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He looks at my outstretched hand for a moment, his lips twitching, then shakes it. His hand is so big, I swear it swallows mine up, and his grip is firm and commanding. The kind of grip I’d love to feel in my hair, or on my hips. “How are you doing, Miss Clara June?”

Miss Clara June. He’s called me that once before. People usually call me Ms. Colt or Clara June, but Miss Clara June? It’s sweet, and adorable, just like him, and I love it.

“Good. You alone or waitin’ for more?” I ask, picking menus from the wooden box on the wall. When he says he’s all alone, a spark of relief shimmies up my spine, though I have no clue why.

His boots click against the linoleum as he follows me to his booth, tucked into the very back.

I catch a whiff of sweat and sunshine when he lifts his hat from his head, placing it on the seat next to him.

“So what’s good here?” he asks, making the oversized laminated menu look like a piece of receipt paper between his large hands.

I swallow against the flutter in my throat and the excitement sparking off low in my belly.

“You’re a Bluebell native. Surely you don’t need my recommendation,” I tell him, digging my pad from the front pocket of my apron. With my pen at the ready, I’m almost knocked to my butt from his response.

“I’d like to know what you like here, Clara June.” Then he just stares into my eyes, a little smile curving his lips, that mustache of his coaxing me for a ride.

Dammit. I haven’t had an orgasm in way too long. A mustache ride? Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I foolishly worry he’ll know I’m completely sexualizing him in my mind, so I divert focus and tap my pen on his menu.

“Here,” I say, waiting for his eyes to follow the pen. But he looks at me a second longer, and I swear when he finally looks at the menu, I let out a little sigh beneath my breath. His focus is almost too much.

“Chili?” he reads, and it’s then I realize I’m not actually pointing at my favorite thing.

“Ah, oh, no,” I stammer, stepping back to align myself with his booth. I lean down and press the end of my pen toward my actual favorite. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

I can’t help but steal a glance down the two open buttons of his dress shirt, and I feel like a total man doing it but damn. His chest is tanned, and I wonder if he does yard work or goes running with his shirt off. I straighten, and take a step back, and he watches me with the tiniest of smiles.

“Grilled cheese and soup. That sounds like a classic. Do you like the classics, or is this one just really good?” he asks, setting his menu flat on the table, splaying his hands over it casually.

My eyes slip down to them, and my core tightens, but I play it off, slipping the menu out from beneath them.

I hold it to my chest, realizing as it presses against me that my nipples are hard.

“There isn’t much on the menu that I don’t like, but yeah, grilled cheese and tomato soup is a classic. And here, it always hits the spot.”

He pinches his shirt, fanning his chest a little. “Even on a warm day?”

I nod. “Even on a warm day.” I need to walk away. Tables are waiting, and Dolores is coming on shift in a few minutes. She’ll take his table, and I likely won’t get the chance to talk to him again before he leaves. And I don’t know why, but that makes me a tiny, itty bit irrationally sad.

Nervous and uncomfortable for having told him what I like, I start to rattle off the boys orders, providing a barrier.

“Rawley likes the club with extra bacon, Tanner always gets the chicken tenders and fries, and Archie surprisingly loves himself a Reuben.” I don’t know why I'm saying this, but he’s listening, his eyebrows lifting to his hairline when I tell him my youngest likes arguably the most disliked sandwich on the menu.

“I know—you wouldn’t think a kid would like sauerkraut, right?

” I shake my head, suddenly so aware of my dull Dawn-washed hair, and the bags beneath my eyes. “That’s Archie, though. ”

He smiles. “And you like the grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

I cannot help but return his smile. “I do.”

“Good to know,” he says. “How’s Tanner doing at home? I was hoping I could swing by and see him, maybe check on his history paper, too.”

He wants to visit Tanner, and that melts me a bit more than it should.

Years of neglect from a husband will do that, and I’m referring to when Troy was still here, living under the same roof as me.

By the time he left, sometimes I think his abandonment was a gift.

“I’m sure he’d love to catch up on the team, and I know he’d love to see you. ”

Dean’s reactive smile flutters through my veins. “Did he like the jersey?”

I shake my head and slap my palm to my forehead.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I should have called you or had him call you. I’m such a jerk.

He loved it, and that was so nice of you.

” A mortification sinkhole opens up beneath me.

This man went to the hospital, found my son's nurses, got the jersey, had his mother fix it and drove it to my house at night because he knew my son wanted it.

And I never even followed up.

Dean’s laugh is hearty, rich and surprising.

It leaves bumps down my back and my nipples achy.

“Clara June, don’t worry. I know you got your hands full with the boys and the car, and all that.

I’m not asking because I want to be thanked, I’m only asking because Tanner’s new jersey came in early today.

And I thought maybe he’d like to shadowbox the old one, unless of course he thought it was silly we pieced it back together. ”

“Shadowbox?” I repeat while still processing the fact that this man is thinking on a sentimental level for my son. Something I have only ever done .

“Well, it’s his first year as starting quarterback. Maybe one day when he’s on the Forty-Niners, he’ll want to see where it all really started.” Dean shrugs, as if the idea is just whatever. No big deal.

“That’s a really cool idea, and a good way to keep the old jersey alive. He’s sentimental about it, that’s for sure.”

“Well I’ll bring the new one with me, and the frame for the old one.

I picked one up, in case he needed something to do aside from classwork,” Dean says as Dolores rushes past me toward a table, tying her apron behind her as she does.

She’s not a single mom but she's addicted to Days of Our Lives reruns and hasn’t quite mastered recording live TV to watch later.

“I’ll be over in a sec, hun,” she says over her shoulder, alluding to Dean.

“That’d be nice. Thank you, that will definitely bring up his spirits.

” As much as I want to slide into the booth and talk to Dean for the rest of my shift—which is genuinely not something I’ve ever wanted to do with any man—I have to get back to work.

“Well, Dolores will be taking over your table so, I hope you have a nice meal.” With one last smile, my cheeks flaming and my insides roiling with undeniable heat, I start to walk away but Dean stops me.

“Clara June,” he starts and from two paces away, I turn.

“Yes?”

“Think I might be able to give you a call tonight? When you’re off?

” he asks, and I catch a glimpse of the gold ring adorning his pinky, the Bluebell Bruisers State Championship ring from last year, which is small town equivalent to a Superbowl ring.

The ring reminds me of what I had momentarily forgotten: Dean is Tanner’s football coach, this phone call is likely to talk about Tanner and everything going on with him .

Right?

“Ah, sure. I’m probably gonna be here till eight.” I chew the side of my cheek. “Is that too late?”

“Na,” he says, “that’s just fine. And I know you’re busy. I won’t take more than a few minutes of your time, I promise.”

I would give you all the minutes . “Alright.”

I go to leave but once again, he stops me. “Text me so I have your number,” he says before hesitance wedges in. “If you still have my card.”

I know exactly where that card is. It’s in my nightstand drawer, and why I put it there , I have no idea. It’s a business card. Tanner’s coach and teacher’s contact information because my son is on long-term independent study and he’s healing from a sports injury. Having his number makes sense.

Putting in the nightstand drawer where I keep my vibrator, on the other hand, makes very little sense.

“I have it.”

“Great.” His smile knocks the wind out of me in the best, most scariest ways. “Looking forward to speaking with you later.”

I just smile, and then instead of walking to my next table, I float.

So it’s just a phone call about my kid. Okay, that’s not a big deal and certainly no reason to believe I can break my can’t-orgasm streak.

But as a single mom working endless hours with no plans in sight to date or even get laid, I let myself float and enjoy Dean’s attention.

In a few years, when Tanner graduates, it’ll be gone.

May as well enjoy while I can.

So I float.