“Ooh, I love butternut squash ravioli,” she said. “Did you see that one?”
“I’m not a squash fan,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
He lowered his menu, which was just an oversized sheet of laminated paper, with options on both sides. “My family is pretty poor, I guess. My mother grew zucchini and squash from here to Georgia, it seemed. We ate a ton of it growing up, in every way you can imagine.” He gave her a small smile. “Now that I’m an adult, and I don’t have to clean my plate or get the belt, I don’t have to eat squash.”
Jill’s surprise pulled at her eyes, widening them. “Your dad hit you if you didn’t eat?”
“My daddy hit us for everything,” Slate said quietly.
Jill didn’t even know what to say. She hated feeling like that, and she’d experienced the stunned, sympathetic emotion powerfully twice in the past two days.
He cleared his throat and looked up. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“I still haven’t told you all of my failures,” she said, smiling.
“Nope, not that either.” He didn’t return her smile. “Let’s start with easy stuff. Do you color your hair?”
Jill blinked, not having expected that question at all.
“I’m going to take that stunned look on your face as a no,” Slate said. “I’m really bad at this, aren’t I?” He smiled but dropped his chin so she didn’t get to see it for long.
“No, you’re not,” she said. “I just wasn’t expecting that.” She reached up and patted her hair. “No, I don’t color my hair. Do you?”
“No, ma’am,” he said.
“What do you want for your birthday?” she asked.
He met her eye then, something electric in his. “Dinner with you,” he said. “That’s all I need.”
Heat rushed through her, and Jill smiled and reached for his hand. He allowed her to thread her fingers through his, and he sighed. “Sorry for whatever is happening here,” he said. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, determined not to bring up the texts she’d seen on his phone. He got to text his friends and make plans for his life.
“Do you ever see yourself leaving Hope Eternal?” he asked.
Jill shrugged one shoulder, though she felt like they’d just stepped out onto very thin ice. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. I mean, I’m happy there, and it’s close to my family, so…” She let the sentence hang there, not sure what else to say. She hadn’t absolutely said she would never leave the ranch. She really hadn’t thought about it.
In her mind, she knew people moved all the time. They moved themselves and their families across the country. They took new jobs. They started businesses and moved away from family and then closer again.
A waitress arrived and took their drink orders, and Jill focused on Slate again. “Do you think we’re too different to make a relationship work?”
“We’re too different?” he asked.
“I mean, I don’t know. I want lots of gifts for my birthday. You’re happy with a dinner. I’m content running honeybee programs, and I think you have bigger dreams for you life. I’m close to my family; you don’t talk to yours.” She shrugged again, though a thread of misery had started to cloud her mind. “Maybe we’re just playing at something here that isn’t going to be real.”
He nodded and took several long seconds before he spoke. “I think we’re just barely starting, Jill,” he said quietly. He absolutely could not say her name again, not in that soft, thoughtful voice anyway. Her whole heart had melted with a four-letter word.
“So I think we don’t really know if we’re opposites or the same. I love the country, and I think you do too. I don’t want to live in the city.”
“I don’t either.”
“See?” A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Something we have in common.”
“I liked your granny too,” she said. “We have that in common.”
The waitress arrived with their drinks, and Jill put in her order for the butternut squash ravioli. Slate opted for the sausage, spinach, and cheese filled pasta, with plenty of pesto sauce. Jill could admit that his order sounded good, and she wondered why she’d thought they were so different.