“Well, I’ll give my number to you to give to him before you leave.” Tilly pulled out her pad and pen. “You”—she poked Jackson in the arm with the tip of her pen—“have lost a good chance. I’ve given you forever to call me, but I see you’re more into red-haired ladies. Now it’s Flynn’s turn. Don’t pout or cry. If he doesn’t work out, I might still break you two up and make you the happiest man in the state of Texas.”

“Do you always tease customers like this?” Nessa asked.

“Who says I’m teasing?” Tilly gave her a broad wink. “Now, what can I get y’all to drink, and are you ready to order?”

“Sweet tea for me, and I’m ready if Nessa is,” Jackson said.

“The same to drink for me, and I want a double bacon cheeseburger and fries,” Nessa said.

“Just double that, and afterwards we’ll share one of your brownie sundaes,” he said.

“Got it, and here’s my number for Flynn.” She tore a page from her notepad, wrote her number and a double heart at the end, and then handed it to Nessa.

“Is she always this forward? I thought it was just because she knew Flynn from way back when,” Nessa whispered when the woman was out of hearing distance.

“That’s why I steer clear of here.” Jackson nodded. “Thanks for being my date tonight, but you do know you’ll have to come in here with me anytime I want one of their big, juicy burgers, now don’t you? I got to admit, though, I feel kinda sorry for Flynn. Being around that woman would be sort of like dealing with alcoholism and having someone hand him the keys to a fully stocked bar, wouldn’t it?”

“Flynn isn’t an alcoholic. He’s . . .” Nessa slapped her hand over her mouth. “Has he talked to you?”

“A little bit, but I got a lot of his story from Miz Lucy. She said that he was like his grandfather and his father in that he liked to chase women. I got the feeling she didn’t care if she saw either Matthew or Flynn very often in recent years,” Jackson answered.

Tilly brought their drinks and tapped the paper that Nessa had laid on the table. “Put that in your pocket, woman. I don’t want you to forget it.” Then she rushed away to wait on another customer.

“He seems to be like his father, but I know I’m not like my dad.” Nessa picked up the paper and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans. “I strive hard not to be like him, but I don’t mind being like Nanny Lucy.”

“Why? Don’t answer if that’s too personal,” he said.