The trouble with living in a small town is that everyone knows everyone and someone is always watching. You can't get away with anything (in theory) because someone will see you and then the gossip starts. In any given situation what the gossips don't know they invent on the spot, embroidering the original story to a point that it returns to the person who started the gossip as a brand new story.
That's the environment I grew up in and was used to. I was also used to being very careful in given situations. Let some old biddy see me being kissed by a boy and the rumour would be that I was three months pregnant and a hasty wedding was on the cards. Or a girlfriend gives me a peck on the cheek and I was a lesbian, breaking my dear old dad's heart over my refusal to get married.
I actually had no objection to getting married but you need to be asked. On top of that the assorted talent currently available in our immediate area was somewhat short of my requirements. I wouldn't really consider my requirements too onerous. Is it too much to hope for to expect your future spouse to have at least two brain cells to rub together? Apparently?
While I haven't had any proposals for marriage I have had proposals of another sort. That sort of proposition is remarkably easy to turn down, meaning that I was nearly nineteen and a virgin.
I didn't have any hang-ups about sex, or at least I didn't think I had any. When you're in a small town with lots of farms around you learn about the birds and the bees at an early age. You also learn about the bulls and the stallions and tell me what man can measure up to that sort of example.
Being nineteen my parents tactfully advised me that if I wanted spending money then I really needed to be gainfully employed. Accordingly I'd gone looking for work and was now a waitress at the diner down on the highway. It was quite a busy place, situated a half day drive from two cities so truckies going from one city to the other tended to pull in for their lunch and dinner break. Quite a few of them would spend the night in the parking lot behind the diner, grabbing breakfast before continuing in the morning.
I tended to refer to the diner as the proposition palace, as a lot of those truckies passed propositions about like candy. (Sometimes the propositions came with candy.) I steadfastly refused to accept any propositions but I can't say the same for the other waitresses. I'm not saying they accepted any, but neither am I saying they didn't. I just act dumb if asked.
A little bit of information about myself. I'm nineteen (in case you weren't paying attention), still living with my parents, don't have a steady boyfriend (or even an unsteady one), blonde (yes, it's natural), blue eyes (and no, I don't wear contacts), work at the local diner (you should already know that), am quite fit (waitressing in a busy diner keeps you that way), medium in size, and have an excellent figure (according to my mirror and the truckies who try it on). I'm busy squirreling away my money, helped by free meals at the diner and free lodgings at home with my parents. It's my intention to save enough to go on a trip to Europe.
I was working one Tuesday morning. I had the early shift that covered both breakfast and lunch, going home just after lunch with the next shift covering afternoon tea and dinner. I don't know why but Tuesdays are always relatively dead compared to other days of the week. Breakfast is busy enough because we catch the Monday night travellers but lunch was a lazy time. That was both good and bad, light work but also light tips.
It was near the end of the official lunch time when this guy comes in. We get a lot of regulars but this guy I'd never seen before, and I doubt that any of the others had seen him either, because they would have commented.
He was big, in his thirties, about two metres tall, and broad with it, and it didn't look to me as if he was fat. Just very solid. His hair was so black it had that blue sheen you get from truly dark hair. I was going with it being his natural colour as he didn't look like the kind of man who would mess about with nature where he was concerned.
He wasn't exactly an ugly man, but neither was he handsome. I suppose his features were on the plain side, maybe verging towards ugly. OK, pleasantly ugly I suppose you could say. He was clean shaven but honestly, I'm not sure he should have bothered. You could see what could almost be called fur showing as a ring around his neck where he'd stopped shaving. I idly wondered just how hairy he was. My first though on seeing him was that he was some sort of mutant gorilla, but now I was switching this to some sort of mutant bear. From his size a bear of the grizzly family.
He grabbed a seat and I was there with a menu straight away, handing it to him.
"Can I get you some coffee while you decide what you want?" I asked him. "Coffee's free, by the way. We keep it flowing to draw the truckies in."
He gave me a wonderful smile and nodded.
"Coffee sounds great," he rumbled. "Just black, thank you."
I fetched the coffee and he put down the menu as I approached. I could see him looking me over with masculine appreciation and I was thinking they're all the same.
"Thanks," he said as I put the coffee down. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a cute little thing? Ha, what am I saying? Probably all the truckies have said so at one time or another."
I smiled and waited for the inevitable proposition but he surprised me. He picked up the menu and handed it to me and gave me his order, and his order was quite in keeping with his size.
I started chatting with him while waiting for Mike to cook his lunch and found myself telling him about my wish to go to Europe for a holiday. For his part he said he was currently on holiday and was just touring the country in a mobile home, going anywhere he wanted and stopping whenever he felt like it.
His name was Andrew but most people just called him Drew. I told him I was Miranda and friends called me Miranda. Truckies, I said rather acidly, tended to call me Honey or Sweetheart.
His lunch came and he settled down to eat it. I kept one eye on him and refilled his coffee when he finished the cup, with him smiling and nodding his thanks. He finally finished and paid his bill, leaving a very nice tip, I might add. Not an excessive tip, but a nice one. All in all I'd have to say he was one of the politest customers I'd ever had.
Drew was my last customer and shortly after he left the next shift arrived. (We have three waitresses per shift. I was just lucky to score Drew at one of my tables.) I was delayed a couple of minutes during the handover and the other two girls had already left when I went trotting out the back door, the dust from their cars still hanging in the air.
My little car was over to the side, parked under the shade of a big old tree. Parked right next to it, fully exposed to the sun, was this enormous mobile home. Home? This was more of a mobile mansion. Drew's transport was my guess.
I'd reached my car and was burrowing into my purse for my keys when I heard a door open. Looking up I saw Drew stepping out of the mobile home.
"Miranda," he said with a nod. "Shift over and heading home?"
I nodded. "And glad to be doing so," I admitted. "I like your car but why did you park it in the sun? I'd have thought you'd grab any shade that was available."
"Car? Don't insult my baby," he said with a laugh. "You'll hurt her feelings." He tapped a knuckle on the side of the home. "Insulation to stop me overheating." Pointing upwards he added, "Solar panels to keep my batteries charged. I can plug into the mains system if I have to but most times the solar power is sufficient for my needs."
"Nice," I said, meaning it. "It's an impressive looking home."
"That it is. Would you like to have a proper look at it?"
I hesitated. He was a stranger, after all, and he was effectively inviting me into his house. Still, he had shown excellent manners earlier and he didn't look as though he was just waiting to pounce.
"That would be nice," I agreed.
Instead of standing back and letting me enter he strolled along the side of the mobile home and I trotted along after him. Reaching the back he pulled something out of his pocket and pressed a button and the rear wall seem to just slide down and slip under the home. In the partition revealed was this huge motorbike.
"Wow. My brother has a bike but it's nothing like that. What is it?"
"It's a Triumph Bonneville Speed Twin. Very useful to get around when I don't want to take the van with me. You may have noticed that the van is a bit big to just run down to the local store for some milk."
"Mm. I had noticed," I admitted.
Pointing up he indicated that he had a small dish for a satellite channel. What could I say? All the toys of home.
