Page 30 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

By the time I return the box truck to the hardware store, race home, and throw on something more presentable, I’m already running late.

A quick spritz of perfume, a swipe of mascara, and I twist my messy hair into a hasty claw clip before squeezing my feet into a pair of Converse.

Casual, but still... kind of cute, right?

We’re only heading to a food truck, after all.

Maybe a little “I’m not trying too hard” is the move.

As I slide into my car and crank up the volume, Luke Bryan’s sultry croon wraps around me, enough to distract from the nervous flutter building in my stomach.

I’m excited to see Roman again. This seems like a fresh start, a chance to bury the past and see if there’s still something real between us.

The conversation earlier today felt like us . Playful. Easy. No sharp edges.

Roman’s already waiting on his front porch when I pull up.

Gone is the sleek suit I last saw him in, replaced with a pair of perfectly fitted jeans and a deep green henley that makes my pulse skip.

He waves, flashing that signature grin as he strolls down the steps like he knows exactly how good he looks—and I can’t even be mad about it.

“Ready?” I call out through the open window, barely managing to keep my voice from shaking.

“Ready for the best cheeseburger in town? You bet,” he says, pulling open the door.

He shifts the seat back before folding himself into my tiny sedan, looking oversized and effortless at the same time.

His smile alone dissolves my hesitation about not taking his truck.

He doesn’t seem phased by the tight fit.

If anything, the way he settles in makes the car feel. .. cozy. Intimate.

“The curly fries aren’t half-bad either,” I say, pulling away from the curb. “But I’m not gonna crown them as the best yet.”

“We’ll see if your cheeseburger judgment holds up. A bet’s a bet, my friend,” he teases, hazel eyes flickering with mischief.

The words hit like a warm gust of nostalgia. I grin. “As I recall, I won the last bet we made.”

Roman swallows, eyes drifting to the window. “Priest Lake,” he murmurs. “You did win that one. Never thought you’d actually take the plunge into that freezing water.”

“Freezing doesn’t even begin to describe it. I swear my teeth were seconds from shattering.” My fingers tighten on the steering wheel as if they can still feel the icy bite of the water.

He laughs, head shaking. “And the look on your face when you came up for air? I thought you were gonna pass out. But somehow, you were laughing. I was seriously worried I’d have to tell your parents I killed you.”

I chuckle at the memory. “We took Alayna there last summer. It’s a lot nicer when the weather doesn’t try to murder you.”

“You and Clay?” The question slips out so casually it takes me a second to register the way his hands still slightly on his thighs.

I wonder if he’s picturing that cabin weekend we shared, the quiet hours wrapped up in each other.

That week with Clay had been completely different—full of sunscreen and snack bags and two middle-school girls who never stopped singing.

There’d been no romance, no quiet conversations by the firelight.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “Alayna brought Summer. They’re basically Sarah and me, the younger and louder version. It was sunshine, Taylor Swift on repeat, and two giggling girls splashing in the lake.”

My heart tugs at the thought of her. If Alayna keeps avoiding me much longer, I might have to do something drastic.

When we arrive, the food truck is buzzing. A line winds out onto the sidewalk, every table packed with people laughing and digging into foil-wrapped masterpieces. I snag a parking spot and try to ground myself, but old memories swirl around me like steam from the grill.

“Being a mom really suits you,” Roman says quietly, his voice unexpectedly gentle. I glance over, caught off guard by the tenderness in his expression. “You light up when you talk about Alayna. It’s obvious how much you love her.”

“I’m not really her mom, though,” I say, almost instinctively.

Roman shrugs, completely unbothered. “Doesn’t matter what you call it. You’re what she knows. You’re the one showing up, day after day. That’s what counts. And it’s beautiful, Frankie.”

His words wrap around my heart and squeeze tight. “Thank you,” I whisper. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that until I did.

“Do you think you’ll have more kids someday?” he asks.

The question knocks the air out of me. More. Not your own. More. Like Alayna counts already. The distinction touches something buried deep.

I don’t answer right away. I haven’t let myself dream about that in a long time.

Not since life demanded everything from me just to keep things afloat.

The dream of having a child with someone I love, watching a life grow inside of my own body, has been buried so deep, I’m not sure if it is wise to let it surface now .

Roman notices my hesitation. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “Too personal. Let’s go stand in line before I say something else awkward.” I see him reach for the door handle as if it’s a parachute ripcord and he’ll hit the ground if he doesn’t pull it immediately.

But I don’t want him to retreat—not when we’re finally peeling back the layers again.

“Let’s settle this bet first,” I say, giving him a smile that I hope tells him I’m not scared. “Then we’ll tackle the tough stuff.”

He exhales a small laugh, his shoulders relaxing, ripcord abandoned. “Well, in that case, hurry up.”

We head toward the line, and I’m relieved not to recognize anyone. I don’t want to make small talk with strangers—I just want to be here with him . His arm slips around my shoulders and I lean into him without thinking, our bodies fitting together like a familiar melody.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

I tuck my head against his chest. “More than okay.”

By the time our order’s ready, two seats have opened at the end of a crowded picnic table. Roman grabs them, setting down our plates while I unwrap straws.

He snaps a photo of the food. “What’s that for?” I ask, laughing. “Starting a food blog?”

“Well, if these are the best burgers in town, I’m going to need photo proof for my rave review.”

The woman next to him gives him an appreciative once-over, and I can’t blame her. He looks even better than the burger in front of me.

“Enough talk,” I say, picking up my burger. I know this one well—it’s a masterpiece of crispy lettuce, juicy tomato, the perfect amount of pickle, and a sauce that sings.

He dramatically rolls up his sleeves and takes a massive bite, eyes fluttering closed. “Mmm.”

“It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full. ”

He winks. “I wasn’t talking. I was moaning. I thought you’d remember that sound.”

The girl next to him chokes on her soda. My cheeks burn, but I can’t help grinning. “So does that mean I won?”

He nods excitedly. “I have to finish all of it, you know, for science. But unless I find a cockroach in here, you’ve definitely won.”

The food is phenomenal, but it’s Roman who makes it unforgettable.

I can’t stop staring. The laugh lines near his eyes invite you in, like a secret only you get to keep.

His shirt brings out the golden flecks in his hazel eyes, and I want to reach across the table and brush his hair from his forehead, kiss him there, maybe never stop.

The more he talks, the more I see the boy I loved. But now he’s layered in experience and strength, like time distilled the best parts and made them richer.

He tells me about his students, his hopes for the school, and the possibility of helping coach soccer.

He wants to show the kids who are hard to reach—but who need it the most—that he’s approachable.

His hands move as he talks, expressive and sure.

It’s clear his whole heart is in it—and it’s downright sexy.

Especially the part where he’s making plans that sound long-term.

“What about you, Frankie?” he asks, finishing off his fries. “What’s next for you?”

I hesitate, remembering how he admitted my dreams had been part of the reason he’d left me behind. But this Roman is older, wiser. He seems interested in knowing who I am, and where I’m going, so I let myself share the truth with him.

“I’m thinking of teaching classes at the shop.

Maybe on weekends, maybe week-long specialized projects.

You know, hands-on stuff—fixing things, DIY projects.

I want to help people feel capable, especially in a small town like this where funds are tight for most people.

What if they had access to the tools and training to do some projects for themselves?

Unclog a toilet, install a ceiling fan, resurface a table, fix a sagging fence…

imagine the money they could save and the pride they’d get from learning a new skill.

I have the space and the tools, experience in almost every trade, I know I could make it fun and informative.

Maybe even get my dad to teach a few things.

I don’t have all the details figured out yet, but I’m really excited about it. ”

Roman’s grin is wide and real when I finish. “You’d be amazing at that. Would you ever want to teach some of those skills classes at the school?”

I light up. “I’d love to work with your kids.”

“That’s pretty damn cool, Frankie. This town’s lucky to have you.”

“You really think I can pull it off?”

“I have zero doubts.” He hums in approval, popping the last fry into his mouth.

As I take my last sip, a fat raindrop hits my nose. Then another, splattering on the table. Around us, people scramble, covering food, dashing to cars. I hadn’t noticed the storm rolling in—I’ve been too focused on the man across from me.

Roman grabs our trash and tosses it. Then he turns back, holding out his hand. I take it without hesitation, our fingers threading together like two puzzle pieces.

“Thanks,” I say softly.

He opens my car door for me like it’s nothing, like we do this all the time. I sink into the seat, watching him jog around to his side through a curtain of soft rain.

I’m soaked. I’m smiling. And my heart is thundering like it suddenly remembered what it means to be alive.