Sweet Caroline(55)
He circles the car again, chuckling. “You got me there. Why are you really selling?”
The reason comes easy. “To buy a little piece of my future.”
Wayne studies me for a moment, then motions for me to follow him to the office. “You drive a hard bargain, Caroline.”
I smile the whole time he writes the check. When he hands it over, I do a double take. He wrote it out for eleven thousand. “Wayne, we agreed on ten. I don’t understand.” I offer back the check.
He stuffs his checkbook back into the file cabinet. “You’re right, Caroline. I’ll fix it up and sell it for four times. Make a killing. Don’t see why I can’t help out”—he clears his throat—“your future.”
Without hesitation, I wrap him in a hug. “You old softy.” My eyes mist as I open the office door and pause to look back at the wiry mechanic. “Take good care of her.”
Outside CARS, I dial J.D. I’m confident I did the right thing, really, I am, but what’s the point of moments like this if a girl can’t cry on her man’s shoulder?
Besides, I need a ride home. Clearly, I did not think this all the way through. Carlos Longoria would’ve had my hide. The devil is in the details, chica.
“Hey, babe.” J. D.’s voice is tucked in low. “Bodean and I are finishing something.”
“Big something?” I breathe deep to keep my voice steady.
“A domestic situation.”
Wayne closes up behind me.
“Then why’d you answer the phone? Never mind. Call me later. ’Bye.”
Next, I dial Dad, but he and Posey are out to dinner with friends. Forget Henry. He’d throw confetti in celebration and sneer, “You’ve finally come to your senses.”
“Need a ride, Caroline?” Wayne stands by his truck, jiggling his keys.
“Not sure. Hold on.”
I autodial Elle, but remember she’s in Charleston at an art show. Wayne waits. I take a second to ponder my last option—Mitch—before giving in and dialing.
“Are you busy?” My voice warbles. Of course he’s busy. I mean, the man has a life.
“Yes, I’m sitting out on the back deck, watching the last of the sunset.”
He has a nice life.“Can you pick me up at CARS?”
He laughs. “Sure. Did Matilda break down again?”
“Not really.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Unbidden tears come as I wave for Wayne to go on. “I have a ride.” He toots his horn as he pulls away, leaving me alone on the side of the road, waiting for Mitch, clutching Wayne’s check, the answer to my prayer.
Starting August 3rd
LIVE Musicr
Friday & Saturday Nights
8:00 and 10:00
24
Friday night Mitch sets up for our first weekly music night. “Let me kick things off,” he said.
At the front podium, Paris takes reservations for the next show. Elle is here with . . . Stu.
Holding out my hands and wrinkling my forehead, I ask how and when behind his back. She grins and slides into a booth. Stu catches sight of me and flashes me a broad white smile. He is very unplumbery tonight, rather dapper in his jeans and Polo.
A hand slides down my back. “Ready to go, babe?” J. D.’s quick kiss is familiar.
Mitch walks over, offering his hand. “Good to see you, J. D. Where y’all headed?”
J. D. slaps his hand into Mitch’s. “Bodean is throwing himself a birthday party. Too bad you’re singing tonight. Love to have you join us.”
Mitch smiles so sincerely. “Tell him happy birthday for me.”
J. D. clutches me close. “Will do. Stop by later if you can. I’m sure we’ll be there until the wee hours. You know Bo and his parties.”
Mitch listens with an agreeing nod, but his body language tells me he’s not even considering J. D.’s invitation. No doubt, he’s changed.
“Mitch if you need anything, ask Mercy Bea. She’s in charge tonight.”
“Aren’t you full of courageous moves this week.”
“Yeah, well, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.”
J. D. questions me with his gaze. What? He’s been working since the great car selling, and our conversations have been via phone or between fast Café kisses. I’m about to answer, “I’ll tell you on the way to Bo’s,” when Cherry bursts through the Café’s door, bolting past Paris.
“Excuse me, ma’am, you need a reservation tonight. Ma’am?” Paris tracks her through the tight row of tables.
“Caroline, can I speak with you?” Her normally perfect hair flies about her face. Mascara residue collects under her eyes, and the hem of her blouse blooms from her waistband.
“Paris, it’s okay. This is my sister-in-law, Cherry.”
Paris’s cheeks flush pink. “Oh, sorry.”
Cherry spins around. “Don’t be. You were just doing your job.”
With a pleading glance at J. D., I say to Cherry, “Let’s go to my office.”
Cherry collapses against me, crying, as I nudge the door closed. My blood runs cold. “Honey, what’s wrong?” I’ve never, ever seen her ruffled or even slightly emotional.