Home to Stay (The Long Road Home #2) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,26
ex-soldier.
Suddenly, the room seemed too small, the air too thick. He stood, placing his half-empty beer on the coffee table. “Listen, dinner was great but I’d better be going.”
Her eyes widened as her mouth fell into a silent circle, her surprise evident. “O… kay…”
He walked to the door, his mind and body in agony as it battled the desire to offer her anything he could while knowing he had nothing to give. He was halfway down her porch steps by the time she had followed and reached out to grab his arm. He whirled around, hating the disappointment on her face.
“So… um… you’ll still be at the school on Wednesday?”
His shoulders slumped, and he nodded. “Yeah… I’ll be there.”
“Okay, good. Well, I’ll see you around? Maybe you can text… or something?”
He heard the hope in her voice but swallowed deeply, wanting to squash what he knew would lead to nothing. “I’ll be pretty busy. Got lots to do for Gramps.”
Her head nodded in jerks, and he hated the way her smile had turned tremulous. “Okay. Well… thanks for coming. Bye, John.”
He offered a chin lift as he turned to walk out her door. A fuckin’ chin lift? Fine for the guys, but that sucks as a thank you for dinner. He opened his mouth to refute his abrupt departure, lifting his hand toward her, but she had already backed through the door, her hand raised in a little wave. Turning, he stalked toward his SUV, climbing inside, a tidal wave of anger at himself threatening to sweep him away.
After a three-point turn, he drove down her long drive and allowed himself a last look in the rear-view mirror. She was standing at the window, staring out at him. His hand slammed against the steering wheel and he cursed the end of his career, the black that would always stay just to the left of him, being unemployed and feeling useless… and most of all, being a goddamn pussy for walking away from Lucy.
He had hoped his grandfather would already be in his room by the time he got home, but his luck wasn’t holding out. As soon as he stepped into the house, Gramps, leaning back in his recliner, took one look at him and said, “What put that dark look on your face? Thought you were having dinner with that teacher?”
“Her name is Lucy.”
“Okay, Lucy. But from the scowl on your face, I won’t be meeting her anytime soon, so it doesn’t matter what I call her. What happened? Her cooking bad?”
Scowling, he stomped over to the sofa and flopped down onto the cushions. “No, her cooking was fine.”
Gramps muted the TV. “So, what’s got your boxers in a twist?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to deny that his boxers were in a twist, but considering Gramps was reading him correctly, it would’ve been a foolish lie. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “She’s great, the meal was fine, the conversation fun. But we’re not right for each other, so it just didn’t seem like there was any reason to stick around.”
“Just not right for each other? What the hell does that mean? What’s that word they use? High maintenance? Is that what she is? Or maybe she comes from a highfalutin family? Lives in a big house with a big bank account and thinks her shit don’t stink?”
Bolting upright, John shook his head, the crinkle deepening in his forehead. “Gramps, she’s none of that! She’s a hard-working teacher living in a cottage that seriously needs work, and she’s convinced herself she can fix it up and make repairs, even though she’s had to watch videos to discern the difference between a screwdriver and a hammer. And while her methods may be a little nuts, what she has accomplished looks good. She’s beautiful in a very natural way. Comes from a working-class family that’s close. And the dinner was good. Not fancy, but good eating and lots of it.”
Gramps had a twinkle in his eyes when he leaned back in his recliner. “Hmph. I can certainly see why you came home in a bad mood after spending time with a woman like that.” The silence closed in around them for a moment before Gramps finally asked, “Boy, you want to tell me what’s really stuck in your craw?”
John continued to let the silence fill the room, but it settled like a scratchy wool blanket, one he