it in his eyes. But he balances it with his words. “If you want to take it to-go for later, that’s fine. But I thought it’d be nice to have dinner together and didn’t figure you’d go out with me after I crashed and burned last night.”
Bold self-deprecation? I hadn’t expected that from the cocky cowboy either.
“So you thought a captive audience while I’m at work was the better option?” He cringes, despite the decided lack of heat in the accusation.
He sighs heavily. “Look, I’m really bad at this, but I’m trying. I’m trying to get to know you. I’m just not that great with words.”
I scan his face, his jaw set tight as though those were the hardest words he’s ever said. I believe him. I heard him express himself beautifully and confidently on stage last night, but he seems more real, more vulnerable now than the larger than life version he was then.
Olivia sets down two blue-plate specials, Ilene’s brown butter seasoned chicken breast, homemade mashed potatoes, and fried okra. She disappears as quickly, and the aroma wafts up, making my stomach growl. Bobby smiles hopefully. And I give in, knowing it’s an unwise decision, but it’s only dinner across the bar. How bad could it be?
I unwrap the silverware, watching as he mirrors my movements. First up? A bite of mashed potatoes, full of peppery goodness and covered in brown gravy. “Mmm,” I moan reflexively. Ilene can really cook, and if I keep eating every dinner here, I’m going to be the size of a house because she has never met a stick of butter she didn’t turn into something delicious.
Bobby freezes, his bite of mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth, and mutters under his breath. I swear he says, “Is she trying to kill me?”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I dig in. Now that I’ve got food in front of me, I’m starving. I’m several bites in when I remember that I didn’t take a picture. Food pics are one my most popular posts and an easy capture with a variety of texture, colors, and shapes. But I’ll have to do something different tonight. I’ll see what strikes me on the way home—maybe a moon shot or my freshly painted toes in the tub because I promised myself a long, hot soak days ago.
Bobby’s taken a few healthy bites too, shoveling it in as fast as I am as though he hasn’t eaten all day. I swallow, lifting my chin toward his plate. “Hungry after a hard day?”
He pauses, setting his fork aside. “Same as usual. Picked plums all day.”
“I expected you to say you’d be riding horses all day or rustling cattle. Something like that,” I tease, faking a country accent.
He flashes white teeth so fast it might’ve been a smile or might’ve been a threat. “That what you think a cowboy does all day?”
I shrug. “Isn’t it?”
He mirrors my shrug. “That’s mostly what my brother, Brody, does with Mark. They handle the cattle. My brother Brutal and I do the farming. My sister, Shay, does whatever shit she comes up with—soaps, jams, cakes, and such.”
I blink, trying to filter all the info he shared into something resembling a family tree. “So, you have three brothers and a sister? Brody, Mark, Brutal, Shay, and you?” I swear Olivia said there were two brothers, but the name Brutal is all that really stuck in my mind. Well, that and the image of Bobby throwing a hell of a punch, because that was definitely memorable.
“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Two brothers, one sister . . . officially. But the Bennetts, that’s who bought our ranch, took us on, and we’re thick as thieves now. There are three Bennett brothers too, Mark, Luke, and James. And they’re all married, Mark to Katelyn, Luke to my sister, and James to Sophie. Plus, Brody’s got Rix, and Brutal’s got Allyson and a boy, Cooper. And on her throne sits Mama Louise, riding herd over all of us.” He doesn’t sound like he minds that at all, which is surprising. He seems like a rogue, lone wolf somehow who doesn’t let anyone or anything tell him what to do.
But maybe I’m wrong about that? It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes, people are more complicated than they first appear.
Like Unc.
Almost reading my mind, Bobby asks, “What about your family? Big? Small? Normal? Crazy?” He goes back to eating while I think about how to answer that.