Page 75 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

He dialed the number from memory and soon was talking to someone on the other end of the line. “We can pick her up tomorrow, Ezra said,” he told me as he gave me back my phone. “Or Monday, if we’d rather.”

“Any time you like,” I said. I’d drive him to and from town as many times as he wanted me to.

All of this was mundane compared to what we’d just shared. Words weren’t enough to express any of it: a magical time in thehalf-dark, with the rest of the world so far away it had only been a dot at the back of my mind.

“We could eat at the Dairy Queen,” I said. “Don’t they have food?”

“They do. But we’re heading to the saloon so I could buy you those drinks I promised you.”

The way he said the wordyouwas breathy. Like that word was the center of his focus. His promise to me, and the importance of keeping that promise.

I had never met anybody like him in my life, and all I wanted to do was haul him back into that bunkhouse, strip off his clothes, and kiss him everywhere.

But Jake needed to eat, so that was what we were going to do. At the last minute, he went back into the bunkhouse for his hat, for reasons I didn’t know.

I didn’t mind, though. I thought he was handsome in his clean gray t-shirt that was just a bit too tight around the arms and chest. Those jeans that fit him as well as the t-shirt did. His dusty boots. And that bit of five o’clock shadow around his hard jaw. He was an eyeful, all right.

I drove us into town along the dusty gravel road that led to the main road. Shadows of the trees stretched long across field and road alike, cool air coming down from the foothills as the evening turned to dusk.

Since it was Friday night, the town, for all its smallness, was hopping. We had to go off Old Main Street to find a parking space. Jake pointed me in the right direction, and it was only a short walk to the saloon. And not long to wait, as we stood in line to go inside.

“It’s not much of a place,” Jake said. “But it’s friendly and it’s been here since forever.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

We stepped inside. The ceiling was low, and the floor was patches of plywood and squares of linoleum. Someone greeted Jake from a distance: an older man with a white handlebar mustache.

“That’s Howie, the owner,” Jake said. To the hostess who came up to us, he asked, “Can we get a table?”

We soon had seats, though it was two places at a long table shared with strangers. We agreed on the cheeseburgers—Jake insisted I had to try the triple, even though I doubted I’d eat half of it—and Jake ordered for us, reaching for his wallet before I could.

“They’ve got Stella,” he said. “D’you want that?”

“Sure,” I said. “Sounds good to me. Extra mayo for that burger, please,” I added to the server.

The music was a little loud for talking. The walls were covered with metal signs advertising beer and tires and gasoline. To one side of the room was a mechanical bull, tipped forward almost on its horns, waiting for its first daring rider. On the other side, past the already-crowded bar, was a dance floor, though nobody was on it.

“They got line dancing later,” Jake said. He looked at me as though us dancing together was an astounding idea, and I remembered Jesse had a hard time getting Jake to take time off. So maybe to him, it was.

“I’m game if you are,” I said.

Our orders came on a wide tray carried by a young woman who obviously had muscles I couldn’t even see, because that tray was loaded. The cheeseburgers had three patties each. The beers came with tall frosted glasses, and there were two paper-lined plastic baskets of fries.

She served the dishes and the drinks with ease and departed, saying something about running a tab when Jake flashed his credit card.

I wasn’t going to drink much, but it was easier, sometimes, to run a tab.

“You first,” I said, gazing at the burger in front of me. Three patties high, the cheese melting off the edges of the meat in orange waterfalls. “I don’t think I can get my mouth around something that big.”

“That’s not what he said.” Jake took a large bite of his burger, and I’d be damned if there wasn’t that tiny smile, a small curve on one side of his mouth. In his eyes danced pure joy.

This man. This wonderful man. How was I going to make it so I didn’t have to leave him?

I laughed and nudged him with my elbow, in spite of my inner state, all worked up because here we were on a date. It was a date, wasn’t it?

“Is this a date?” I asked, like I was innocent and simply couldn’t tell.

“I reckon it is,” Jake said. “With you being so pretty, and kind enough to step out with me.”