Page 42 of Detour

“Your mom didn’t cook?”

I snort. “Definitely not. She barely even bought food, let alone put it together into a meal.” I look up, saying, “Unless she was trying to impress a new guy.” Even then, I wouldn’t consider that exactly cooking. More like forcing two foods that don’t belong together into one dish and letting them battle it out.

Coty’s eyes search mine.

I clear my throat, cleaning the table. When his hand lands on mine, I yank it away like I’ve been burned.

“Please,” I say to the table, knowing he can hear me, “not tonight.”

“Hey.” He leans his head to the side, catching my eye. I slowly raise my head, meeting his brown eyes. Open sincerity the only thing I see there, I relax. Slightly. “My mom cooked dinner every night. Still does. No matter what. No matter how long it takes my dad to tend to a student, dinner’s always on the table. She thinks the monotony masks the unpredictability that comes from having a cheating husband in the house.” He pauses, glancing around before meeting my gaze again. “I get it. The destruction a parent can cause.”

“He’s a teacher?” My voice shakes more than I intend.

“Professor.” Coty nods, clearing his wrappers as well. “Poetry in American Literature. Never a lack of females in that class. Dad lost sight of the words and started focusing more on the women writing them.”

“And your mom, she knows? And stays with him?”

“To this day. I didn’t though. We’ve always struggled to connect. Him living a slow life full of reading, me wanting a faster pace, we couldn’t find a common ground. But his cheating killed any chance of us ever bonding. I lost respect for him a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry. I,” I shake my head, unsure how much I should say, “never met my dad.”

The silence that follows clogs my throat entirely.

Coty surprises me again, saying softly, “His loss.” Then, “Ready? You got school tomorrow, right?”

He stands, taking our combined garbage in one scoop. I slide out of the booth and follow him out the door. Returning to my Jeep, Coty reveals two candy bars. Damn him, I think ruefully.

We sit on the curb, watching the occasional car pass as we eat our desserts.

“Thank you for that.”

“It was selfish really. I just wanted to watch you eat candy again. You eat it like it’s the first and last time you’ve ever tasted chocolate. It’s kind of incredible.”

My face warms despite the night taking a chilly turn.

“Well, that’s embarrassing, but I meant for everything. The takeout from earlier, tonight, this, now. I, uh, I needed it.” I stare down at my feet, unwilling to face how much truth that sentence holds, how much I appreciate his generosity, how much I appreciate him. His gentle, yet insistent, approach he somehow knows I need. His admission about his family to take the spotlight off mine. He’s perceptive. I knew that from the first time we met but I never thought he’d be able to read me like he does. He picks up on things I’m not even aware of. A fact that both pleases and alarms me. What if I don’t want to be seen? The scarier question is, what if I do?

“I don’t know what happened in your life,” he pauses when I shift, “or tonight. And I’m not asking, Angela. Okay? I just…I want you to know I’m here. I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk. About anything.”

He nudges my shoulder with his.

“What if I’m never ready?” I whisper.

“Well,” he blows out a breath, “I signed a contract with Creekwood, so technically I’ll still be here.”

I bark out a laugh, marveling at how it can feel so good at such a bad time.

“Seriously though, I’ll be here. Remember what I told you?”

He stands, offering his hands to help me up. I give him one and mostly do it myself.

“You say a lot of stuff. How am I supposed to remember everything that comes out of that pretty face?”

Coty doesn’t release my hand as he guides me to the driver’s side. He spins around to face me. Without thought, I step back, rocking on my heels.

“Pretty, huh?”

“That’s all you heard? Figures.”