Avery opened the oven door and leaned in.
“Things that bad?” a deep, amused voice asked.
She jumped back and touched her arm against the hot rack. “Ouch!” Her face flushed as she looked up into Davis’s concerned face. He wore his work shirt and a tattered Louisiana Tech cap.
“If it isn’t Mr. Classic Clunker himself,” she said with a smile. “You working on a Saturday?”
He nodded. “You need to put ice on that. Looks painful.”
She sighed and scooted around the counter. “By the time I leave this place, I’ll have an impressive collection of scars.”
“I never realized the biscuit business was so dangerous.” Davis followed her to the ice machine and reached past her for ice.
Avery winced when the cold hit the welt but managed a smile. His now-regular morning stops for the biscuit of the day, inspired by the success of the hot-egg biscuits, entertained Kathleen and her. Occasionally he brought five-year-old Jake, a special day brightener.
“Any more news on the sale? Aunt Kathy said the moron nephew paid you another call yesterday.”
“I should be asking you for an update.” She wrinkled her nose. “Your grapevine is much better than mine.” Nearly everyone passed through Davis’s auto shop sooner or later, and he picked up information the way her father attracted hurting souls. He had heard that Martha was being released before Bill had bothered to tell Avery, and he knew when her old house sold before she had seen the Under Contract sign out front.
“I’m still hearing storage units,” he said.
A pang of regret ran through Avery. “I was afraid of that.” She headed back toward the glass case. “What can I get you today?”
“Hmm . . . the special, I think.” He cleared his throat looking around. “And I was hoping you might let me take you out to supper tonight.”
“It’s pepper bacon.”
He frowned.
“Monday’s jalapeño sausage.”
“Are you stalling, or have I slid into an alternate universe?”
“I’m stalling.” She stopped, her hand in the biscuit case. “On a date?”
He pulled a face. “Let me explain: I get a sitter for Jake. We both get spiffed up. I come to your door. That sort of thing.”
She smiled. “I vaguely remember what that was like.”
He looked her up and down. “Not that you need spiffing up. You look great. Always.”
Her apron was draped over black slacks and a short-sleeve black T. Sweaters, as she quickly learned, were too warm for working in the kitchen.
She held back a smile. “You’re desperate, aren’t you? But thanks for the compliment.”
“I’ve heard you drive a hot car.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Corvette engine.”
“That thing can move.” She picked up a potholder. “But I don’t know. I haven’t been out on a date in . . . well, years.” She imagined the look on Evangeline’s face if—no, when—word got around that she was dining with a good-looking mechanic.
“We can drive to Shreveport if you’d prefer.” He gave her an easy smile.
“You’d do that?”
“Would you rather stay in Samford? I can cook, if you’d like. Although”—he looked at the biscuit case—“I can’t hold a candle to you.”
The new bell on the door jingled, and Avery looked up.
T. J. stood in the entrance, his tool belt around his waist. “Handyman reporting for duty.” He strolled toward the counter. He looked as uncomfortable as a dress-shop customer trying to get into a Spandex girdle.
As he approached, his gaze moved from her to Davis. “What you having today, Davis?”
“Whatever the chef suggests.” He eyed T. J. the way Howie eyed the squirrels that tormented him in Kathleen’s backyard.
“How about you, T. J.?” Avery asked.
The front door opened again, and Avery drew a breath. Thank goodness.
Camille entered with a smile. “I love this new bell. So much better than the buzzer.” She surveyed the room, stopping at the counter where the trio stood. “Will you come across the street and give me some decorating ideas?”
The hot feeling in Avery’s face intensified. “We haven’t done that much.”
“You’ve changed the whole look in three weeks,” T. J. said.
Avery’s hand went to her cheek.
“It does look great,” Davis said.
“Your garage inspired me,” Avery said. “Camille, have you seen how Davis has his business decorated? It’s like something out of a magazine.”
“Not the look I was going for.” Davis cut his eyes at T. J.
“I notice your truck over here quite a bit,” Camille said. “My Chevy’s sputtering. You making house calls these days?”
Davis laughed and T. J. grew still. “I’m trying but I haven’t convinced Avery yet.” He winked at her.
T. J. was irritated. Very interesting.
“Well, who’s ready for a biscuit?” Avery asked.
The lunch “rush,” although an overstatement, had passed when T. J.’s electric saw grew silent. Not that Avery was paying attention.
She filled a large paper cup with ice, then sweet tea. No matter what the temperature, T. J. couldn’t get enough tea. He favored her new mint flavor, made from a tiny mint garden she had planted in a pot inside the back door.
Maybe the new owner would move it outside when the weather warmed up.
Today she put a slice of orange in the tea. Then she removed it.
Maybe that was too girlie for a guy like T. J.
Then she put it back. “Oh, good grief.”
“What’s the problem?” Kathleen came in through the back door, Howie running into the storeroom.
“I’m thinking of adding orange tea to the drink menu.” She inhaled, the citrus smell tickling her nose. “Is that too froufrou?”
“Let me taste it, and I’ll tell you what I think.” Kathleen reached for the glass.
“I’m taking this one out to T. J. I’ll make you another one.”
Kathleen smirked. “So that’s how it is.”
“Whatever you’re implying, you’re wrong.”
“T. J.’s a great guy. Next to Davis, he’s the best young man I know. Go for it.”
“It’s a glass of tea, not an engagement ring.” Avery sloshed the tea onto the counter as she snapped the lid on it. “He’s been working hard, and it’s warmer today.”
The more she talked, the bigger Kathleen’s grin grew.
“Davis asked me out for supper tonight. On a date.”
“My Davis? I hope you said yes.”
“He’s such a nice guy.” Avery fiddled with the lid on the cup. “It feels sort of like leading him on.”
A crease appeared on Kathleen’s forehead. “You two make a good pair.”
“I’m not sure.” She fiddled with the hem of her apron.
“For someone who says she wants to start dating again, you’re mighty standoffish.”
“I don’t see you going out on any dates—unless you count taking me and Howie to Sonic.”
“Yuk, yuk. You are so funny.” Kathleen straightened the receipts by the counter. “My situation’s different. Wayne and I had a good marriage, and—” She broke off. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”
In the past, the words would have felt like a punch in the stomach, but not today.
“Every man isn’t like Cres.” Kathleen picked up a pencil, then tapped it on the counter.
“I know that.” Avery couldn’t bring herself to admit she wished T. J. had asked her out.
“Forgive Cres, Avery. Heck, for that matter, forgive yourself. Go out with Davis, and see what happens. And if you can get over T. J.’s lineage, maybe you’ll forgive him too.” She picked up the glass of tea. “Shall I take this to him?”
“I’ve got it,” Avery said and headed outside.