Chapter Five

Grace

The next couple weeks passed in a blur.

Between exams, attending lectures back-to-back and trying to keep up with my university assignments, I barely had time to breathe.

I’d ignored Professor McGraw’s request to secure an acting role in A Streetcar Named Desire, biting my nails down to the bed each rehearsal as I envisioned her blasting through the double doors, kicking me out of the course publicly. This, of course, never happened. The reality was Professor McGraw hadn’t gotten back to me with an answer on whether or not she was going to give me another extension on the performance part, which meant she fully expected me to contact Cruz Finlay for the role.

Which I didn’t.

I felt like I was suspended in the air, my feet on the last inch of a cliff, bracing myself for a fall.

It didn’t help that Grams was a handful. Marla said she was extra forgetful. That during her shifts she barely recognized her anymore, and that she was constantly in a sour mood.

Surprisingly, the one thing that wasn’t a total disaster was working with West. Not that we’d become best buddies or anything. Ever since he’d started working at That Taco Truck, waves upon waves of new customers began knocking on our window. It had gotten so bad we had to put up a sign advising people they had to make a purchase in order to get a selfie with the Almighty St. Claire.

But Karlie was right. They did.

Twice, I’d had to call Mrs. Contreras to get more ingredients because we’d run out, and most days, we barely had time to breathe, let alone engage in small talk. But the shifts passed quickly, and by the time I went home, every bone in my body ached.

West worked with his shirt off the entire first week. The second week, he brought a portable A/C. It looked brand-new, and dang expensive. He pretended that it was no big deal that he’d just bought (stole?) an air-con that was probably going to save our lives. He put it smack-dab between us, turned it on blast, and stood beside it casually. It was the day I realized not all heroes wore capes. Some were clad in dirty Diesel jeans, Blundstones, and shirts that had seen better days.

Despite my unexplainable need not to like him, I had to mutter a quick thank you.

“What’s that?” He cupped his ear, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes.

Dang you, St. Claire.

“I said thank you,” I murmured under my breath.

“Why, you’re very welcome. Now you can stop ogling me. I feel objectified already.”

It made me laugh so hard, I let out a horrifying snort. We both knew I’d avoided looking directly at his bare torso.

Lord. I’d snorted. In front of West St. Claire. Death by humiliation had never seemed so viable.

“I’m sorry. I sounded like a pig.” I covered my face with both hands.

He threw a piece of fish at me.

“If you were an animal, what would you be?”

“A phoenix,” I said, without even giving it some thought. My hand shot to my broken flame ring, turning it on my thumb. West nodded. I didn’t know why, but somehow I had a feeling he knew exactly what I was talking about.

“You?” I asked.

“Koala. I’d get to sleep all day, but still be cute as fuck, so getting laid wouldn’t be an issue.”

“I heard koalas are actually pretty vicious. And stinky. And are prone to poop on people.” I offered my useless knowledge of wildlife. Good thing I wasn’t trying to flirt. Talking with hot men was definitely not my forte.

He considered this. “Well, that’s just selling me the koala gig even more.”

Other than that conversation, we were polite, but professional. I’d eased into the idea of us coexisting like treading into a dark, strange basement. There was no immediate reason to suspect I’d get hurt, but it was still scary.

I couldn’t help but stare each time I noticed a new welt or bruise on his body. I never mentioned it, though. And the few times I saw him outside the food truck, at school sitting in the cafeteria or on the lawn by the fountain, or the grocery store, all we did was nod to each other and look away.

Two and a half weeks after West and I began working together, my life fell apart in a spectacular fashion, reminding me normal simply wasn’t in the cards for me.

It was late evening. An unexpected graveyard shift after the Westival (West Festival) of the last few weeks. There was a spring fair two towns over, and every Sheridan citizen and their mother seemed to take advantage of the activity and drove up to Foothill to enjoy the rodeo, stale popcorn, candy floss, tilt-a-whirl, and bluebonnet blossom.

Fireworks blasted beyond the darkened yellow dunes. West and I watched them from the food truck window in childish awe, shoulder to shoulder. My phone buzzed in my hoodie’s pocket. I checked the caller ID. Marla. I picked up, knowing she wasn’t one to interrupt me at work unless it was important. I turned my back on the fireworks and ambled inside, pressing a finger to my ear so I could hear her through the explosions.

“Heya, Marla.”

“Honey, I don’t want you getting too worried, but I can’t find the old bat. Ten minutes I’ve been lookin’ for her, but I don’t think she’s home.”

Marla talked about Grams with earnest disdain, which I’d learned to warm up to.

My breath caught in my throat. I leaned against the fridge, feeling my anxiety climbing up my toes to the rest of my body, like little ants.

“Did she look lucid to you last time you saw her?”

“She spent a whole lotta time in her room today, gettin’ fancy. I thought maybe she wanted to go to the fair, so I let her do her thing while I cleaned up the kitchen, waiting for her to come downstairs. The radio was on—you know what her hearing’s like—I must’ve missed it when she opened the front door. My car’s still in the garage, so she couldn’t have gone far. I’m going to look for her now. I just wanted to keep you in the loop.”

“Thank you.” My voice broke. Panic ran through me, and my blood turned cold. “Please keep me posted.”

I killed the call and slammed my phone on the counter, letting my head drop. I wanted to scream. To break something. To lash out.

Not again, Grams. We’ve been through this dozens of times before.

The routine of looking for her everywhere, finding her at a neighbor’s house or downtown—blabbing to someone incoherently—and removing her from the scene as I apologized from the bottom of my heart always wore me down.

I could feel West’s sharp gaze on my back. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he was watching me. A couple of customers showed up, asking for tacos, nachos, and slushies, and West served them, manning both our stations without making a big stink about it.

I looked down at my phone again and texted Marla.

Me: Where could she be?

Me: Can U check the shed, please?

Me: I’m going to call Sherriff Jones. Maybe he heard something.

I dialed up Sheriff Jones’ number, pacing back and forth.

“Grace?” By the commotion in the background, he was at the fair with his family.

“Sheriff Jones? Sorry to call you so late. Grandma Savvy went missin’ again.”

“How long has it been?”

“Ah, a few hours.” Probably less, but I knew he wasn’t going to take it seriously. Grams went missing often and was always found a couple miles away from home.

“I’ll call my guys. Grace,” he hesitated, before sighing. “Try not to worry too much. It’s always like that, isn’t it? We’ll find her before the night’s over.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your help.”

I hung up, tears prickling my eyeballs. As always, I didn’t let them loose. I hated this part. Where I had to beg people for help. I couldn’t blame Marla. Grams had sneaked out of the house plenty of times while she was under my watch.

I sank onto an upside down crate, clutching my head in my hands.

“Is this an I-wanna-talk-about-it crisis or mind-your-own-fucking-business crisis?” West grumbled above my head, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

The former.

“The latter.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Jerk.”

“Let me know if that changes.”

“You bein’ a jerk? Fat chance.”

“Don’t insult the chance. It did nothing wrong.” He wiped his sweat with the bottom of his shirt, still eyeing me in his periphery. I was an odd, out-of-place creature he couldn’t decide what to do with. An unhappy female.

“I didn’t insult the chance. I insulted you.”

“Still sarcastic. That’s a good sign.”

I needed to be out of this place and look for Grams, but the entire Contreras family was at the fair, and by the time one of them could come to replace me, my shift would be over.

Thirty minutes had passed without any news on Grams. I was completely out of it by the time West put his hand on my shoulder. It was heavy and warm and strangely reassuring. Like I was floating in the air, feet above the ground, and he anchored me back to gravity.

“That’s enough of your sulking ass. Give me the keys. I’ll close up and drop them in your mailbox. I don’t know what crawled up your ass, but you should be focusing on pulling it out, not burning time here.”

I shook my head, finding that all I needed to burst into tears for the first time since my hospital stay was him acknowledging something was wrong. People had stopped giving a crap. In Sheridan, I was just another statistic. Basket case grandmother, junkie mom. That was why Sheriff Jones hadn’t even attempted to pretend he was going to leave the fair and help me look for Grams.

No one cared.

Hot, fat tears slid down my face. I wiped my cheeks with my sleeves, horrified that I was crying in front of him, and even more upset that I was probably smearing my makeup.

West regarded me with calm curiosity. Something in my gut told me he wasn’t used to comforting women. He usually handled them when they were conveniently cheerful and trying to please him.

I shook my head. “I’m fine. Really. We only have thirty minutes left.”

“Exactly,” he bit out. “Thirty minutes is nothing. You’ve been as useful as a nun in a brothel since that phone call. Spare me the moping and get the hell outta here.”

I eyed him from my spot on the crate. Was it irresponsible of me to consider his offer? I knew if Karlie and Mrs. Contreras were aware of the situation, they’d tell me to leave the food truck’s keys with him, no doubt, but if something went wrong …

West read my mind, groaning. “Not gonna do anything shady. Give me your address.”

I continued blinking at him.

He bit his inner cheeks, seething. “Not gonna come for your ass in the middle of the night either.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t,” he said, point-blank. “Trust is putting your optimism in another person, the very definition of being dumb. You should believe me because stealing from the register would get me nowhere. And because this is Texas, and there ought to be at least one motherfucker in your household with a loaded gun willing to blow out my brains if I decide to climb up your window uninvited.”

It seemed crazy to hand him the keys. He’d been working here for less than a month. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and I was the very definition of desperate.

I had to find Grams. It was already late, and the more time had passed, the farther away she could wander off. Marla’s shift was officially over, and running around in the middle of the night looking for Grams was above her pay grade.

“Okay.” I grabbed a note, scribbling down my address. “Drop the money in Karlie’s mailbox, then bring me back the keys. I owe you one.”

He took the note, shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans, and kicked the door open, shoving me through it callously.

I stumbled toward my Chevy, struggling to control my flailing limbs.

It was only when I rolled into my garage that I realized what date it was.

Grandpa Freddie passed away a decade ago today.

Grams knew exactly what she was doing.

Where she was going.

She wanted to find him.

On my fifth circle around my block, someone flashed their lights behind me repeatedly, signaling me to stop. I kept walking, hugging my midriff.

I’d looked for Grams all over Sheridan. I’d gone to the cemetery first, thinking she would visit Grandpa Freddie’s grave. Then I’d headed downtown, checked the local park, and called Mrs. Serle from the grocery store to ask if Grams had paid her a visit. I’d stopped by all our neighbors and friends. It was like the earth had opened its jaws and swallowed my grandmother whole.

I heard a motorcycle engine rumbling behind me. Seconds later, West appeared to my left on his bike, slowing down to match my pace.

“Dropped the keys in your mailbox.” His voice was muffled through his black helmet. Red flames adorned it from either side, and I clutched the ring on my thumb, making a wish like my grandmother had taught me.

Please let me find you.

Hot air scorched my lungs. The temptation to collapse on the sidewalk and ignore all my problems was strong.

“Appreciate it. You have a good night now, St. Claire.”

He didn’t drive off, checking me out in his lazy, devil-may-care way. “Crisis still in motion?”

His motorcycle protested with small growls at the slow pace West forced it into. It was ten-thirty. I was sure he had plenty of places to go and people to see. People like Tess. Fun, uncomplicated, without the stipulations I came with.

“I’ve got it handled.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Still my answer, though.”

“Are you always so damn stubborn?

“Only on days that end with a y.”

He hit the brake and hopped off the motorcycle like a tiger, tearing the helmet off of his face. His overgrown hair was damp, sticking in every direction in shiny chaotically chopped locks. I stopped, because it was the courteous thing to do.

A part of me thought maybe tonight it was going to be different. Maybe I wasn’t going to find her after all. I’d never looked for so long. I’d never not-found her all over Sheridan.

“That’s it. Talk to me, Texas.”

“Texas?”

Did he just nickname me, or was I officially losing my mind?

He shrugged.

“You say Texan things. Like y’alls, and fixin’ to, and right quick. You drop your g’s like the English language wronged you personally.”

“I salute to the place I come from, so what?”

“You’re a small-town gal who probably skins squirrels in her spare time, sitting on a rocker on your front porch, chewing tobacco. Admit it, Texas, you’re … Texas.”

“I don’t like my nickname.”

“Tough shit. It stays. Now, tell me what got your panties in such a wad.”

I sighed, losing steam. “My grandmomma disappeared tonight. Just walked out the door and left her caregiver without sayin’ where. She’s not very lucid, and …” About to give me a heart attack. “Prone to accidents. I’m tryin’ to find her.”

“See?”

“What?”

“Tryin’.”

“Is that all you took from what I just told you?” I narrowed my eyes to stop myself from crying. I really, really felt like crying. It was on top of my to-do list, in fact, as soon as I found Grams.

He tucked his helmet under his arm. “Where could she be? Narrow it down for me.”

“It’s a decade to my grandpa’s death, so I thought maybe I’d try the usual places. The cafeteria where they worked, the cemetery where he’s buried, their old friends …” I trailed off, feeling my eyes flaring as the penny dropped. “Oh.”

“Oh?” He peered into my face, searching for clues.

“The diner by the highway. She could’ve gone there. It’s where they first met. She worked the cash register. Grandpa Freddie worked the grill.”

“Not shirtless, I assume.” He clicked his tongue. But I was so consumed with my new idea, I forgot all about the coincidence. I snapped my fingers.

“Their first date was there. Yes.” I nodded. She’d told me all about it. How they’d stayed after their shift was over. How she’d dragged him behind the counter and kissed him senseless. “Grams would go there. Of course she would.”

“Better haul ass there, then.”

“Good idea.”

I turned back, marching toward my house to get my Chevy, before stopping, my back still to West.

“Crap.”

“Hmm?” I could practically hear the grin in his voice. He hadn’t moved an inch, knowing he had me in his pocket.

“It’s outside Sheridan limits, about ten miles out. They closed the road for the fair tonight. The only way through is the old dirt road, and I can’t drive there with my pickup.”

My Chevy was my age, and just like me, not in pristine condition. Besides, it was more of a path, rather than a road. I didn’t think the pickup would fit in there, in the first place.

Walking the dirt path wasn’t a grand idea either. It was sandwiched between cornfields. There were bobcats, coyotes, and all kinds of animals roaming about.

“We’ll take the bike.” West reappeared in my periphery.

“Since when are we a collective we?” I spun on my heel to face him, popping an eyebrow.

“Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?”

“No.”

“That makes us a collective we. Geez, Tex, for a smart girl, you sure are kinda stupid.”

He shoved his helmet into my hands. I caught the heavy thing but didn’t make a move to put it over my head. I stared at him, dumbfounded. I opened my mouth to decline his crazy, albeit sweet, offer, but he raised his palm up, stopping me.

“Spare me the bullshit. You’re in no position to turn me down, and I’m definitely not gentleman enough to insist on it.”

“I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

“No, I’ve got things more fun to do with my time.” He tsked. “Nothing beats helping a friend in need.”

A friend.

Something about the way he said it completely undid me.

I felt weak. Raw. I hated to be the recipient of his assistance.

If we were going to do this, I needed to give him a fair warning.

“My grandmomma is … a character,” I warned cautiously.

“Thank fuck. Everyone else in this town seems to be clinically boring. Hop on.” He slapped the leather seat of his motorcycle.

“Do you have another helmet? For yourself?”

West snatched the helmet from my hands, tossed my ball cap to the ground, and shoved the helmet over my head in one swift movement. He secured it over my chin, tugging the buckle.

He got on the bike and jerked his chin.

“Hop. The. Fuck. On.”

I stuffed my ball cap into my back pocket quickly, ducking my head down. The helmet was unexpected heavy and squeezed the heck out of my cheeks.

“I don’t want you to ride without a helmet.”

I didn’t want him to risk his life for me. Between illegal fighting and riding a motorcycle, he seemed to be doing a fine job trying to die all on his own. He didn’t need my help.

He ignored my words, screwing his fingers into his eye sockets, shaking his head, clearly exasperated.

“Get on here before I fling your ass over it like a sack of potatoes. Fair warning: I won’t be gentle.”

I took a step in his direction, feeling my resolve cracking.

“And watch Christina’s paint,” he snarled.

“Christina?”

“After Christina Hendricks.” He patted the shiny red neck of the motorcycle with his rough hand. “They’re my favorite redheads.”

“Good thing only one is stupid enough to let you ride her. And she ain’t got a pulse,” I deadpanned.

He stared at my helmeted head for a beat before throwing his head back and laughing with pure, electrifying joy that zinged through my veins, making my blood bubble. Watching the row of pearly whites inside his mouth confirmed my initial suspicion he had a smile that brought women to their knees.

Men too, probably.

I slid my leg over the seat behind him. My whole body quivered with anxiety and adrenaline. I’d never felt so scared and alive.

“Scoot forward,” he barked.

I did. The engine rumbled like a feral animal beneath me.

“Now press yourself against me.”

“That’s more of a third-date move for me.”

West laughed again. His laugh sounded throaty, smoky, almost foreign—like he was unused to being happy.

“It’s either cozying up to the campus asshole or blowing in the wind like a deflating balloon. Your call, Tex. I’m going to get my fun in either scenario.”

West St. Claire had the uncanny ability to do nice things and still act like a complete and utter jerk about it.

Reluctantly, I flushed my chest against his back, my head nestling between his shoulder blades. I closed my eyes and breathed, reminding myself I didn’t have the luxury of being prudish right now.

“Wrap your arms around me, real tight.”

I looped my arms over his body. I could feel the individual ridges between his six-pack, and my heart began to pound so fast I was sure he’d be able to feel it through his thin shirt.

We sliced the still air, shooting across the road like an arrow. West angled his body forward. I clasped him harder, stunned by the way we were balanced on his motorcycle, even when the concrete beneath us turned into gravel, and eventually, bumpy dirt. His shirt tossed about like a flag, and the biting rush of the wind against my skin took my breath away. Every inch of my body tingled with goose bumps.

“Get outta that head, Texas. Nothing good is going on there right now.” The wind blurred his words. Fortunately, he rode slow enough that I could hear anything at all.

“If only I’d noticed the date, Grams would be home and safe,” I murmured into his helmet. I was engulfed by his scent. Male and soap and sweet, heady danger.

I could get lost in that smell if I let myself. I wondered if that was how Grams felt about Grandpa Freddie. If his presence got her deliriously drunk with euphoria.

“Are you always so hard on yourself? Don’t answer only on days that end with a y.”

“It’s my job to take care of her. She raised me.”

“You can take care of someone without blaming yourself for all their problems.”

“Clearly, you’ve never taken care of someone.”

“Clearly, you’re talking out of your ass,” West countered, his voice turning arctic and biting. I’d obviously hit a nerve.

“My ass still makes more sense than your mouth,” I ground out.

And just like that, he was back to laughing at my outrageousness. The fact I talked back to him.

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart, but it’s a great ass, so I enjoy listening.”

He was so different from what I expected. Like he tucked his fun, lighthearted personality somewhere people couldn’t find it to keep them at arm’s length.

“Back it up, cowboy. If that’s why you’re helpin’ me, you can drop me here and turn back around. I’m not that type of girl.”

“What type would that be?” His tone turned sultry, taunting.

“The type to find herself beneath you because you gave her a crumb of your attention.”

“On top of me works, too.”

“Keep this up, and the only weight you’ll be feeling is my pickup over your body.”

“I’m playing, Texas. I’d never hit on you. I don’t mix business with pleasure. Besides, I don’t stick around beyond one hookup, and no offense, but you seem like a lot of work. This is a pure, altruistic favor I’m doing for a friend.”

There it was again. Friend. It was the second time he’d called me that.

“It is?”

“Scout’s honor. I don’t expect anything back, other than your endless admiration.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

I knew enough about West to gather he wasn’t the sweet and helpful type, and this had nothing to do with the rumors. He was a sour-faced caveman on campus.

“Nice is a big word.” We were edging closer to the intersection that had been blocked. I looked left and right, frantically trying to spot Grams. “I’m just not a complete piece of shit to you. Guess it throws you off-kilter.”

“People aren’t shitty to me,” I protested.

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

“If you’re talkin’ about Reign and the girls you were with the other night, it’s on them, not on me.”

“It’s on them that they’re assholes. It’s on you that you roll over and play dead.”

“I don’t remember you bein’ so cordial either.”

“No,” he agreed, not a trace of apology in his voice. “Next time, you have my permission to pour slushie over my head and kick Reign in the nuts.”

I was about to answer him when I spotted Grams. She was hard to miss, in her full, blue and red sequined evening gown, bright pink lipstick, and heels.

She had her hair fluffed and sprayed—the higher the hair, the closer to God—and she was holding the little clutch she carried to church every Sunday back when we still went. She crossed the road, on her way to the diner.

“Stop!” I shrieked.

He did, coming to a halt without slowing down. Mud sprayed around us, and I lurched forward, my chest colliding with his back. West snaked an arm around me awkwardly, catching me by the waist.

“Found her,” I said breathlessly, dismounting from the bike. My legs were shaking. “Thank you. She’s the one in the Diana Ross gown across the street. I’ll get her home right away.” I took the helmet off, knowing I must’ve left traces of foundation inside it, and planted it in his hands. I screwed my ball cap back on my head. “Have a good night now, West.”

I ran across the road, nearly tackling Grams to the ground. She spun slowly at the thuds of my feet, the smile on her face collapsing into a frown when she spotted my approaching figure.

“Well, I’ll be damned. What are ya doin’ here, Gracie-Mae? You should be in bed. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

Grams swatted her purse against her thigh. Her forehead was damp from the long walk on the dirt road, her shoes caked with mud.

How old does she think I am?

“Just wanted to tag along.” I came to a halt, an angelic smile plastered on my face.

“Sugar, I’ve got a date with your grandpa. Can’t we do somethin’ tomorrow?”

I shook my head violently. The smile on my face was as painful as a wound and just as tight. She thought Grandpa was still alive.

“Please. I really want to join you, Grams.”

She opened her mouth, about to scold me again, when her eyes widened, lighting up at something behind me. I turned on my heel. My face immediately fell.

Please, Lord, no.

“Good evenin’, Mrs. Shaw. How’re we doin’ tonight?” West swaggered toward us, a candy cane clasped between his perfect teeth, his bastard smirk on full display. The crinkles behind his shamrock eyes reminded me of Scott Eastwood.

I wondered what the deal was with the old-school candy. He’d always favored the same green apple flavor. “Fine weather, no?”

“Lovely.” She fluffed her sprayed do, which remained as stiff as a rock. “I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

Grandma Savvy extended an arm in West’s direction. He plucked it, bowing his head and brushing her knuckles with his lips, temporarily removing the candy from his mouth.

“We haven’t, much to my dismay. West St. Claire. I work with Grace.”

“Why, she hasn’t mentioned you, I’m afraid.”

The look he shot me nearly made me giggle. He looked genuinely surprised. I had a feeling this was the first time a woman he knew didn’t make him the center of her universe.

“That so?” He narrowed his eyes at me, sticking the candy back into his mouth, biting it until it crunched. I shrugged.

“Would you and Gracie-Mae like to join Freddie and me for a bite?” Grams asked.

It was half past eleven, and she looked a mess. Her feet must’ve hurt bad; she wasn’t used to walking much. Besides, I really didn’t want Sheridan University’s baddest bad boy to spend one-on-one time with my chaotic grandmomma, no matter how shallow and ungrateful that made me feel.

“No!” I yelped at the same time West said easily, “Now, that’s a plan.”

Grams looked between us, raising an eyebrow.

“You kids need a minute to decide?”

My cheeks felt so hot I was surprised my head didn’t combust. Dying of embarrassment would be cruel, but also welcome at this point.

“West just got off a shift. I’m sure he wants to go home.”

“West can think for himself, and what he wants is a steak and good company.” West pushed me aside crudely, rolling the candy stick in his mouth seductively, flashing a rakish, well-practiced smirk my grandmomma’s way.

“Where’re your manners, Gracie-Mae? The man’s hungry, and he is asking to tag along, nice and proper. I raised her better than this, I swear.”

“Don’t doubt it for a second, ma’am.”

West opened the diner’s door for us. Grams strutted in first. He wiggled his brows at me, a taunting sneer on his face.

“Ladies first.”

“What is wrong with you?” I bared my teeth.

He let out a long-suffering sigh.

“How much time have you got, kid?”

I punched his arm as I dragged my feet past the door.

He laughed.

He actually laughed.

Like the idea of me inflicting any kind of harm on him was ludicrous.

“Did you lose a bet?” I whisper-shouted as we fell into step together.

“Did you lose your fucking mind?” he countered, sizzling of quiet danger I couldn’t understand how Grams didn’t pick on. “It’s just a meal, and your ass is not even on the menu.”

“Don’t tell me it’s not weird that you want to spend time with me and my grandmomma.”

I was Toastie, and she was a couple sandwiches shy of a picnic. Everybody knew that. Even if he hadn’t, the last ten minutes had brought him up to speed, surely. Why was he going out of his way to befriend me?

“Not everything is about you, Texas. In fact, very few things are. It’s a blessing and a curse, really. Knowing the world doesn’t revolve around your sassy little ass. Sometimes a guy just wants a steak.”

“I—”

He cut me off briskly. “Hungry. Outta my way. Now.” He jerked his head, signaling me to move along.

Grams slipped into a red horseshoe-shaped booth, and we followed suit. A middle-aged waitress materialized to take our orders. She had a pink uniform with a black and white checkered collar and bleached hair.

Ronda’s Roost was a twenty-four hour joint, catering mainly to truckers who passed by. There were only a handful of customers nursing filter coffee and cobbler. Grams asked for iced tea and chili, while West went for the Rajun Cajun club with double fries, milkshake, and an extra rare steak I would later learn was carved out of half a cow. I asked for fountain Diet Pepsi and a miracle. The waitress snapped her gum, cackling at my joke.

“Rough night, kiddo?”

“You could say that,” I mumbled, narrowing my eyes at West across the table. He smiled easily, the stubborn glint in his eyes reassuring me he didn’t mind my hostility one bit.

It was like he’d had a personality transplant overnight. Maybe he was having a mental breakdown or something, because he didn’t resemble the guy I’d seen on campus for the past two years.

Surly, quiet, and grave. With an underlying current of darkness. He walked the halls, the Student Union, the library, and Greek row like he was a man waiting for lightning to strike him.

That bully, violent, quiet, simmering guy? The West in front of me wasn’t even related to him.

Grams didn’t act like Grandpa Freddie was there with us, so I guessed I did get my small miracle, after all. She leaned forward, rolling a coin into the jukebox and choosing “At Last” by Etta James. She was clearly enjoying the male attention, telling West about her time working at this diner.

“Let me tell you, ain’t no grass grew under those feet during those days. Still, wouldn’t change it for the world. That’s where I met my husband.”

“He must’ve been special.” West smiled back at her, and I tried to remember seeing him smile at school. We took mixed media together, so I’d seen him plenty. I couldn’t recall one time, which alarmed me.

“Boy …” She leaned forward, patting the back of his hand. “He was smart as a whip, dangerous as the Devil and twice as handsome.”

Watching her happy made me happy, so eventually, I relaxed into the squeaky vinyl seat and let them mingle.

“So, Mr. St. Claire, are you courting my little Gracie-Mae?” she asked after a while, lowering her chin to examine him through her winged reading glasses.

I choked on my fountain soda, spraying it across the table.

West smirked, angling himself on the table across from us so he and Grams were almost nose to nose, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Can I be honest?”

“Honesty is the best policy.”

“I’m not much of a commitment guy, Mrs. Shaw. Grace deserves a hell of a lot better, so that’s one tail I won’t be chasing. Besides, your daughter’s not exactly my number one fan.”

“Daughter?” Grams put her hand on her chest, giggling. “My dear, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m Grace’s grandmother.”

“Why…” He shot me a playful smile. I wanted to murder him. He knew she was my grandmother. “I’ll be damned. You look like Grace’s sister.”

“Baby sister, I assume,” I sulked, sucking on my straw. He laughed good-naturedly.

The man was laying it so thick, I wished he could do my makeup.

Grams and West ate and fell into an easy conversation again.

They talked about the weather in Maine (according to him, it sucked), the food in Maine (same, save for the seafood), his family (West had more finesse than to say they sucked, but by his tight-lipped answers, I figured he wasn’t close with his parentsg). By the time we were done, West promised to take Grams to the diner again, and soon, and she swore she would bake him one of her infamous pies. Since I wasn’t a part of the conversation, I excused myself to go to the restroom to reapply more foundation. When I got back to the table, I saw West had taken care of the bill and was standing up to leave. Grams was caught in a lively conversation with our waitress, telling her about her days at the diner.

I winced. “You shouldn’t have paid. Thank you.”

He shoved his wallet into the back of his jeans, tugging at the chain link attached to it. Both his plates were squeaky clean, and he’d also polished off Grams’ leftovers. He must’ve been starving.

“I ordered you a cab.” He ignored my gratitude, his demeanor changing back to gruff sourpuss. “Lock the front door and put the key somewhere she can’t find it.”

“She’s allowed to walk around the house,” I protested for the sake of protesting. I didn’t like that he’d told me what to do, even if I knew he was right.

He shot me a look. “Hide it where no one would want to visit.”

“Where would that be?” I crossed my arms over my chest, spearing him with a stare.

“How ’bout your bed?”

He grabbed his helmet from his seat, tucking it under his arm. He kissed Grams’ cheek goodbye and dashed off, not sparing me a glance. I watched him through the glass windows. He hoisted a leg over his bike, gunning it. Grams appeared beside me. We watched as the red light of his bike got smaller and smaller, until it melted away into a dot in the darkness.

“Be careful with that one, love. He’s wilder than an acre of snakes.” She coiled her arm around mine, patting my forearm. She was being normal, sweet Grandma Savvy again, and I wished I could have her just a little longer so I could tell her all about my life, my struggles, my relationships.

So I could get her sharp, Southern independent woman’s input.

I thought about the girls who frequented our food truck window. About West’s one-hookup rule. About his reputation and busted knuckles, and cunning, devilish smirks, and green, bottomless eyes that were carefully flat whenever he set them on someone else.

Grams was right.

My heart couldn’t afford opening up to West St. Claire.

I was going to make sure the rest of my body was going to listen to it.