Love Under Construction (The Love Under Series Book 1) (7 page)

“She’s not home,” I yelled across the porch. He turned to face me, and his expression was hard to read behind his black sunglasses. 

“Door’s locked,” his deep voice bellowed. 

“Kelli is not home,” I answered back. He mumbled under his breath before responding again.

“She ordered some groceries. You know when she is coming back?”

“She had a doctor’s appointment in the city. Those groceries are probably for me.” I stepped down off the porch and crossed the driveway meeting him halfway. I peeked in the top of the bag eyeing my Nutella and hummus.

“Yup, these are mine. I will take them.” I wrapped my arms around the box to take it from him, and he stepped back. 

“Don’t be silly, this box is heavy. I got it. I will take it in for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, there is a bag with bread and chips in the front seat of my truck. You can grab that. I didn’t want to crush them.” He walked past me to the porch. “Kelli didn’t mention she had company. What are you doing here?”

“I’m not allowed to be here?”

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant.” He said softly shaking his head. “When did you get here?”

“Oh, on Saturday.”

“What brings you to Centerville?”

“My friend Aubrey. Her husband is home so I am staying here to … give them some space.” He smirked and gave me a nod. 

“Come on in.” I held the screen door open so he could enter. He walked directly to the kitchen. It was obvious he had been there before. He placed the box on the kitchen counter. If it was anyone else, it might've surprised me with his familiarity, but obviously, he’d known Kelli much longer than I had.

I didn't know what to make of him. I didn’t remember seeing him on previous trips to Oklahoma, but he had to be a close friend if he delivered groceries for Kelli.

With his hands now free, he stuck his hand out for a handshake. “I’m Max. Nice to meet you.”

“Suzie. So you know Kelli a long time? You seem to know your way around.”

“All my life,” Max stated plainly as he began to unpack my grocery bags out of the box.

 He was so different with this blue Mohawk and arms full of tattoos from the rest of the rancher residents of Centerville and all the military guys. I wondered what it all meant—all those tattoos, there had to be a story. Max was not a cowboy, which in itself was surprising. It seemed like you had to be one or the other, or why were you in Centerville? There wasn’t much else here. It was a small town.
Why am I here? I’m not a cowgirl.
Hell, I could barely ride a horse. I didn’t think trail rides with groups hardly qualified with the guys around here. He stood leaning against the counter, waiting.

“Thank you very much for bringing the groceries for me, how much do I owe you?”

“The groceries are covered. I was just waiting for my coffee.” My surprised expression must've been plain to see as he laughed out loud. “I'm sorry, Kelli usually has a pot on. I was counting on a cup of coffee.”

“Are you sure I don't owe you anything?” I said as I rummaged through the cabinet for a coffee filter to make fresh pot.

“I'm just messing with you. You don’t have to do that.”

“The least I can do is make you a pot of coffee. I just have to find the filters.”

“They are in the cabinet in the corner, but really, you don’t have to make coffee. I can grab cup at the diner in town. Do you want to join me?” I was caught off-guard by his offer, and I stood frozen against the counter. 

“It’s not a trick question, Suzie.”

“I’m sure you have lots of things to do. I wouldn't want to hold you up.”

“Actually, my delivery didn't arrive today, so I have the day off. I can't install cabinets without cabinets.” I weighed his offer and decided
why not
.

“Let me just put these groceries away before we go.” 

Max started to unpack the bags, and I protested, “You don't have to do that. I've got it.”

“You said as soon as we get these groceries away we can get coffee, right?” he rebutted as he handed me two containers of yogurt to place in the fridge. 

When the bags were empty, I grabbed my purse, and we were out the door in search of coffee.

All the previous times I'd been to Oklahoma, I had only been to Aubrey’s apartment or her dad’s house on the ranch. I never really explored the rest of the town. I climbed into Max’s work truck after he removed random pipe fittings and wrenches that were strewn on the seat and floor on the passenger side. 

“I usually don't have anyone in my truck,” he said apologetically as he threw tools and various parts into the bed of the pickup.

“I'm sorry, you don't have to go out of your way for me. First my groceries, and now you have to clean your truck.”

“It's my pleasure; I don't think I've ever had a female in my truck,” Max said as he rubbed the side of his head and closed the door.

“So you are a friend of Aubrey’s? Where you from?"

"Dallas."

"How long’s it been since you visited last?”

“It's been a couple years. Last time I came up it was Christmas to New Year’s, after Aubrey’s wedding.”

“Well, this must be a nice change. You actually get to see Centerville in the sunshine when there is still some green and not so cold.”

“So what is there to do around here?”

“Do you ride?”

“Ride what?”

“Horses, silly.”

“No, I’m afraid not. Do you?”

“Yes, of course. It’s not my favorite thing to do, but yeah, I ride.”

“Are you any good?”

“Sweetie, I knew how to ride a horse before I could ride a bike.”

“Somehow, you don’t seem the type,” I said, gazing out the window at the endless fields of green.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said with a scowl.

“I’m sorry, no offense.”

“Funny how whenever people say no offense it usually preempts something fucked up,” he said plainly.

“Just you’re so different than anyone I have seen so far. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I like it. Makes me feel a little better.”

“Better about what?”

“I don’t know. I feel like an alien right about now.”

“An alien? You got antennae I don’t know about? You aren’t going to probe me, are you?” he joked.

“No, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Forgotten. If it makes you feel any better, for the record, I have lived here all my life and feel like an alien.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I had a feeling I had offended Max even if he chose not to admit it. I needed to keep my stupid mouth shut. Bill said I didn’t know when to shut up. I supposed it was my mouth that got me in trouble.

“How about motorcycles?” Max’s deep bass voice broke the quiet.

“What?” I tried to focus on his question.

“Motorcycles? Do you ride them?”

“Only once, and it scared the life out of me.”

“What was so scary about it?”

I pondered his question. “I think it was more the driver than the motorcycle, but I haven’t gotten on one since.

“Well, maybe I could change your opinion, with a different driver.”

Before I could ask him what he meant by his statement, we pulled into the Centerville Diner in town. 

“Come on, let’s grab some coffee, maybe then I won’t have to ask questions twice,” he said as he climbed out the truck.

“What?” I asked just as the door closed. He jogged around the truck to my side as I was opening the door. “What did you say?”

He laughed. “Exactly, sweetie. Come on, I think we both need some coffee.”

We sat down at a corner booth in the diner. Max waited until I was seated in the booth before sitting down opposite me. Despite his appearance, his manners were on point, so converse to the punk facade. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the punk to emerge and him to throw his feet on the table or something. When the waitress came by, he ordered a carafe of coffee.

“So how long you staying?” he asked.

“I’m not.”

“The groceries say differently.”

“I have to eat.”

“People that stay a weekend usually eat out, they don’t stock the fridge with hummus and vegetables.”

He had a point. “I don’t know how long I am staying just yet. I have four months’ vacation.”

“Four months? Wow, that’s a long time; even teachers only get two months. What exactly do you do?”

“Well, I don’t get four months every year. I just haven’t taken a vacation in a long time. So, it kind of built up.”

“So you are just going to hang out and do nothing for four months?”

“I don’t know yet. I might get a part-time job or something to occupy my time. I haven’t really thought about it yet. Everything is still pretty fresh.”

“I can see that.” I bowed my head and played with my hair in front of my face. I forgot about my face. The bruising was fading a little bit, but it was an ugly shade of green. My lip was still cracked but healing. The lip wouldn’t have been such a big deal, lips crack all the time from chapping, but there was no denying I had a black eye. 

“People walk into doors and horses and stuff all the time. I’m a hell of a klutz too,” he said lightheartedly. I was glad he didn’t make an issue of it as the waitress returned to our table. 

“Just coffee today or you guys going to eat something?” she asked, holding her order pad in her hand. 

Max turned to me with a raised eyebrow waiting for a response. My stomach growled in response. 

“Yes, Diane, can we get some menus?” The waitress went behind the counter and returned with menus placing them on the table.

“I will give you two a minute,” she said and walked away.

“Order anything you like,” Max said as he opened the menu and held it out to me. I held the menu, and the names of the dishes were a bit overwhelming. Everything had a name but not very good descriptions besides “eggs, any style” and “choice of toast or biscuit” underneath it. Shit on a Shingle, FNG plate, A Full Hand, Hoecakes and Dippers, Should Have Stayed Home.
Should have stayed home?

“What’s good?” I questioned. 

“Depends on what you like. What do you like?”

“What’s ‘Should Have Stayed Home’?”

“That’s for picky people. Basically, you order what you want. Do you like sausage?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, your stomach is calling in orders so The Full Hand is two biscuits, sausage gravy—and it’s really good—scrambled eggs, and a haystack of hash browns. The Hoecakes and Dippers is a short stack of pancakes with link sausage.”

“That sounds good. What is this FNG?”

Max laughed. “You don’t want to order that. That’s the ‘fucking new guy’ plate. It’s for the soldiers. They throw whatever they have back there on a plate and pour syrup over it and serve it.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Not even a little bit. You probably won’t see one today, but come in here on a Saturday or Sunday morning when those guys are on leave and FNGs come flying out the kitchen. They don’t want to ask what all the menu items are, so they get the ‘special’.”

“That is hilarious. What are you getting?”

“I usually just grab a danish, but since I have company today, I will be getting a Full Hand with cheesy eggs.”

“I will follow your lead. No cheese for me, though.”

“Okay.” Max waved over to the waitress for her to return to the table. 

“What can I get you guys?” she asked pulling her pen out of her apron.

“Can we get two Full Hands, one with cheesy eggs and one without.”

“You got it. What kind of juice? It comes with it.”

“Orange for me, please,” I said.

“Times two,” Max added.

“Coming right up.” She grabbed the menus and went to the kitchen window, placing our order ticket on the carousel for the cook. 

“So, what do you do, Max? You mentioned cabinets.”

“I’m a general contractor. I build and fix stuff.”

“That’s cool. What else do you do besides build stuff and ride motorcycles?”

“There isn’t time to do much else. I keep pretty busy.” 

The waitress came back fairly quickly with our loaded plates of food. It looked and smelled delicious and arrived before there was enough time for any awkward silence.

“Cheese for you,” she said, placing Max’s plate in front of him, “and no cheese for you. Enjoy!”