Finding the Right Girl (A Nice GUY to Love spin-off)

by Violet Duke

  And sometimes, when she looked over to her right, and the sunlight was hitting just so, she could still see her father and sister sitting right there with her.

  God, she missed them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AT 7 PM ON THE DOT, Tessa walked in to the small Italian eatery and found Brian leaning against the wall near the entrance, looking like Johnny Lumberjack with his sexy, golden brown hair and scruffy five o’clock shadow. When he spotted her, he smiled, the first smile he’d ever directed her way, she realized…and she nearly swallowed her tongue.

  Didn’t help that those deep, teal blue eyes of his stayed locked on hers, instead of doing that scan-her-body-to-check-out-the-goods thing that she was used to on blind dates.

  This wasn’t a date!

  Right, she had to remember that.

  “Hey, Tessa. You look great. Your wounds healing up okay?”

  Oh dammit, date or not, she was toast.

  “They’re fine. Thanks. Just a few bumps and scrapes.”

  His hand just barely ghosted over the middle of her back as he stepped to the side and pulled open the door for her. “After you. Have you eaten here before?”

  “A few times.” As they made their way to the first open table and at least three workers said hello to her, she admitted quietly, “Okay, that’s a lie. Most of the workers who answer the take-out line know me by voice.”

  That earned her a low, deep chuckle from him and she felt the air in her lungs getting lost on its way to her brain. Quickly, she flicked her menu up to avoid the possibility of conversation while her brain gasped for the return of oxygen for its malfunctioning neurons.

  When the waiter came and addressed her by name, she avoided making direct eye contact with the smile begging to be let loose at the corner of Brian’s mouth.

  “I’m still looking,” she fibbed quietly. “You can get his order first.”

  After he requested the Pollo Carciofi Pasta, she finally put down the menu she’d only been pretending to read. “Could I just get a slice of Nonna’s ricotta pie and a slice of the Tuscan spinach pie?”

  When she saw Brian curiously reached for the menu again, with a puzzled look, she stopped him and pointed at the chalkboard by the cash register. “Those are the dessert specials this week. I, errr, already ate dinner.”

  A mild look of exasperation overtook his features.

  Thank goodness, they were back to their status quo.

  “You told Skylar you weren’t going to be hungry until seven.”

  “I’m usually not. But I seem to be able to eat hotdogs at any time of the day,” she defended, picking up her water glass to take a parched sip.

  She crunched down on some ice during the awkward pause.

  “Do you always give responses that only make sense to you?”

  She thought about that for a moment and replied in all seriousness, “More than I intend to, probably. But I also think you bring it out of me more than most for some reason.”

  His smile was back again. “Fair enough. Okay, so if I ask you to answer in the form of a complete short essay so I’ll fully understand you, could you tell me what’s with the whole eating a hotdog before meeting me for dinner thing?”

  Now she was smiling along with him. He was so darn easy to like, and surprisingly patient considering how easily she seemed to bug the crap out of him.

  “Sometimes, I hang out at the lumberyard where my dad used to work so I can watch the sunset from the top of lumber stacks. And when I do, I always drop off a hotdog for my dad’s old boss, Frank. He doesn’t know that it’s actually a low cal, healthy mostly-veggie dog, which is why he always lights up like a kid on Halloween when I bring it over. And I dunno, I just always automatically bring one for myself too. To keep the traditional alive, I guess.”

  She’d noticed Brian’s eyes darken with sympathy when she first mentioned her dad in the past tense, and she mentally prepared herself for the question.

  “So did your sister inherit her HD gene from your dad?”

  “Yes. His was adult onset, obviously, but Willow’s JHD symptoms started when she was in middle school. Maybe that’s why I’m especially meddlesome in Skylar’s case. Sorry.” And she was, really.

  Since the concession seemed to earn her some respect points from him, she opted for full disclosure. “To be clear though, I’m just sorry you’re upset, not that sorry that I’m answering all her questions.”

  He bristled. “Just when we were starting to get along.”

  They quieted as their food arrived, and left it untouched to get this hammered out.

  Tessa had no problem starting them off. “Abby mentioned you were thinking of doing the testing last year. Why’d you change your mind?”

  “Skylar had been showing some symptoms that we thought could be JHD then. Symptomatic genetic testing, the doctors and I were on board with. But now that she’s been symptom-free for months, we’ve decided against it.”

  “Exactly, she didn’t decide. You all did.”

  “She’s not old enough to make this decision. I’ve read the studies; the youngest age they typically allow a minor to make this decision is fifteen, if that. She’s just barely thirteen, way too young, too emotionally ill-equipped.”

  “Brian, Skylar has questions that need to get answered.”

  “By me, or her doctors. Not by you—no offense—or some random websites.”

  “At least the websites I directed her to were reliable, accurate, and just as importantly, non-persuasive. You’re fooling yourself if you think she hasn’t been reading up every single thing on HD and JHD she can find on the internet.”

  That made him pause with what looked like a flash of pained panic. “You still had no right to be advising her about genetic testing behind my back, Tessa.”

  Okay, she’d give him that. “You’re right. While I think it’s important for Skylar to have someone to talk to and ask questions of beyond her current bubble, it was irresponsible for me not to have checked to be sure that you were at least aware of the situation. I know you’re going through this as much as she is.”

  “Now that’s just unfair,” he sighed, leaning back and breaking into one of the dinner rolls at the table. “If you’re going to be logical and respectful for a shocking first, I don’t know how I can keep arguing with you.”

  She chuckled. “I have my moments.” Seeing the worry still hiding behind his banter, she reassured him, “I swear, I’m just listening and answering questions. I’m not advising her in any way. I would never steer her in a direction that would be harmful to her, and I think you know that.”

  The stubborn man offered no more than an acquiescent half-nod.

  “Are you going to fight me on this the entire time?” she asked, trying to hide the smile in her voice. Usually, confrontation was not her thing but for some reason, the prospect of continuing to face off with Brian sounded fun.

  “Are you going to continue to be a pain in my ass by answering her questions, regardless of what I say?” he returned, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Yes.”

  “Then yes, I hereby reserve the right to be an obnoxiously overprotective dad about all of this whenever the mood strikes me.”

  “So, just to get this recorded on the minutes, basically, we’ve just agreed to keep doing things exactly as we’ve been doing them?”

  Breaking out into an amused grin, he conceded, “Yes. Now let’s eat before my food gets cold, and yours gets warm.”

  She grinned. Smart-ass.

  Enjoying herself more than she intended to, more than it was probably advisable to, she grabbed her knife to cut each pie in half lengthwise before taking a bite of first the creamy ricotta pie, and then the spongy, almondy spinach pie.

  “So tell me more about your dad,” said Brian, cutting into his chicken and artichokes. “You mentioned a lumberyard; was he in construction?”

  “Yep. But when he started showing the first signs of chorea spasms in his hands, he stop
ped. That’s when Frank hired him as the security guard for the lumber yard. The hours were perfect since he and I used to switch off taking care of Willow. And it was a way for him to stay close to the trade.” She smiled at the memory. “Since Frank rents out construction equipment as well—mostly small excavators, tractors, and backhoes—sometimes, dad would get to work the equipment to check them before and after rentals, or during maintenance. I saw him at it a few times when I’d go to drop off food for him. It used to make him so happy. I will always be eternally grateful to Frank for that.”

  “Hence the hotdogs,” editorialized Brian.

  “That’s right,” she grinned, blinking in surprise. “I do believe the hotdog tradition started soon after that. But the lumber stacks at sunset was actually my dad’s tradition. My dad used to take his break around sunset and go sit up on the tallest stack to just watch the view. Once, Willow and I went up there with him. Frank and the guys rigged one of the forklifts so my dad could help Willow up. I still remember how tickled she was to ride the forklift, and how much the three of us laughed up there. The guys had to bring out the flood lamps to help us down since we stayed up there until well after dusk.” She felt the pain come as they always did at the memory. “Not long after she died, it was my dad who got the ride up the forklift to sit beside me.” She blinked back the tears she never allowed herself to shed. “And now it’s just me up there. No forklift.”

  HE’D NEVER BEEN on this side before.

  It was a startling revelation, really.

  All these years, he’d always been on the receiving end of the ‘I’m so sorrys.’ Oh, he’d said his fair share before, meant every one. But not like this. Not for a pain right before his eyes that rivaled, if not eclipsed his own.

  For the first time, he heard the ‘I’m sorry’ for the actual apology that it was. He wanted to apologize to her for not being able to ease her grief, apologize for not having the perfect thing to say that could make it all better again, apologize for the universe being the cruel and unyielding bastard it could be.

  Brian couldn’t imagine losing two loved ones that close together. By Connor’s estimation, Tessa had been just 20 years old when her sister died, and a brand new adult with a lifetime of hurt already when her father died shortly after. Honestly, if he’d lost Beth at that age, it probably would’ve broken him. Losing a second loved one soon after would’ve been inconceivable.

  “I’m so sorry, Tessa.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “Me, too.”

  It wasn’t the standard response. Or even a logical one. In fact, it was one of those answers they’d talked about earlier, the ones that seemed to only seemed to make sense to her.

  Except, this one, he actually got.

  They sat in a comfortable silence for a bit, finishing their meals. By the time he was done, he saw that she’d only managed to finish half her pies. Lightweight, he chuckled to himself. Skylar and Abby would each be on their second helpings by now if given half the chance—sugar junkies that they were.

  “What are you smiling at?” she asked, eyes dancing in amusement. “No fair hoarding all the happy thoughts.”

  “I was just thinking that you need to train with Skylar and Abby. A few days with the sugar twins and you’ll be able to whack those two pies and then some.”

  A surprised laugh tinkled out of her then. “You think I can’t finish these pies?”

  Christ, he loved that laugh.

  “I could give the sugar twins a run for their money, thank you very much. Especially when it comes to pies. Seriously, give me a pie over cake and ice cream any day.” Still chuckling to herself, she leaned over and slid the plates forward. “I was just saving the rest for you.”

  He wasn’t at all prepared for the warm thump he felt in his chest.

  “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he told her, shaking his head. “You’re always surprising me.”

  “Let me guess, you hate surprises,” she teased.

  He picked up his fork and took a bite of the odd, green pie. “Not so much anymore.”

  At the sudden sound of a familiar musical medley he couldn’t quite place, he looked around to find the source.

  “That’s me.” Tessa grabbed her phone, with its classic Rosie the Riveter ‘We Can Do It!’ decal proudly displayed on its back. She frown in non-recognition at the screen and then answered it anyway.

  Her sad frown soon after, followed by a firm, “I’ll be right there,” instantly had him on alert.

  Why he felt so overwhelmingly protective of a woman he barely knew, he had no idea. “Everything okay?”

  “It will be. I’m afraid I have to cut our dinner short. Normally, I wouldn’t ask but do you think you can follow me back to my place and then drive me over to Cactus Creek?”

  “Now?” Brian checked his watch. Damn, they’d been talking for hours. “Most everything there will be closing by midnight.”

  “I know but a friend of mine is sloshed drunk at a bar and I need to drive him home.” So saying, she was already walking out to the parking lot. “If you can’t, it’s no big, I can call a cab to meet me at my apartment.” She was already pulling out her cell phone.

  And that bugged him to no end.

  “No, it’s alright. I’ll take you. Skylar is at a sleepover so I’m free. Let me help.” His eyebrows shot up when he saw her climb into an old grandpa Rambler wagon…which had what sounded like a hemi engine.

  Honestly, the woman just didn’t have a normal bone in her body.

  “Thanks, Brian. Okay, just follow me.”

  A frighteningly quick minute later—the woman seemed to think speed limits were a laughable suggestion and yellow lights a dare—she was parked and climbing into Brian’s SUV. “Do you know the way to One-Eyed Snake?”

  “The biker bar?” Geez, never a dull moment.

  “Yup. My friend Isaac does this sometimes and since I programmed myself into his cell phone under the name ‘If I’m Drunk Off My Ass,’ if he’s too drunk to drive, I occasionally get a call from a bartender to come get him.”

  “Is your friend an alcoholic?”

  She shook her head sadly. “No, nothing like that. Not even close. He’s just a good guy in a world of pain.”

  So a fellow kindred soul, then.

  Brian took the highway exit towards Cactus Creek in silence. He was accustomed to the larger than life, bubbly Tessa. This quiet, sad side of her tugged at his heart. Captivated him all the more to her.

  “Isaac and I met in a grief group,” she revealed in the silence. “He lost his younger brother around when I lost Willow. We became friends right off the bat. We’re not the talk-all-the-time sort of friends like you and Abby are but if ever I get a call from a bartender, I always go running.”

  Somehow, that didn’t surprise him.

  They pulled into the parking lot of the rustic bar and she hopped out before he even shifted into park. “I got it from here, Brian. Thanks for driving me. I’ll call you sometime this week so we can talk about the whole HD testing thing some more. Sorry we didn’t get to—” She frowned and backed up when he got out of the car. “What are you doing? You can head home. I promise, I’ve got it from here.”

  Yeah, like he was really going to let her go in a biker bar alone. The fact that she looked so damned surprised that he wasn’t leaving her there shot another dart into his chest. “Come on, let’s go get your friend.”

  With a resigned shrug, she turned and headed in. As if she weren’t the most misplaced thing that belonged in the joint. With her serene smile, Smurfs t-shirt and frayed denim skirt over sneaker. She was driving him insane.

  As she headed for the bar, the tatted up bartender looked up, one eyebrow raised. “I take it you’re ‘If I’m Drunk Off My Ass?’” His glance swept over her up and down, and Brian felt his hackles rise.

  “Damn, you are as sweet and delicate as you sounded on the phone. I was hoping, but at the same time not. You do know that Isaac rode his Harley down here, r
ight?”

  “That is his usual bar-going ride of choice,” she replied matter-of-factly, scanning the room for her friend, finding him in the corner, all but passed out.

  “Alright,” said the bartender, shaking his head and handing her Isaac’s phone, but holding onto his keys. “I don’t normally allow this but I can lock his bike up in the back for you.”

  She gave him a surprised smile—damn near lighting up the whole room in the process—and scooped Isaac’s keys from his hands. “Thank you but I got this. I can ride. Plus, that’s Isaac’s brother’s bike. I can’t let it out of my sight.”

  A measured pause, and then, “Is that the brother he’s been talking about all night?”

  She nodded.

  The bartender gave a quiet look of sympathy. “Okay then. You sure you can handle it? That’s a lot of bike.”

  Pulling out a twenty, she slid it over to him. “I’m fine. Thanks for calling me.”

  “I already charged the standard tip for his drinks on his card, hon. You can put your money away.”

  With a determined stare, she walked over and shoved the bill at him. “This tip is my ridiculously small way of saying thanks. Not every bartender would take the time to go through a drunk customer’s phone or find out which bike is his. You did. You didn’t just boot his ass into a cab and leave his bike out in front to get stolen. You genuinely care. I heard it when you called and I’m looking at it now. You’re a good bartender and an even better guy. Take the tip or not, your choice.” She shrugged. “I’m just going to leave it on the counter regardless.”

  Then she just up and walked away.

  Holy shit. The little hellion was more potent than a dose of meth. Just as addicting, too.

  And evidently, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

  Reaching over to pocket the twenty, the bartender couldn’t take his eyes of Tessa. “Sugar, if your boyfriend wasn’t looking ready to tackle me, I’d be embarrassing myself in front of all my regulars right now begging you for your number.”