10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Tyler

Mom had another date that afternoon with the guy she wouldn't discuss, regardless of how well I hid the question in a comment. "Where are you eating dinner with your date?" "Yeah, I couldn't imagine dating a guy who was a street sweeper. What's your date do, Mom?"

She would laugh at me and walk away, refusing to tell me anything about her man, so I finally gave up prying. I wasn't sure I wanted to know much about some guy who might be banging my mother. The thought completely skeeved me out .

"He's a nice guy, and for right now, that's all you need to know." I rolled my eyes and kissed her cheek.

"Fine. You look gorgeous. I hope he deserves all this beauty." I prayed like hell the guy was indeed nice because my mother deserved nothing but the best.

I hurried to clean the salon as much as I could before everyone was finished for the day. Alice would be closing the shop because she had a client coming at six for a balayage color, so she'd be there for hours. I planned to check on the salon before I went to bed that night, but I was confident everything would be fine.

At five on the dot, there was a knock on my apartment door. I tried to calm down because this wasn't a date. Or was it? No, no. If it was a date, Leslie would have said so. We were just going to cook together.

I opened the door and smiled, seeing Leslie with a grin as well. "Come in. You look quite handsome." Stepping aside, Leslie walked into my apartment and turned around. His hair was still in a bun from earlier, but he wasn't wearing his leather jacket. He was drool worthy.

"You're looking quite handsome yourself. You ready to go to the store? I had a few errands to run today in Hartsville, so I didn't shop yet. I parked my Bronco on the street in front of the salon, so if I don't want to get a ticket for going over the allotted one-hour parking limit, we should get going."

I grabbed my jacket and slid my arms inside before picking up my house keys and wallet from the table nearby. I followed him outside, locking my door before we went down the stairs. "So, you have a vehicle? Where was it while you were recuperating at my place?" The embarrassment from assuming he was unhoused and living in the woods was still fresh.

"It belonged to my grandfather. He left it to me, along with the family cabin and the land. The Bronco's been refurbished—more recently by the mechanic at Twisted Chassis—several times over the years. That day, I had parked it in the public parking lot across the street. I'd gone shopping at the grocery store before I fell, but I accidentally left my wallet in the truck. I was on my way to get it when I tripped over your step."

"Yeah, uh, Mom had it fixed. Again, I'm really sorry—"

Leslie held his finger up and placed it over my lips. "Nope. No more apologies. Let's shop."

We went through the grocery store at a whirlwind pace, and when we got to the checkout, Mr. Willis stared at the two of us. "Can you pay for it this time? It took an hour to put all that produce away. "

I glanced at Leslie, who was stunned by the man's rudeness, and I got pissed. "Don't talk to him like that, Mr. Willis. He went to get his wallet and fell over one of the steps in front of the salon. It wasn't his fault he was injured. There's no need for you to be impolite."

George Willis owned the grocery store and could be a real bastard. I still felt bad for Leslie, and I wouldn't dare let George talk to him like that.

Leslie smirked and opened his wallet, handing Mr. Willis a one-hundred-dollar bill. "Got change?" We had only bought thirty dollars' worth of groceries, but it was late, so I was sure Mr. Willis had enough change.

The man held the bill up to the light and stared at it for a moment before he handed it back. "I don't have enough change to break the bill."

"Mr. Willis! That's a downright lie. I've seen people coming and going all day. You can make change." I was appalled by his lack of respect. Leslie hadn't done anything to him.

I reached for my wallet and handed Mr. Willis the exact change, shaking my head as I stared at him. I jerked the hundred from his hand and returned it to Leslie, who hadn't said anything.

Once the groceries were bagged, I jerked the bag out of the old man's hand and pulled Leslie behind me from the store. "I'm so sorry for how he acted. Dinner is on me. That old man owns the only grocery store in this town, and he thinks he can treat people however he wants. That's ridiculous."

We got into his Bronco—which was really old but I could tell he took good care of it—and Leslie started the vehicle. He watched me with a soft smile I didn't understand.

I felt compelled to say something. "What a cool truck. Your grandfather took great care of it." There was an old-school lap belt, so I buckled it. The seats were tan leather and well-worn, but I didn't see any tears in the upholstery. A little pine tree air freshener hung from the rearview mirror, and the scent of pine permeated the inside. It was truly a classic.

"I've run into people like Willis all my life. They like to judge people without knowing one thing about them, which is total bullshit."

My cheeks warmed instantly. "Again, I'm really sorry, Leslie. I suppose I'm as guilty of making wrong assumptions as Mr. Willis."

Wow. Things were off to a rocky start. I reached for the handle to get out when Leslie's arm shot out over my body and locked the door. "I didn't mean you. We'll talk about things when we get to my place. "

That was the end of any talking as we drove out of town. Leslie made a left at the stop sign on Main Street, and then a quick right up Mountain View Road. Everyone in Foggy Basin knew what was on Mountain View Road—Lover's Butte.

It was the make-out spot that every kid—probably generations of every kid—knew about. There were also trailheads for hiking. Mom and I used to go up there and hike when I was a kid. When I started driving, I'd go up there by myself, but now, we were all too busy—and it was more of a walk than I wanted to make since I didn't have a license or a car.

"I used to come up here with my mom when I was a kid. There are a lot of really great hiking trails."

I glanced at Leslie. "Is that all you used to do up here?" His face bloomed into an ear-to-ear grin, so obviously, he knew why the place was famous.

I laughed. "Not me, but a lot of the kids I knew came up here. All the guys in my high school were either jocks or jerks, and any gay or bi guys were so deeply in the closet, I don't think they could have found their way out with a map and a flashlight."

That brought a laugh from Leslie, and I liked hearing it. His face appeared a lot younger when he laughed .

"I heard stories about Lover's Butte from my granddad. I guess he may have spent a little time there, back in the day. He grew up in Foggy Basin. He moved to San Francisco for college, where he met Nana. They stayed in the Bay area for my granddad's job and to start their family, but they kept the cabin. It's been in the family for generations."

That was a surprise. I didn't know there was a legacy owner in Foggy Basin. But then again, I hadn't cared about shit like that as a kid, and for the last five years of my life I'd been busy staying alive and out of trouble.

"What's got you hiding out here on the mountain? I know you weren't here when I was in high school. I'd have seen you around town, I'm guessing. I spent a lot of time at Shear Bliss, what with Mom being a single parent." Leslie squirmed a little, his face showing discomfort. "I'm sorry. I'm being nosy. This town does it to you." I put my hand over my mouth to keep from asking more questions.

"No, it's okay. You were honest with me about your time in prison, which I appreciated. Something like that couldn't have been easy for you." His phone pinged on the bench seat between us. He glanced down, turned it screen side down, and sighed.

I almost asked if it was important, but my brain reminded me it wasn't my business. I glanced out the side window at the beautiful trees and wildflowers as we ascended the tall hill.

We drove for about ten minutes without a word being said. I was a little uncomfortable because silence always did that to me. With my mother, there was rarely ever silence unless she was angry. Then she got scary quiet, which was never a good sign. In prison, silence was deadly.

"This is an ironic question, but did you make any friends while in prison? I'm asking because if an ex-boyfriend shows up to claim you, I want to know what to write on my tombstone when he kills me."

I chuckled. "Being seventeen and charged with being an accessory to armed robbery, I was sent to Folsom. I finished high school there, and then my attorney petitioned the court to admit me to a vocational training program in Soledad, which wasn't bad. I was there for eighteen months while I learned to be a barber, and then I was sent back to Folsom, but working as a barber there got me a little better deal. I was housed in a non-affiliated gang unit. I was never in a gang, but there were a lot of former gang members there who would have been killed if they were in GenPop. I worked every day in the barbershop and then had a private cell at night. Mr. Harold was my mentor, but he died right before I got out. "

I didn't want to talk about my first two years in Folsom. I'd had it better than some. I wasn't passed around. I roomed with a man who was straight and only wanted blow jobs on occasion because "I ain't no fag, but a man has needs." I mostly took care of him as his wife would have if he hadn't killed her for cheating. Kenny Cook, or KC as he preferred, was never getting out of prison.

"Did you get lonely?" Leslie glanced at me for an instant before he slowed the Bronco to navigate a narrow curve.

"Uh, sometimes. Mostly, I worked with Mr. Harold. He was seventy and had been the barber at Folsom for forty-nine years. He died seven months ago, right before I got released. He was a really nice man."

Harold Rice was in Folsom for going on a robbery spree when he was in his early twenties. He accidentally shot a bank guard that kept him from ever getting parole. Just before I was paroled, he found out he had lung cancer. His lawyer filed a motion for a hardship release, but Mr. Harold died before the parole board took up his case.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry." Leslie placed his right hand over mine. It was a kind gesture.

"I never knew my dad. Hell, Mom didn't know him very well from what she's told me. Her parents got mad at her when she got pregnant with me, so I never had anyone but Mom. Mr. Harold was like a grandfather to me."

I hadn't talked about him with anyone—not even Mom. His friendship was something just for me. Someone of my very own, and I liked keeping his memory to myself. Why I'd told Leslie was a mystery.

"Um, thanks, Leslie. I miss his advice." Like what to do about my stupid attraction to you.

"Ah, we're here." He turned right onto a gravel road. He hopped out and opened the gate, hopping back inside to drive the Bronco through. He then hopped out again and went to the mailbox outside the gate before he closed it and fastened the chain.

He got back behind the wheel, shoved his mail on the dashboard, and drove forward. "You live in a gated community?" I meant it as a corny joke, but Leslie didn't laugh.

"Yeah. Well, I am a gated community. There are people looking for me, and they don't know I'm hiding out here."

My eyes must have doubled in size. "Like from the mob?" I had watched far too much television.

Leslie laughed. "Nothing quite so dangerous, though I'm sure Natalie would like to shoot me if she found me."

Who's Natalie? Please don't have a wife or vindictive girlfriend!

"Is she your former—"

"Agent. Publicist. Lawyer. Name it."

I released a sigh of relief. No wife or girlfriend.