the whole idea of going out tonight. But it’s a little late to cancel, so she reaches for the doorknob.
There’s an awkward pause when they’re face-to-face through the partially open door. It lasts about five seconds, the amount of time it takes Nina to squirm through the door, pushing it the rest of the way open with her body. She wriggles behind Andie’s knees, whining, and almost knocks her over.
Cort reaches out a hand to brace her. “Guess she missed you.”
“Looks that way,” Andie says. “Though I can’t imagine why.”
Nina twists her way between them all the way to the truck, so that Andie stumbles and Cort grabs her arm. He’s wearing khakis and a pressed white shirt, and when her nosebumps his shoulder he smells of heat and fabric softener. His hand on her bare arm is very clean, and Andie’s glad she dressed up a little.
At the pickup, he shoos Nina away from the passenger door. She stops wagging her tail and puts her head down, but her ears prick up when Cort reaches behind the seat and pulls out a newspaper-wrapped package. Opening it carefully, he drops its contents to the ground. It’s a long white marrow bone.
“Ugh.” Andie wrinkles her nose as Nina swiftly picks it up and retreats to the side of the house, tail wagging once again. “I don’t even want to know where you got that.”
“No, you probably don’t,” he agrees. He balls the newspaper up and throws it into the back of the truck. Andie, who has been wondering how to navigate the distance between the ground and the pickup’s seat in her skirt, takes this opportunity to swing herself up using the grab strap above the door frame. When Cort turns around, she’s sitting in the front, knees primly together.
He eyes her for a second, and she gives him a demure smile.
“Nice shoes,” he says, then shuts the passenger door.
ANDIE wasn’t expecting the ride to be so quiet. After the initial small talk about where to eat, Cort seems content to let her gaze out the window. He’s whistling softly again, eyes on the road, as she watches the scenery slide by.
Cort’s silence is so unlike what she’d come to expectfrom Neal, with his aptitude for easy conversation, that she doesn’t know whether to be amused or insulted. But it’s a comfortable quiet, she decides, one that takes the pressure off and lets her simply enjoy the ride.
The landscape between Hartman and Franklin is familiar yet strange, like the aging face of a friend after a long absence. The road that runs between the two towns is still dotted with dairy farms and vegetable stands, but now there are also banks, coffee shops, and gas stations. Andie even spots a mini strip mall, complete with a Laundromat and a Dairy Queen.
In Franklin, the huge brick mill stands forlorn, the broken windows of its outer office gaping like teeth. A huge plastic banner across the building’s side proclaims “Quality Space For Rent!” but graffiti takes up almost as much space as the lettering.
Cort noses the truck between the two pillars that mark the entrance to the mill’s courtyard, and the seats jounce a bit on the uneven surface.
“Um, what’s this?” Andie asks, peering out the window.
“This,” says Cort, bringing the truck to a stop, “is where we’re having dinner.”
There’s a huge stack of firewood outside one of the mill doors. Weedy shrubs dot the foundation, and a crumpled scrap of paper drifts across the courtyard. But the lot is filled with cars and she can see lights on inside the building, so she shrugs and lets Cort open her door.
“It doesn’t look like much on the outside,” he says, as if she hadn’t noticed. He offers his arm to guide her down, andafter a glance at the cobblestones beneath her feet, Andie takes it. Her hiking boots wouldn’t have been out of place here.
She’s unprepared for the din that leaps out when Cort opens the restaurant door. There’s a small entryway, just large enough for two couples to stand in, with
There’s an awkward pause when they’re face-to-face through the partially open door. It lasts about five seconds, the amount of time it takes Nina to squirm through the door, pushing it the rest of the way open with her body. She wriggles behind Andie’s knees, whining, and almost knocks her over.
Cort reaches out a hand to brace her. “Guess she missed you.”
“Looks that way,” Andie says. “Though I can’t imagine why.”
Nina twists her way between them all the way to the truck, so that Andie stumbles and Cort grabs her arm. He’s wearing khakis and a pressed white shirt, and when her nosebumps his shoulder he smells of heat and fabric softener. His hand on her bare arm is very clean, and Andie’s glad she dressed up a little.
At the pickup, he shoos Nina away from the passenger door. She stops wagging her tail and puts her head down, but her ears prick up when Cort reaches behind the seat and pulls out a newspaper-wrapped package. Opening it carefully, he drops its contents to the ground. It’s a long white marrow bone.
“Ugh.” Andie wrinkles her nose as Nina swiftly picks it up and retreats to the side of the house, tail wagging once again. “I don’t even want to know where you got that.”
“No, you probably don’t,” he agrees. He balls the newspaper up and throws it into the back of the truck. Andie, who has been wondering how to navigate the distance between the ground and the pickup’s seat in her skirt, takes this opportunity to swing herself up using the grab strap above the door frame. When Cort turns around, she’s sitting in the front, knees primly together.
He eyes her for a second, and she gives him a demure smile.
“Nice shoes,” he says, then shuts the passenger door.
ANDIE wasn’t expecting the ride to be so quiet. After the initial small talk about where to eat, Cort seems content to let her gaze out the window. He’s whistling softly again, eyes on the road, as she watches the scenery slide by.
Cort’s silence is so unlike what she’d come to expectfrom Neal, with his aptitude for easy conversation, that she doesn’t know whether to be amused or insulted. But it’s a comfortable quiet, she decides, one that takes the pressure off and lets her simply enjoy the ride.
The landscape between Hartman and Franklin is familiar yet strange, like the aging face of a friend after a long absence. The road that runs between the two towns is still dotted with dairy farms and vegetable stands, but now there are also banks, coffee shops, and gas stations. Andie even spots a mini strip mall, complete with a Laundromat and a Dairy Queen.
In Franklin, the huge brick mill stands forlorn, the broken windows of its outer office gaping like teeth. A huge plastic banner across the building’s side proclaims “Quality Space For Rent!” but graffiti takes up almost as much space as the lettering.
Cort noses the truck between the two pillars that mark the entrance to the mill’s courtyard, and the seats jounce a bit on the uneven surface.
“Um, what’s this?” Andie asks, peering out the window.
“This,” says Cort, bringing the truck to a stop, “is where we’re having dinner.”
There’s a huge stack of firewood outside one of the mill doors. Weedy shrubs dot the foundation, and a crumpled scrap of paper drifts across the courtyard. But the lot is filled with cars and she can see lights on inside the building, so she shrugs and lets Cort open her door.
“It doesn’t look like much on the outside,” he says, as if she hadn’t noticed. He offers his arm to guide her down, andafter a glance at the cobblestones beneath her feet, Andie takes it. Her hiking boots wouldn’t have been out of place here.
She’s unprepared for the din that leaps out when Cort opens the restaurant door. There’s a small entryway, just large enough for two couples to stand in, with
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