Every good soldier knew when to retreat, so I flagged down the waiter and asked for the bill.
We finished a few more bites of our respective meals before he brought the little black folder. From my wallet, I fished out enough cash to cover the dinner and a generous tip, and waited for Magnolia to gather her purse and stand from the table. We smiled at a few familiar people on our way out of the restaurant, but didn't stop to chat with anyone.
"Where do you want to get dessert?" she asked.
I tilted my head. "Magnolia."
"We always get dessert, and there's no reason for us to skip getting it tonight, no matter what strangers you hiked with today." She wore the expression I knew intimately after so many years. There would be no arguments from me on what we were about to do next. No discussion about the course of action she'd decided on.
Normally it didn't grate.
Normally, I was fine with whatever she wanted to do, because in my mind, there were more important things in life to worry about than dessert or where to eat for dinner or who got to pick the music on the radio. But tonight, it felt like a slap in the face, because of how clearly I wanted to talk to her.
"They have names," I told her. I propped my hands on my hips and faced her. "They are new in this town, and they have names. Grace and her brother Grady. They have families that you know. Their aunt and uncle go to your church. Their father works for your mom. Levi was one year younger than us in school. Cooper invited us to his wedding, Magnolia. And that means they won't be strangers for long."
Given we were standing just outside the restaurant, and dusk had barely draped itself over the sky, the sidewalks of downtown were still busy enough that people walked within earshot. A man with a Titans ballcap gave me a look as he passed us, like he was worried about the way I was confronting the woman in front of me.
Magnolia, even with the heels on her feet, was a solid ten inches shorter than I was, and I softened my posture. I held out my elbow, because she liked holding on to it while we walked. Her fingers curled lightly onto the top of my arm, but she held her body away from me as we started down the sidewalk.
"It's not like you have to befriend everyone in town, Tucker." She glanced up at me. "You're not the Green Valley welcoming committee."
"No," I agreed easily. "Wouldn't that be your dad's job? Or yours, as his office manager?"
Because of the skin tone she inherited from the mix of her parents, it took a deep blush for Magnolia's cheeks to turn red, but my pointed statement did it. Even worse than the blush, I saw her eyes brighten with glossy tears.
"I'm not trying to embarrass you," I told her.
She sniffed, lifting her chin and blinking away the tears. "Yes, you are. You're trying to make me jealous of some California bad girl with her black boots and fake blond hair."
A smile spread before I could stop it. "Since when have you been jealous of anyone a day in your entire life?"
Her chin lifted a notch, like I knew it would. "I haven't. I said you were trying."
Something she said hit me, and a chuckle escaped my mouth.
She glanced up at me. "What?"
I clucked my tongue. "Magnolia Marie MacIntyre, how'd you know she wears black boots?"
Instead of laughing, or admitting that she'd pried the information out of someone, Magnolia slowed to a stop and let out a measured breath. "Because she's getting ice cream with her daddy, right in front of us."
My head jerked over to the small white building where we were headed, and sure enough, underneath the red and white striped awning, in line behind a family, was Grace and her father.
He was taller than her, with a stocky build and thinning hair, grease stains on his dark jeans, and wearing a T-shirt from the Bait and Tackle. He wrapped his arm around her, and she leaned into him when he said something, that smile on her face that she seemed to reserve for her family, the one that was wide and bright and happy.
Until she looked over and saw us, and her face morphed into something else entirely.
When I was younger, I used to watch this cartoon on Saturday mornings about a group of superheroes. One of the bad guys had a weapon, a gun of some sort, that blasted the good guys with a pulse of energy so strong that their powers were knocked straight from their bodies.
Catching Grace's eyes right then, with Magnolia's hand locked around my arm, felt like getting hit with that blast. Except it didn't knock me backward or strip me of anything vital that I couldn't recover.
Something filled me, slipped quietly into my veins, and pushed through my muscles, something dangerous and strong that I wanted to rip out with my bare hands because of how it made me feel.
I wanted to back away, pretend like we hadn't seen her. I wanted to rewind the clock and stay right in front of the restaurant. Hell, I'd go back to watching Magnolia talk endlessly about her day if I could.
I wanted to be anywhere else, with Grace Buchanan looking at me like she was, with Magnolia at my side.
My girlfriend tightened her grip on my arm and looked up at me. There was no malice in her eyes, no panic over what she was about to say. Maybe I'd gotten through to her, or maybe Magnolia just felt such security
