Barbara Samuel by A Piece of Heaven

As a young woman, she’d found attention of this nature alarming or infuriating. It had seemed an enormous intrusion, an irritation. These days, she recognized the game and liked it. It was animalistic, probably, but what the heck. Still, she didn’t look their way the second time, just kept walking. She
was
alone on the road, after all.
    “Luna!”
    Thomas.
    She paused, thinking of his truck, loaded so heavily with tools and frames, and saw that it was parked to one side. A figure detached itself from the deepest shadows, and she stood where she was, anticipation andworry winding themselves around her lungs as Thomas stepped out into the light.
    Even at fifty yards, he was something to see. A stillness all around him, a kind of envelope that separated him from everything else. Now that she knew a little of his history, she figured it was probably a protective bubble.
    She wouldn’t have minded having a bubble of her own just then. He was as dusty as the others, though he wore his shirt—thank God!—and it didn’t matter. She felt like her feet were at the wrong angles, that she should do something with her hands, and she tucked them in her jeans’ pockets. Even with the dust dulling his hair and adobe on his jeans, what she’d thought of was the split second he’d reached out to put his big hand over hers on the counter.
    He halted about three feet away, standing at the end of the drive. “Hi,” he said.
    “Hi.” Not content with her hands in her pockets, she crossed her arms, aware of the sweat on her neck, the sun burning into the part of her hair.
    He looked away. “I just … uh … wanted to tell you that … um … I’m sorry for being so forward with you the other day.” With an effort that cost him, he raised his chin. “Hope I didn’t offend you.”
    Luna’s mouth opened and said for her, “I did kiss you back, you know.”
    He quit looking everywhere but at her face, and met her eyes. Neither of them said anything. The sun beat down from the hot blue sky, melting the pavement beneath their feet. Luna kept thinking that she ought to just give him a little smile and walk away, but she wanted to stand there. Looking at him. Feeling it—her heart thudding and skittery, her throat dry with anticipation,her skin rippling because he was close. It had been so long since she’d felt this.
    And he looked back, those deep eyes so compelling— bravado and appreciation and a big helping of wariness. It was the appreciation she liked.
    He said finally, “You want to go get a drink with me later or something?” He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Back up a step, maybe?”
    Baldly, she said, “I’m an alcoholic.” That should do it, push him away. “I don’t drink.”
    But Thomas Coyote only nodded, and she saw him put a little piece of her life in place—the daughter had lived with her father. Ah. “How about a sundae, then?” he said in that smooth, rich voice. “I’m kind of an ice cream-aholic, but they let me have a little now and then, see if I can handle it.”
    Only the barest of smiles touched his mouth, but the glow of it was in his eyes. Luna fell in love with him that very second. It swooped through her, burning, and sailed away so fast that she didn’t recognize it. “Hot fudge?”
    “Absolutely.” He narrowed his eyes, looked at the sky. “Say, seven-thirty, at the DQ?”
    “Okay,” she said, and suddenly wanted to cry. Hastily, she backed away, touching her watch. “I have to get back to work.”
    “See ya,” he said, and for one beat, looked at her with something like promise, then turned and walked back down the drive, big as a bear, with shoulders she wanted to touch.
    Her hands were shaking as she turned back the way she’d come, and she reached for her cigarettes and lighter before she remembered they weren’t there. “God, Lu, this is such a bad idea,” she said aloud. “He’shorny and on the rebound and you do not need any complications in