Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
He gives me a half smile. “I could eat.”
“All right. There are like a dozen chain restaurants on the mall road.”
“I know.”
“Anything interest you?”
“The steakhouse?” he asks hopefully.
“Hell yeah, let’s do it.” I clap my hands, eager to get moving.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re tucked into a wide, wooden booth in the corner of a Southwest Steakhouse—country music playing overhead, peanut shells crunching underfoot, and the scent of grilled meat thick in the air. The walls are plastered with vintage rodeo posters and rusted license plates, making it look, feel, and smell exactly like every other Southwest Steakhouse I’ve ever stepped into.
A pretty—in an ordinary, girl-next-door kind of way—server in jeans, boots, and pigtails drops off glasses of ice water and rattles off the daily specials.
“Order whatever you want,” I say, figuring he’ll get a cheeseburger and fries.
Cain studies the menu like it’s a final exam, his brow furrowed and mouth pressed into a tight line. Then he clears his throat. “Uh, the bone-in ribeye. Medium. With the spicy shrimp, baked potato, and mac and cheese.”
Did this little shit just order the most expensive thing on the menu?
I snort under my breath and hand the server my menu. “I’ll have the same.”
“Everything?” she asks, arching a brow.
“Yup.”
“And a Coke,” Cain adds, without looking up.
I tap my water glass. “I’m good with this.”
After she leaves, Cain leans back in the booth, hands in his lap. He doesn’t fidget or reach for his phone, just stares past me in the direction the server went.
“How’s the hotel?” I ask, gripping the base of my water glass and giving it a slow spin, condensation slick under my fingertips.
“Okay. Planes are noisy, though.”
“Staying there can’t be cheap.”
He shrugs.
“You been eating enough?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. As if he thinks I’m criticizing his lunch order. “They have a free continental breakfast. I’ve been making it last all day.”
“That’s good.”
The scent of fresh baked bread and cinnamon hits my nose and a second later, a basket of rolls and a dish of cinnamon butter lands in front of us. I nod a thanks at the server and she hurries away.
Cain’s eyes light up for the first time since we sat down. He grabs a roll, tears it in half, and slathers it with butter.
I take one too, tearing it in half and smear butter on one side. It’s sweet, warm, and soft. Probably terrible for me, but I don’t care right now.
We munch on the rolls in silence for a few minutes. The sound of clinking silverware and a country ballad hum through the background.
“So, what’s your plan?” I ask, catching him mid-reach for another roll.
He freezes, then slowly sits back. “Not sure.” His gaze meets mine, full of something that might be defiance—or just exhaustion. “I want to see Jezzie.”
I hold out a hand, palm down. “We’ll get there.”
“Mom wanted me to use the money she left me for school.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s barely enough to pay for a year at a state school.”
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
He pops a piece of roll in his mouth and chews it slowly. “I think I want to be an electrician. Do a training program and find an apprenticeship.”
I nod slowly. I know some people who could probably help him out. “I might be able to help you with that.” Actually, I’m almost positive the community college out in Johnsonville has a solid program.
“Really?” His eyes widen, like he’s shocked I’d offer to do anything for him.
“Look, you said you and your stepdad aren’t close. Are you plannin’ to go back to Arizona?”
“New Mexico,” he corrects, focusing his attention on the now empty breadbasket. “There’s nothing for me there.”
“You got any other options?”
“Sure.” He spreads his hands wide. “I can go anywhere I want now. Just me and the open road.”
“Yeah, you can do that.”
“Here we go!” Our server swoops in, placing two massive plates with our steaks on them in front of us. A guy behind her delivers the side dishes.
“I’ll grab fresh drinks and bring more rolls,” the server chirps. “Be right back.”
“Thanks,” I murmur.
Cain doesn’t wait. He dives into the steak, cutting off a thick bite and closing his eyes as he chews. Like it’s the first real meal he’s had in days.
I stab my fork into the mac and cheese—gooey, creamy, cheesy—and drop a ball of butter into the steaming crack of my baked potato.
Across from me, Cain keeps eating, fast but not sloppy. Intent.
Unease digs into me. Is he actually staying at that hotel?
I slice into my steak and take a bite, chewing while I figure out how to bring it up without making him defensive.
After he’s inhaled about a quarter of his meal, I steer the conversation toward his living situation. “I have a friend who owns an apartment building. It’s about an hour outside of Empire.” I circle my finger through the air to indicate the location we’re currently in. “But it’s nice. My girlfriend’s place isn’t far from there, so I’m in the area a lot.”