The Birthday List(51)

I waited, wondering when I’d run into the wall she’d constructed between us, but she surprised me by planting both palms on the top of the bench and hopping up to take a seat.

Did this mean she was done shutting me out? Done avoiding me? Because that would turn my long, shitty week all the way around.

“You know,” she said, “I think that picture was the last time I went to a Bobcat football game. I kind of want to see the expanded stadium. Would you go to a game with me this fall?”

“In a heartbeat.”

That got me the smile I hadn’t seen for way too long.

Damn, I’d missed her these last two weeks. That smile. Her laugh. Her crazy hand gestures. The distance she’d put between us was killing me.

She pointed to the truck. “How’s progress going?”

I turned and leaned against the bench, my hip next to her knee. “Good. I think I’ll be able to do all of the interior myself. I was able to order a new seat and all of the parts. I’ve got a guy coming to replace the windshield next week, and I’ve asked a buddy of Dad’s if he can help with the body stuff and paint.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help. But you’re keeping track of how much I owe you, aren’t you?”

“Sure.”

Whatever the total ended up being, I was whacking it in half. There was no way she was going to pay for all of this truck, no matter what she said. Not when she was trying to run a new business, to support her employees and herself.

“I think I’d better have you save receipts.”

I chuckled. It never ceased to surprise me how well she could read my thoughts. “So what’s new? Everything going okay?”

“I’m good.” She nodded. “I actually just finished a lesson with your mom and I saw your truck so I wanted to say hi.”

My eyebrows came together. “I thought your lessons were on Tuesdays.”

“They are, but I asked to switch this week. I took the whole afternoon off for an appointment.” She reached to the collar of her shirt. She wasn’t wearing her normal restaurant T-shirt today. Instead, she had on some sort of sports bra with a loose, short-sleeved sweatshirt on top. The collar had been cut so it draped across one of her shoulders, teasing me with a patch of flawless skin.

As she yanked the collar wide, I tucked a hand in my pocket so I wouldn’t be tempted to see just how silky that skin was. My cock jerked against my zipper as she kept pulling that collar lower and lower, stretching it so her shoulder was completely bare.

“See?” She angled her back to me and I leaned closer.

“You got a tattoo today?”

She nodded and peered over her shoulder. “My first and only. That thing hurt like a mother.”

I grinned. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“No tattoos?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I just can’t think of anything I’d want to get inked.” I pointed to her shirt, wanting to hold it down so I could get a closer look. “May I?”

“Go ahead.”

My fingers replaced hers at the collar and I gently tugged it lower. I was careful not to touch her skin, knowing it would be tender, but also so my dick wouldn’t get any ideas about where this was going.

On her right shoulder, covered in plastic wrap, was a long string of delicate script—the rest is still unwritten.

“I like it.” I had expected any tattoo she’d get to be something about Jamie, but this seemed more like something just for her. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a song lyric. Something that has always stayed with me.” She adjusted her shirt back over her shoulder as my fingers let it go. “The first few years after Jamie died were hard. I didn’t see any of our old friends much. Mostly I just kept to myself. I worked as a receptionist for a dentist’s office until I bought the restaurant, and if I wasn’t at work, then I spent my time at home or with Finn and Molly.”

I nodded and stayed quiet, not wanting her to stop.

“But after three years or so, I started to get out more. I started running into old friends. They’d always chat with me like old times, but as soon as I’d turn away, I’d hear them whisper widow. That was the first word they used to describe me behind my back. That poor widow, Poppy Maysen.”

She stared, unblinking, at the truck as she spoke, while the anger flashed in her eyes.

“I hate that word. Widow.” Her hands balled into fists on the workbench. “Every time I hear it I want to scream. People say widow like that’s who I am now. Like it’s expected that I stay in this permanent state of grief. Like it’s unacceptable that I’d consider moving on with my life.”

She didn’t have to say their names, but I knew she was referring to Jamie’s parents.

“Anyway.” She relaxed her hands. “That’s when I started to think about doing Jamie’s birthday list. And that’s what my tattoo means.”

“That the rest of your life is still unwritten.”

She nodded and locked her blue gaze with mine. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot these last couple of weeks.”

“Yeah?” My chest tightened as I braced for her to throw up that wall. As I waited for her to tell me I wouldn’t be part of her unwritten.

“Yeah.” She looked to her lap. “You scare the hell out of me, Cole,” she whispered.