I was rumbling about calories and the lack of healthy options on the menu when Church cut me off with a raised hand and a furious scowl. “Do you like the way you look?”

His sharply spoken question surprised me into silence. I nodded slowly and mumbled, “I do. I mean my hair can be a pain in the ass and when I was younger I hated having freckles everywhere but for the most part I know I’m pretty cute.”

He nodded at me and his scowl turned into a leer. “You are very fucking cute. There is something to love about all women, no matter what form they take, so eat your salad and enjoy your chocolate doughnuts. If a man can’t appreciate what’s right in front of him then he isn’t a man that was raised right and he doesn’t deserve a taste of that sweet skin, no matter how much or how little of it there may be.”

I was so stunned by his words that I let my fork fall back into my very unhealthy salad with a click. “Wow. I don’t think you’ve ever said so many words in a row before.” Minus last night when he was filling me in on his tragic family dynamics. “Leave it up to you to pick some of the best words I’ve ever heard to be the ones you go with when you decide to finally venture into small talk.”

He made a noise that might have been a laugh low in his throat. “I grew up not being white enough for the white kids and not black enough for the black kids. I had grandparents that wouldn’t acknowledge me and a mother that looked like a supermodel but dressed and lived like she was an orphan, because she pretty much was after she had me. She had a baby with one guy of color and then married another one even after she knew firsthand how difficult interracial relationships could be in the south. As far as we’ve progressed as a nation when it comes to acceptance there is still a long, long way to go. You gotta like the way you look because how you look tells your story and fuck anyone that doesn’t want to appreciate that.”

I was stunned into silence, so all I could do was gape at him with my mouth hanging open. I looked ridiculous, but I couldn’t get my head around someone as gorgeous and as perfectly built as he was ever being anything other than admired and sought after. Even now in this nowhere truck stop, every pair of female eyes was on him … and some of the men couldn’t look away either. Not all of the male attention was admiring. Truck stops in the middle of nowhere the farther south we went meant more and more narrow-eyed looks and tight-lipped scowls were sent his way. They seemed even worse when we walked side by side and when he put his hand on my lower back to usher me into the booth across from him.

“I … well, I can’t believe anyone could ever look at you and not want the story behind those eyes. You’re beautiful.” He was, but it was the hardness in his face and the scars that dotted his arms and that peeked out of the collar of his shirt that begged to tell their tale.

“Sometimes all people can see is what’s different, but those differences are what make us who we are. For instance you might fight with your hair but I’ve never met anyone else whose hair I want my hands in all the time. It’s soft and I like the way it feels when your curls don’t want to let me go. I like that you look a little bit like a lion when you get up in the morning even though I know you’re a pussycat. And don’t even get me started on the freckles.” He gave me a look that clearly indicated he would like to find out exactly how many I had and where they stopped. The answer was a lot and they didn’t. I had them all over, so if he wanted to find them all he was going to be a very, very busy man.

“Can you just keep talking? I’ve always liked your voice but it’s even better when you’re saying such amazing things.” It really was. I fell for him in an instant when he went out of his way to make sure I was okay. I knew then that he was it for me, but now that he was letting me actually know him it stung even more to realize that my heart had chosen wisely even though his still couldn’t see what was standing right in front of him. He was a good guy, smart and resilient. I didn’t want anyone to ever look past how amazing and important he was again.

We finished lunch in relative silence after and I wasn’t surprised when he appeared to be done talking for the day. He had used up his daily allotment of words to make sure I knew that he liked the way I looked and that I should like the way I looked just as much. In his own subtle way he also addressed the fact that he wasn’t oblivious to the stares and side-eyed looks coming from the people in the truck stop that weren’t interested in his story. He knew they were there, he just didn’t care.

I wanted to kiss him again, instead I climbed back on the bike behind him and settled in as we pushed our way through Kansas City and all the way through Missouri until we both agreed it was time to stop right before we hit the Arkansas border. We would roll into Lowry late tomorrow afternoon at the pace we were going, which worked well since Elma Mae was due to go home from the hospital the following afternoon.

The ride today had gone much smoother than the hours spent on the asphalt last night. There weren’t any almost accidents, and we were lucky that the weather had stayed temperate and dry. I needed to stretch my legs and work out some of the numbness in my backside when we stopped. Church found a tiny little place that looked like it was a bunch of individual cabins for us to spend the night. Unfortunately, there was a celebration happening in town called the Ozark Festival, so there was only a single room available for the night. The entire town was packed with tourists in for the event and it was one of the only vacancies. The festival brought in people from all over the Ozarks and was a pretty big deal. The guy that handed us the room key mentioned we should plan on waiting if we headed out for dinner anywhere. I did a quick search on my phone to see if there were any other options and came up with nothing unless we wanted to ride another fifty miles down the highway.