“What’s a good local restaurant?”
I smiled. “Beverly’s is good, just be prepared.”
“For what?”
“Everything.” Might as well rip off the Band-Aid now. On the upside, it was after eight. Maybe the dinner crowd had thinned.
***
Nope. The dinner crowd was still in full force when I pulled into the gravel lot. My eyes scanned and recognized at least ten of the trucks in the lot. I felt a pit form in my cavernously empty stomach.
“Lots of trucks,” Brett commented.
“Farming is a major industry here. Add that to the redneck factor, and you’ve got testosterone fighting via mud flaps at every four-way.” I put the car into park and leaned forward. Kissed him lightly on the lips. “Thank you for coming here.”
“Thank you for letting me.”
“It’s been nice knowing you.” I grinned wryly.
“It won’t be that bad, I promise.”
I kissed his naïve little mouth and turned off the car.
Beverly’s was one big room, a buffet set on the back wall, picnic tables filling the large, paisley-wallpapered space. There were no private tables; everyone grabbed any available seat, community pitchers of tea on the tables, refilled on a regular basis by one of Beverly’s four girls. There was no menu, and there weren’t any specials. Lunch was seven bucks, dinner was ten, and credit cards weren’t accepted. Sweet tea, coffee, and water were the only drink options, and you cleared your own plate when done. When short on cash, Beverly had an IOU form at the front counter that you could complete and settle up when times got better.
I grabbed Brett’s hand and sucked in, squeezing between two tables and heading deeper into the room, beelining for an open spot at Table 9. I smiled at the Rutledges and Corina Rose, mouthed a “hey” to Patty Thomas. Breathed a sigh of relief when I stepped into the bench, flashing smiles to the individuals on either side. Watched Brett as he made his way to the other side. He wore a T-shirt and jeans with tennis shoes. I had told him to dress casual, had been worried that he’d stick out. But even in that, he looked expensive, couldn’t hide the aura of confidence and wealth that separated him from every other man in this room.
“This place is nice.”
I didn’t know if Brett was just being polite, but, in our town, it was the best food you were gonna find. I met his eyes and was pleased to see sincerity in them. I shrugged. “The food’s really good.”
“Do we have a waitress?”
I laughed. “Sorta. Beverly’ll come by with plates and glasses. It’s her way of greeting everyone. Anything you need, that’ll be the only time we see her, so be sure to ask for it then.”
He eyed the row of condiments lining the table’s middle. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good. She doesn’t like extra work.”
“Are you talking about me, missy?” Beverly’s voice craned through the air and smacked me on the back of my head. I gave Brett a look of mock panic and turned around, accepting the woman’s fierce hug, her long nails digging into me like it’d been weeks instead of days.
“All good things,” I reassured.
“Humph. Likely. Who’s this?” She eyed Brett like he was a piece of choice fried chicken. “This the rich South Florida man you’ve been running off with?”
Brett’s eyebrows rose at the comment, the dimple in his cheek exposed when he stood and offered his hand across the table. “Brett Jacobs,” he said smoothly. “While I am from South Florida, I can’t vouch for the rest of the description.”
I made a face at him before recovering, smiling at Beverly. “Yes, Brett is my new boyfriend. He’s visiting this weekend from Fort Lauderdale.”
“Oooh ... Fort Lauderdale!” Beverly waved her palms from side to side like a can-can routine. “Fancy! And you’ll be here all weekend?”
“Yes.” Brett smiled and I cringed at his omission of ‘ma’am.’ The word was a Southern requirement, a verbal side dish that must accompany every course. It didn’t matter if the person addressed was six years old. Or twenty. Or ninety. In the South, we said ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ ‘sir,’ and ‘ma’am.’ I saw Beverly’s eyes flick to me. She stiffly held out two plates, stacking a couple of silverware rolls on top of them. I took the plates, Brett’s hands reaching out for the glasses.
“The dessert today is lemon pie,” Beverly said pointedly, as if there was a code word stuck somewhere in that sentence.
“Yum.” I set the silverware down. “Thanks Beverly.”
***
“What did I do wrong?” Brett spoke from the side of his mouth as he heaped an impressive amount of mashed potatoes on his plate. Our elbows knocked each other, a woman on my right crowding me in her haste for fried catfish.
“What do you mean?” I pointed to the gravy ladle, and he passed it over.
“The look that passed between you two. I did something wrong.”
“Oh.” I smiled. “You didn’t say ‘ma’am’ when you responded to her.”
He paused, the sudden halt messing up the flow of the line. I bumped him with my hip and nodded at him to continue. “What ... a Southern faux pas?” he asked.
“Yes. Sir.” I added the second word, grinning at him. “See how easy it is?”
He leaned over, pressing a kiss on my cheek, before pausing at my ear. “I love you.” On his way back to standing, my cheeks burning red from the confession, he dipped back down. “Ma’am,” he added, gently pinching my butt.
Wait—what? “Now you got it.” I mumbled, grabbed a roll and looked up at him, his eyes skimming the buffet one last time. I didn’t even know how to respond, didn’t expect the buffet line at Beverly’s to be the place where this moment would happen. But Brett didn’t seem to need a response, his legs already in motion, his broad shoulders moving through the tables.
I followed him back to the table and wished I had chosen a less public venue.
***
Brett’s fork was scraping his plate when the cops showed up. A foursome, swaggering through the front door, shaking hands and greeting citizens on their way to our table. They surrounded us, John Bingham placing a friendly hand on my shoulder as he leaned over and brushed his lips over my cheek. Brett’s eyes watched the movement, his face tightening slightly as he set down his fork. I scooted back, my eyes sweeping over the foursome, identical in their green uniforms, all wearing a relaxed expression of arrogance and control.