Preston's Honor(32)

Cole put me down and took one step back, his eyes moving down my uniform-clad body. “God, you look good.”

I laughed. “Yeah? You like this?” I teased, running a hand over my boxy, blue apron and straightening my nametag.

“Yeah, I do. It’s proof that you can make anything look good.”

I rolled my eyes, my smile fading as I took his hand, squeezing it. “Hey, I’m sorry about your dad.”

He nodded. “Thanks. Pres said you came out to the farm.”

I hoped the flush of embarrassment at the memory didn’t show in my face. “Oh, I did but . . . I couldn’t stay long. I just wanted to pay my respects.”

I went back around the counter and put two menus down, nodding my head to the open seats. “Hi, Preston. You’re going to eat, right?” I said softly as he stepped forward.

They both sat down, Preston giving me a tiny lip quirk and a nod. “Hi, Lia.”

“Surprise me,” Cole said, shooting me a grin and tossing the menu in front of him aside.

“Two eggs over-easy with wheat toast and a side of bacon,” Preston said, scooting his own menu away. I smiled as I turned away to put in their order, thinking about how they were such mirror images of each other. How could everything about them physically be so similar yet they were so opposite of the other?

I still had a few tables I was waiting on and so I chatted with Preston and Cole between taking orders and pouring drinks for my other customers. As I was re-pouring coffee for Preston, Cole said, “Hey, Lia, we’re going to have a small get-together this weekend. A barn party. Will you come?”

Preston looked at his brother as if this was the first he was hearing about it. Cole winked at him. “Our mom’s leaving tomorrow to visit her sister who couldn’t be at the funeral because of an illness. We thought we’d take advantage of having the place to ourselves before we really need to get down to farm business.”

“Aren’t we too old for a barn party?” Preston asked quietly.

“One is never too old for a barn party,” Cole replied. “We’ll get a few kegs, do some cheers to Warren Sawyer, play some country music like the good Central Valley farm boys our father raised us to be. It’ll be a far better memorial service than that uncomfortable tear-fest at our house. Come on, it’ll be great. Dad would have wanted it.”

Preston sighed and shook his head, taking a sip of coffee. It was pretty clear that when Cole said “we” what he really meant was “I.” Using their father’s memory to get Preston to agree to what he wanted was sort of manipulative, but that wasn’t for me to point out.

“Come on, Lia,” Cole said. “I’ll pick you up.”

“I, um . . .” I bit my lip, feeling uncomfortable about going to a party in the Sawyers’ barn. I’d heard about barn parties. Apparently it was a “thing” around here, and I’d even been invited to a few, but I’d always declined, not comfortable socializing that way with the other kids at my high school. I’d grown slightly more confident hanging out with others my age, or from IHOP, but I worried no one I knew would be at their party, and I’d linger on the sidelines. Alone. Watching.

Watching Preston talk to other women.

Preston had dug back into his food, and Cole was watching me with an expectant look on his face. “Please?” He gave me that irresistible grin of his.

I let out a breath. “I never could resist you, Cole Sawyer.” I laughed, rolling my eyes at the same time. “All right. I’ll write down my address.”

He grinned. “Great.” I glanced at Preston, but he was intent on his food, his jaw rigid.

“Great,” I murmured, wondering if I’d just made a big mistake.

**********

I raised one eyebrow as I came down the steps of my apartment building to see Cole standing beside a beat-up motorcycle. “What in the world . . .?”

Cole grinned, sweeping his arm toward it. “Your chariot, madam.”

I laughed but didn’t move. “Seriously? You want me to get on that thing?”

“Hey, I’m a good driver. And look,” he unhooked a second helmet from the back of the bike, “safety first.” He put a leg over the bike and nodded to the small space behind him.

I took the helmet but still didn’t move. “Since when do you ride a motorcycle anyway?”

“It was my dad’s a long time ago. Actually, my mom bought it for him—I think she thought it’d give him the cool factor.” He laughed softly. “My dad had many good qualities, but a cool factor wasn’t one of them. It’s been left to rust for years. I’ve been tinkering with it in the garage.” He gave me a persuasive grin. “I’ll drive carefully, I swear. And it’s not like we have to get on the highway.” That was true enough. We could go through downtown and take the dirt back roads to his farm.

I stepped forward, putting my helmet on as I swung a leg over and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Drive slowly, Cole Sawyer, or I swear I’ll do a tuck and roll right off this thing. On purpose.”

“I promise, baby.” He put his own helmet on and we took off, wobbling a little and causing my heart to rise into my throat. But then he got us steadied and once he’d picked up some speed, I relaxed, the hot wind making my clothes ripple as we drove through downtown Linmoor.