confident, sexy, alluring.
Helen was clearly a punk-rock girl in a world full of rednecks, and she stuck out like a sore thumb, even though she was from here. Still, she was different, unique in a way no one else was. And she probably wasn’t the type to settle down.