Free Hale Maree by Misty Provencher

all, so we can make it fit. Oscar hands me
the cake and a carton of eggs.
    “ You go ahead and get in.
I’ve got the rest of this,” he says. When he finally gets in the
truck, he’s got two cinnamon bagels with cream cheese on them, and
a plastic knife hanging out of his mouth. He flashes me a grin
around the knife and hands one of the bagels to me.
    With the cake and eggs stacked on my lap for
the ride back, I nibble on the bagel and realize that the one thing
I’ve learned about Oscar Maree is that he’s trying a lot harder
than I am. And I might want to change that.
     
    #
     
    “ I’m still hungry, are you?”
Oscar says when we’ve dragged the carload of groceries
inside.
    “ Yes,” I say, and the way he
smiles makes me feel warm inside. He takes the eggs from the fridge
and pulls a skillet from a cupboard.
    “ Eggs sound good? I can make
them however you want, as long as you want them
scrambled.”
    “ Seriously?”
    “ Growing up, my mom always
poached them, but I’ve never been able to do it.”
    I step up beside him and take the
skillet.
    “ It’s just boiling salty
water, there’s nothing to poaching an egg.”
    “ Unless you’re me,” he says,
stepping aside. I fill the skillet with water, dump in some salt
from a shaker on the back of the stove, and set the pan on the oven
with a thunk.
    “ Wait, a minute,” I say.
“You just want to see if I can cook.”
    “ Maybe I don’t want you to
see how bad I am at it.”
    I roll my eyes at him.
    “ Whatever,” I say. “You’ve
got a mother that made poached eggs for you?”
    “ I had a mother that made
eggs. My mom died of breast cancer six years ago.”
    “ Sorry,” I tell him, and I
mean it. I hear how his voice dips, and I see how he looks away
across the floor and out the windows toward the beach. “Is your dad
remarried?”
    “ No,” he says. “It’s just
him and me.”
    “ No brothers or sisters
either?”
    “ Nope. What about you?
Siblings?”
    I shake my head, watching the tiny bubbles
beginning to form in the bottom of the skillet.
    “ Just me and my dad. My
mom’s in Texas somewhere, with her new husband and new kids,” I
say. Oscar winces.
    “ How long has she been
gone?”
    “ Forever.” I shrug, as the
skillet bubbles jump up to the top and burst, one after another. I
crack an egg into the water. I don’t know why I say it, but I tell
him, “That’s what got my dad drinking.”
    Oscar steps a little closer, peering into
the skillet. I flick water over the eggs so the tops cook too.
    “ So that’s how you do that,”
he murmurs as if the egg is really interesting. He watches me lift
his egg out, drain off the water and slip it into a coffee mug. I
hold out the cup to him, but without looking up at me, Oscar adds,
“Your dad’s been drinking a while then, huh?”
    “ Yes.”
    Oscar makes a low rumble in his throat. “I
don’t drink. You?”
    “ Yeah right.”
    “ You’re a good girl,
Hale.”
    I shoot him a sour glare. “I’m a woman,
Oscar.”
    But the glare doesn’t do what I expect.
Instead of pushing him away, Oscar moves closer so the eggcup only
separates our bodies at waist level.
    “ Are you now?” Oscar’s voice
is deep and sultry. I think of a dozen comebacks, but every single
one makes me sound like a little kid. With Oscar staring down at
me, and the steam of the egg rising up, the room suddenly feels too
warm. But I won’t let him scare me. I won’t look away. Instead, I
want to call his bluff and let him know I’m not some little kid he
can boss around.
    “ Kiss me,” I say. A smile
teases over his lips. He tips his head to one side and squints at
me.
    “ That’s what you want now?”
he asks. His stare is so intense; I catch my bottom lip in my teeth
without even thinking about it. When his eyes flick to my lips, I
realize what I’m doing and let go. Oscar smiles. “Why
now?”
    I don’t have an answer, because I didn’t
expect the question. I thought he’d just give in