Since she had not heard from him all day, Lucy had not been sure that Brantley would remember she had agreed to go out with him. Could be that, since she’d finally acquiesced, he’d crossed her off his list and moved on—like he had that night in Savannah.

But shortly before she got off work, he texted: Been working all day. Pick you up at 7. And he had. Right on time.

She wondered where he would take her, but she should have known it would be the diner. That was the place to go on Friday night if you wanted the world to know—and for some reason he still seemed intent on marking his territory.

It wouldn’t last, but that was okay. She’d finally faced that she needed to get Brantley out of her system so she could move on. No one could deny that he was good company and supremely entertaining. She would enjoy it as long as it lasted. She even intended to sleep with him, but not tonight and maybe not this month or next. It would be a time of her choosing because, this time, she would be in control. If they kept it light and breezy, it might even last until the Brantley Building was done and he left town again. If it didn’t, fine. She wouldn’t care and she would still do her job.

At the diner, it took a full five minutes for them to get from the front door to the first available booth. Everyone wanted a little Brantley magic.

“Lucy Mead, I have never fought as hard for a date as I have for this one,” Brantley said after they were settled across the table from each other.

“I doubt you’ve ever had to fight for a date at all.” Lucy dug her hand sanitizer out of her purse and rubbed some on her palms. She offered some to Brantley with a raised eyebrow.

“No. I like to wallow in my own filth. Besides if a man starts using hand sanitizer, the next thing you know, he’s growing orchids and making stained glass.”

“Or maybe not getting the flu.” She replaced the little bottle in her makeup bag and zipped it.

“I don’t get the flu. And it’s true; I haven’t spent a lot of energy trying to get dates. But damn, girl, you confound me. It briefly crossed my mind to ask Missy for advice—but only briefly.”

“Thank God for small favors.” That was all she needed.

“I did not dare. I have warned her too many times to stay out of my love life. I would never have heard the end of it. She would have built a float for the Merritt Christmas parade with a glitter banner that said, ‘Brantley needs Missy to Mess in His Business.’ But you would have been worth it, Lucy.” He winked and before she could stop him, he picked up her hand and kissed the back of her wrist.

Her stomach took a nosedive into the sea and caught a wave.

“I am hoping we have gotten to the simple part now, where I don’t have to beg you to see me. I am hoping you can see that this doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Simple part? He thought he was simple to deal with?

“Well, what do we have here?”

Lucy looked up. Oh, no. Lou Anne herself set water and menus on the table. She didn’t usually work on Friday nights. Lou Anne loved Merritt High football so maybe she, like her customers, hadn’t known what to do with herself tonight. Lucy removed her hand from Brantley’s and he stood to give Lou Anne a hug.

“I hear you’re back for good,” Lou Anne said.

“For good or evil,” he said lightly. “But at least for a while.”

A while. That said it all. Never forget that.

“Any chance our girl here might inspire you otherwise?” Lou Anne asked with a little knowing smirk.

“She is an inspiration.” Brantley settled back into his seat and opened the menu. “As is your chicken and dumplings and banana pudding.”

Great. Just what every girl wanted—to be compared to dumplings and pudding.

“Meatloaf and fried chicken tonight,” Lou Anne said. “Fried green tomatoes. Maybe the last of the season. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

Lucy’s mouth literally salivated. She wanted it all. She hadn’t known what her food choices would be tonight, so she had only eaten a container of yogurt and some raw vegetables today. She’d had to save all her calories for tonight because if she only ordered a bit of broiled fish or a salad, Brantley might tease her about being on a diet, remember how fat she had been, and run from her for fear that she might get that fat again.

Not that she cared; not that she could afford to care.

Brantley was clearly not worried about what he was going to eat. Not that he had to.

“She’s got pumpkin pie tonight!” he exclaimed. “I love pumpkin pie. Why does everybody think you can only have pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving time? Why can’t we have pumpkin pie on the Fourth of July, Easter Sunday, and every other day?”

“Maybe because pumpkins aren’t in season then?” Lucy suggested.

“I can send an email to Japan in less than two seconds. Somebody ought to be able to figure out how to make pumpkin pie happen year round.”

“It’s a tragedy.” Lucy looked at her own menu.

“You got that right. I’m having fried chicken, field peas, broccoli rice casserole, and fried green tomatoes. And I am ordering my pie up front so I don’t get left out if she runs out. How about you?”

She really wanted to have what he was having, but that was way overboard. The trick was to make it appear like she could eat like a normal person who went to the gym—not like she was depriving herself or like a pig that had been saving up all day.

“Meatloaf, green beans, carrots, and fried green tomatoes.” The tomatoes were the splurge and she would have a piece of cornbread.

“Dessert?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” she said as if she didn’t want it.

“Are you sure? I’ll buy you all the pie you want but I’m not giving you a bite of mine. I know what that turns into. I’ve been on the wrong end of Missy Bragg wanting just one bite.”

“I’ll eat first, and then see,” she lied.

Lou Anne brought them iced tea and took their orders. Thankfully, she seemed to have no more time for editorial comment on the fact that they were here together. With any luck she wouldn’t call Missy.

“Don’t come crying to me if there’s no pie left,” Brantley warned.

“I can contain myself.”

“There will be pie at Big Mama’s table on Thanksgiving,” he said with some hesitation. Then he added, “I want you to come.”

She laughed. “To your family Thanksgiving? No.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” He looked at the table, and did his voice shake a little? No. She must have been mistaken. He met her eyes again, all oozing golden smiles and cocky head toss. “My daddy and I are going to fry a turkey, I reckon. Evelyn will make the dressing. Plus, the pumpkin pie. You should come. Sit by me. Let me run my hand up your skirt while we eat cranberry sauce. Let me smear pie on you and lick it off.”

“Brantley!” She looked around. “Be quiet. Someone will hear you.”

“I’ll be quiet if you’ll come to Thanksgiving. We’ll watch football later.”

“No. Aunt Annelle and I have plans. It’s just the two of us this year.”

“Bring her. Aren’t she and Big Mama buddies anyway?”

“Yes. They’re on the church altar guild together, but you can’t just invite people to someone else’s holiday meal.”

“That is where you are wrong, Lucy. I can. I can go break out every inmate in the county jail and march them in to Caroline Brantley’s table and all she would care about was that I was there. I am adored.”

He sounded a little sarcastic. She’d never heard that out of him before. For some reason it made her uncomfortable. Some people could do sarcasm but it was a bad fit with Brantley.

“I cannot come to your family’s Thanksgiving, Brantley,” she said. “Annelle has plans for us.” She was surprised that he looked truly disappointed, maybe even upset. Well, life was full of disappointment. Brantley had not learned that well enough.

“Okay,” he said. And that was all. She could never remember another time when he had uttered a one-word sentence.

Time for a subject change.

“So,” Lucy said. “Miss Caroline called me today. She said the press conference would be Monday afternoon. We need to talk about that.”

“We do not,” Brantley said. “Not tonight. I don’t intend to have any conversations that would allow me to deduct what I spend tonight as a business expense.”

What? She had counted on talking about this.

“You can’t mean that. We need to make a plan. Know what we’re going to say.”

He shrugged. “It won’t be any problem. Big Mama will do most of the talking—about how she’s giving the building to the city and what it’s going to be used for. Where the present tenants are moving. Time frame for the restoration.”

“Brantley! We cannot go in there with nothing.”

“We won’t.” He took a drink of his tea. “I’ve been thinking on this. Got a few sketches. I’ll bet you have too. I’ll round us up an easel. Mount my pictures on a presentation board. If anybody asks any questions, we can answer them. Probably.”

“I do not like probably.” And she did not. She liked assurance. Preparedness. Guarantees.

“No? Lucy Mead, probably is the best life has to offer. There is no more.” His eyes turned upward. “Except this. Here comes our food.” He met her eyes. “Probably.”

If there had been any awkwardness, it melted away as they ate and bantered with each other and the people who stopped by their table to say hello.

It turned into an easy night with easy talk and easy laughter. Simple even. And true to her word, she didn’t order dessert though—in spite of what he’d said—he shared his beloved pumpkin pie.