She was doubly an idiot because she was thinking about her ex again while on her first date with a non-Greg man.

Hank pulled the truck up to the restaurant, and before she could get out of the cab, he was dashing around the far side to get her door. He’d done that back at her house, too, but she’d been too distracted to notice. She appreciated it now, though, and beamed at him. “Thank you, Hank.”

He gave her a jerky nod, wiped his hands on his jeans, and then went to get the door to the restaurant. He wasn’t holding her hand or touching her, but it was still a thoughtful gesture. Her heels clacked on the sidewalk as she approached the front door, and as she did, she passed what must have been twenty motorcycles all piled into a row of parking spaces. Was this a biker joint? She suddenly felt very out of place in her pink dress and tall heels. But then Hank was right there, looming over her as he held the front door open, and she suddenly felt safe again.

They were seated in relative silence, Becca glancing around at the restaurant. The place was crowded, the faces unfamiliar. There was one restaurant in Painted Barrel, and if they’d gone there, she’d have known everyone in the place. Here, she felt even more out of her element.

“Do you . . .”

She looked up from her menu.

Hank rubbed his beard—had he trimmed it? “Would you like me to order for you?” he asked.

Becca leaned forward conspiratorially over her menu. “You’ll have to forgive me because I haven’t dated a lot, Hank. Is that a thing?” She’d heard it was back in the day, but did men still do that?

His gaze dipped to the gape of her neckline before his face flushed ever so slightly again. But a slow smile broke across his face and he leaned toward her. “Uncle Ennis—Doc—told me it was a good idea.”

She bit her lip, determined not to smile. “Has Doc dated since the Cold War?”

Hank chuckled, the sound raspy and raw, and it made her innards squeeze with pleasure. “Got a point.”

Feeling a little friskier, Becca winked at Hank. “I think I can manage my own order.”

He pretended to peruse his menu. “Guess I won’t have to worry about cutting up your steak for you, either.”

A horrified giggle escaped her. “He told you to do that?”

“No, but I do it for Libby.” He was smiling now, his teeth a white flash under that thick, dark beard. Oh gosh, and now her heart really was racing a mile a minute.

She kept chuckling. “I’ll let you know if I need assistance.”