Wrong Place, Right Time

  “Really? That’s . . . unexpected.”

  “Why? I mean, I know it’s really personal stuff, but it just kind of came up in conversation.” I don’t want Dev to think I pry deep secrets out of people the first day I work with them.

  “He doesn’t talk about it with anybody. I mean, it happened, and of course we talked about it back then, but nobody talks about it now.”

  “He said it’s because it makes people uncomfortable that he doesn’t talk about it. It’s not that he doesn’t want to.”

  Dev shrugs. “Well, it is uncomfortable, but that doesn’t mean nobody should be talking about it. I guess I just don’t bring it up because I don’t want to make him feel bad. I figured he’d want to move on from it.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Did he say something to you about that? About us not talking about it?”

  I shrug, not wanting to get into the middle of their relationship and cause problems; I’m the newcomer here. But if I can help Lucky out, I’d like to do that. I decide to tread lightly and feel my way as I go. If Dev starts to sound mad or uncomfortable, I’ll change the subject. I’ll talk about pink fairy armadillos. That’ll take his mind off his coworker like nobody’s business. Personally, I find them fascinating, and they’re a favorite of my girls.

  I continue, watching Dev as I speak to make sure I’m not making him uncomfortable. “He did mention that nobody seems to want to talk about it, but he writes that off as everybody feeling bad for him and not wanting him to dwell on it, like you said. It’s not like he’s mad at anybody over it.”

  “Are you saying he wants to talk about his sister and what happened?”

  “I am. I think he does, anyway. I think he’s still in mourning, and it might help him to remember her in a positive way. Like, to have people there to listen to him talk about her, about his memories of her. He blames himself, you know.”

  “That much I do know. He’s always taken the blame for everything that happens in his family. Whether he should or not is immaterial. It’s just how he is.”

  “There’s a big age difference between Lucky and his sister. Or there was.” I hate talking in the past tense after somebody’s died. It almost feels disrespectful to the life they had. It doesn’t make any difference that I never knew this particular person, either.

  “Yeah, they have a split family. His father remarried and got together with somebody much younger, and they started a second family that included his sister. Lucky is close with all of them, but he was especially close with her. But, still, he had to work, you know? We all have to work.”

  I reach over and put my hand on his. I know exactly what he’s thinking right now; he’s torturing himself over being a parent and a working man.

  “It’s not easy, working and being responsible for family members at the same time. You always feel like you’re neglecting something.”

  He hisses and shakes his head in disappointment, staring at our hands on the table, my tiny one in comparison to his huge one. “Tell me about it.”

  “How’s Jacob?” I ask, forcing a change in the conversation. We need to turn this mess around or we’re both going to end up so depressed by the end of the dinner, we’ll never want to go out together again. And I really do like hanging out with Dev, so I don’t want that to happen.

  “He’s awesome.” Dev is smiling, the sadness over Lucky and his situation pushed to the side for the moment. “He had a great time at your place with your kids. He thinks Sammy is hilarious.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sammy is hilarious. The kid constantly has me in stitches. The problem is, it makes it hard to discipline him.”

  Dev turns my hand over and touches my palm with his thumb. He does it so casually it should be no big deal, but it’s sending thrills up my arm and into my chest. Every tiny touch from him gives me a shock of pleasure now. Things feel different between us.

  “He doesn’t seem to need much discipline,” Dev says. “He’s very polite, and he’s obviously worried about how other people feel. He’s compassionate. That’s a big deal for a kid his age. Most little boys are complete sociopaths.”

  I laugh. “You say all that, but every once in a while I wonder about him. His favorite hobby is ripping the heads off his sisters’ dolls.”

  “If Jacob had any sisters, I’ll bet he’d do the same thing.”

  “Nooo, not Jacob. He’s too sweet.”

  “Trust me. When he rolls his wheelchair down the sidewalk, he specifically steers it so he can run over ants. Tell me that’s not sociopathic behavior.”

  “Okay, so he’s not going to win any Upstanding Citizen of the Year awards right now, but he’s barely five. Give him some time.”

  We look into each other’s eyes, smiling at how silly we’re being. Two parents, complimenting each other’s kids . . . Does it get any cheesier than this? Probably not. Luckily, we’re interrupted from going too much further down that road by the delivery of our sweet teas. I pull my hand away from Dev’s, gripping my glass and taking a sip. It’s as sweet as I was expecting, with a little twist of lemon. Perfect.

  Dev takes a long drink, swallows, and then sighs with satisfaction. His eyes are closed in bliss. “Best sweet tea in Louisiana.”

  Melba has already left our table, but she hears him and laughs. I can see why he comes here a lot. They treat him like he’s somebody special, and he is. I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees it. Guys like Dev deserve to be treated well. I have to look down in my glass to keep from smiling like a goofy fool at him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  So, what are you and Jacob doing for Halloween?” I ask.

  Dev opens his eyes and leans forward a little. “Halloween is a really big event at the Lake household.”

  “It is, huh?”

  “Yes. I have to get very creative with the costuming. Every year, the bar is set a little bit higher. By the time my kid is in his last years of trick-or-treating, I’m going to be recruiting people from Hollywood for these costumes of his.”

  I lean in, intrigued. “Really? What did he go as last year?”

  “Shark.”

  I blink a few times, trying to picture it. “Shark?”

  “Yep. Shark. Bull shark to be exact. Toughest, baddest-ass shark in the world.”

  “Second only to the great white,” I say, repeating facts I’ve heard on my favorite TV channel.

  “I beg to differ,” Dev says. “The bite force of the great white is not nearly as strong, being that their diet is mostly soft-fleshed animals like seals, whereas the bull shark regularly has to crunch through sea turtle shells.”

  I sense a fellow Animal Planet fan and lean in, ready to go head-to-head. “Maybe, but if you really want to go as a badass animal, I suggest you look no further than the saltwater crocodile.”

  “Agreed.” Dev leans in and winks at me. “I think you just solved my costume problem.”

  “How will you build a croc costume?”

  “I have no idea.” He picks up his glass and takes a sip. “All input is welcome.” He crunches on some ice as he waits for me to respond.

  I chew my lip and think about it for a few seconds. “Maybe you should do something easier, since you don’t have much time. Like Batman and Robin.”

  “Did it already. Two years ago.”

  “How about . . . traditional stuff, like a ghost or a witch or a vampire?”

  “Amateur hour. We did that when Jacob was two years old.”

  “I was going to be a witch, but okay . . .”

  “You can do better than that.” Dev gives me the eye. “I bet you’ve got all kinds of creative ideas floating around in that brainy head of yours.”

  “I might have some creativity, maybe, but I don’t have time to do anything with it. That’s my biggest problem. I always cop out and get some cheap costume at the drugstore.”

  “Well, now that you’re working with us, you’ll have more free time on your hands, right?”

  I shrug. “I gu
ess we’ll see.”

  Dev gets serious. “Are you happy? Are you glad you got the job?” He seems to really want to know my answer, leaning in and staring at me.

  I want to see that smile light up his face and that dimple cave in on his cheek, but I also know that I need to be honest with him. Just like I need to be honest with myself. I take a breath before answering.

  “I am happy. I’m also a little bit worried.”

  “What are you worried about?” The concern in his voice makes it easier for me to think about my answer and make sure it comes out right.

  “I’m just . . . worried that I won’t be able to do the job. And I guess I’m also worried about the danger involved.”

  “The danger is very minimal, I promise. I wouldn’t want you working there if I thought it was something to worry about.”

  The way he says it makes me curious, as if he has some sort of personal responsibility toward me. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs and leans back against his seat, suddenly acting casual again. “You’re a single mom. You can’t afford to take risks that other people could, so I wouldn’t want you to work somewhere that wasn’t right for you.”

  I love that he gets me. It’s like he’s validated my feelings or something. “And you think Bourbon Street Boys is right for me?”

  He nods. “I do.”

  We could probably talk about this subject all night, but our fried catfish shows up along with some hushpuppies and a pile of coleslaw, and the next twenty minutes are spent diving in and enjoying every last morsel of food that Dev was absolutely right about.

  Truth be told, I am not the biggest catfish fan in the world, but the serving of it I’m indulging in here could easily change my mind on that. The batter is crunchy yet flaky, and the catfish itself, tender and fresh. It doesn’t even taste like fish.

  Dev takes a long pull from his sweet tea, and then sits back in his chair, letting out a long sigh as he rubs his belly. “Did I tell you this was great or what?”

  I wipe the grease from my lips with my paper napkin and put it on the table next to my empty fish basket, leaning back in my seat too. I hope he doesn’t expect me to eat dessert, because I don’t have any room left.

  “Yes, this was really great. Thank you so much for bringing me here.” I look around the restaurant and see a lot of happy faces. “How did you find this place?”

  “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. Everyone on the team has. They treat us well here, and we like to support them as much as we can.”

  Melba comes over and takes our baskets away, interrupting the conversation. Once she’s gone, my eyes drop to the table. Holy crap. The only things left are two placemats, mine and Dev’s. His looks brand new, but mine, on the other hand, is covered in a sample of every bit of food that passed through my lips. Fish? Yes. Fish coating? Yes. Hushpuppy guts? Yes. Coleslaw? Of course. It’s like a Chicken Licken bomb went off at our table, but only left shrapnel in front of me. How embarrassing! Now he knows I eat like a total warthog!

  Dev doesn’t say a word. Instead, he lifts his placemat up, reaches over and slides my placemat to his side of the table, and then places his down in front of me. Now he’s the warthog, and I’m the princess who wouldn’t dare drop a speck of hushpuppy anywhere but on her napkin.

  I know it’s crazy, but tears well up in my eyes. This has to be the single most chivalrous, charming thing a man has ever done for me. Forget opening doors and throwing jackets over puddles. When a man covers for me, taking the heat for my horrible table manners, he wins my loyalty for life.

  When Melba returns with sweet tea refills, she looks down at the table and smiles. She doesn’t need to say anything; she just looks at me and winks. My heart feels like it’s filling up so full with happiness that it’s going to explode.

  “You got a costume yet?” she asks Dev.

  “Maybe. I might have found my inspiration tonight.” He gives me a look. I almost have a heart attack from it. Gah, that dimple!

  “Have you seen the pictures?” she asks me.

  I shake my head no.

  She points at Dev. “You need to show her. You need to work harder at impressing this girl. I like her.”

  She walks away without saying anything else, and I look down at the table, embarrassed that I’ve been given such a high compliment.

  “Do you have ideas for your kids’ costumes yet?” Dev asks me.

  “No, I still need to go to the store. My life is a mess.” I sigh, imagining myself once again shopping for crappy costumes my kids will whine about. “I’m always scrambling around at the last minute trying to pull it all together.”

  “If you need any help, just let me know.”

  I’m not sure how that would work out, but I like the idea of him being involved in my Halloween celebration. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Do you usually trick-or-treat around your neighborhood?”

  I nod. “Yeah, it’s pretty good. We hardly have any apple-givers.”

  He smiles briefly before continuing. “Mine’s not the greatest. Jacob is always complaining that so many of the lights are turned out, it eats up all his battery in his wheelchair trying to get around the neighborhood and get enough candy.”

  I feel shy saying it, but it seems like the perfect solution to me. “You guys could come and trick-or-treat with us if you want. Almost all the lights are on every year. Jacob could clean up with an awesome crocodile costume.”

  Dev nods like he’s considering it. “I’ll talk to Jacob and see what he thinks.”

  His casual acceptance of my offer sends a thrill through me. It’s almost like a commitment in a way. Trick-or-treating together. Do friends do that, or just couples?

  “So, did you pick out a date from that website?” he asks, throwing a giant virtual bucket of ice-cold water over the situation.

  Here I am thinking about us being a couple, and he’s thinking about how he wants to date other people. Ugh. I completely suck at reading men. I suppose I can’t be too depressed that he’s bringing up the dating thing. I did look on that website, and I did set up a date.

  Is it possible we’re both terrible at this flirting thing and neither of us has the guts to just come right out and tell the other how we really feel? I want to believe that could be true, but in reality it’s probably more that he’s just keeping his options open. I can hardly blame him. I comfort myself with the thought that the last thing I should be looking for is a committed relationship. I have hardly any free time as it is.

  I clear my throat to get the lump out of it. “Actually, yes I have. Have you? “

  “Yep. Got something set up for tomorrow, in fact.”

  “Really. What’s she look like?”

  “I have no idea.”

  I frown. “Why not?”

  “Because. I searched without photos. I want to be attracted to a person for who she is, not what she looks like.”

  “That’s very . . . un-guy-like.” I say and then snort accidentally. Oops. The warthog is back. But damn . . . is he for real?

  He shrugs. “Meh . . . I figure it’ll just cut down on the B.S. People aren’t honest about their looks anyway. Half the photos on there are Photoshopped, and the others are pictures taken ten years ago. What’s the point? It’s the person inside you fall for in the end, not the outside wrapper.”

  “Your explanation makes complete sense . . . but only if you’re a woman. Guys don’t think that way, do they? Who told you to search without photos?” I know it wasn’t anyone on the team. No way could I picture Lucky or Thibault advising Dev to search for a girl based on her personality.

  His grin comes off so guilty, he might as well shout from the rooftops that he’s busted. “My mother,” he finally admits.

  I can’t stop laughing.

  “What about you?”

  My laughter peters out. “I must admit, I’m shallow. I looked at his picture.”

  “Easy way out,” he says, teasing me.

  This feel
s like a challenge now. “Where’re you going on your hot date with your mystery woman?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He leans in and gives me a sexy little wink.

  I act super cool, like a cucumber that’s been sitting in the chiller drawer of my refrigerator for a solid week. Ice. Cold. “No, not really. I’m sure it’s not nearly as interesting as the place I’m going.”

  He laughs. “What time are you meeting him?”

  His question throws me off. “Why? What does that matter?”

  “Because, the time of the meeting says everything about the person’s intentions.”

  I sit up straighter, suddenly worried about my so-called date or meeting or whatever the hell it is. “Really? Like how?”

  “Well, let’s see . . . Is it a lunchtime thing? A late afternoon thing? An evening thing? Dinner? A movie? A drink? It all means something, you know.”

  I stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking. At first there’s nothing to clue me in, and then that little dimple appears. “Oh, be quiet. I know you’re just teasing me.” I pick up my tea and have a sip of it to keep my hands busy. I feel like such a doofus. I have no idea what I’m doing with this online dating stuff.

  He shrugs, trying to act all cool. “If you say so.”

  “I guess you’re some kind of ninja dating master, but this is my first time, so I’m just figuring it out as I go. I can’t imagine it’s all that complicated, though.” I don’t recall seeing a rulebook on the website. How do people know these rules? Are they written somewhere? I’m going to have to Google that when I get home.

  “Ninja dating . . . what?” he laughs. “I haven’t done this either. Not lately, anyway. This is my first time in years. I’m just hoping it won’t be a complete disaster.”

  “I’ll bet we’ll have some really good stories after tomorrow,” I say, trying to look on the bright side.

  “I’ll give you a call Sunday, and we can trade notes.”

  I hate that the idea makes me so happy. He’s suggesting a simple phone call, not another date with me. This whole thing is so confusing. It’s sad to think that I’m not any better at figuring men out now than I was at twenty. I shrug, because I’m cool like that. Like that cucumber in my fridge. So ice cold. “Sure. I don’t have any plans except to hang out with the kids.”