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“Two, but who’s counting?”
“And it’s sooooo cold in here,” he wheedled.
“I know. Let’s head over to Collier Springs, get some furniture, and find a place to eat.”
“McDonalds?” he asked with hope.
I hated to break his bubble, but did Collier Springs even have a McDonalds? “Maybe, but if not, we’ll find something.”
There was yet another knock on the door—it was as if the world and his wife wanted to visit. Only this time, it was Chris.
In a wheelchair.
Kind of awkwardly stuck and frowning at the doorjamb, which made getting in awkward. I grabbed the door and held it open for him, closing it when he was through, making a mental note to think about improving disabled access. He stared up at me as if he was waiting for me to ask why he was in the wheelchair, but instead, my head went to stupid jokes.
“You just missed Scott,” I said.
“I know.”
There was so much tension between us, and I wanted to break it. “Is this a thing? Where Scott is, you are, and vice versa?” I deadpanned.
He blinked at me, then sighed with a ton of added drama as he waved at his feet. “All too often. Protective. In my face. I go anywhere, and Scott is watching out for me, or Daniel, or hell, even Mark now that he’s at home more. They’re my other brothers. The only one who isn’t all over me is Michelle, and that’s because she has her hands full with…” He let out another sigh. “Sorry, that was probably a rhetorical question.” He wheeled toward us, and Fox took a step closer to me.
Chris stopped and flicked on the brake. “I owe you both an apology,” he began, his tone more subdued than yesterday. “I shouldn’t have come in all guns blazing. But in my defense, Neil—the sheriff I mean—had to throw out some vandals just before Christmas, and this place meant something to me, or at least Lily made sure it did, so I get overprotective.”
I nodded, with a flicker of understanding for his initial reaction. “Is that who did our resident work of art?” I asked, gesturing toward the back wall. There, in bright neon orange, was the cock and ball graffiti—a jarring sight on the otherwise unblemished surface.
“Yeah, that was them,” Chris confirmed with a sigh. “I wanted to paint it over, but it’s been the third break-in since the diner closed, and then, the will was settled. Suddenly, the place wasn’t the town’s problem and I wasn’t allowed back in. Anyway, Neil—Sheriff Windham, that is—put all the cardboard up and got better locks on the doors because the place was just a magnet for bored kids looking for trouble.” He paused, then added: “Of course, there are the stories about Lily haunting the place. Doesn’t help in keeping away kids who dare each other to get inside.”
I looked around the empty diner, at the graffiti, and it was hard to imagine Aunt Lily’s spirit lingering here. I would have sensed it, I was sure.
Unless she’d given up on me ever making it back here.
“Yay ghosts,” Fox muttered, but I couldn’t tell if he was excited and interested, or sarcastic and dismissive.
Chris chuckled, and the sound was like warmth and happiness, and as he sat there in his winter gear, I caught him staring at me, tracking his gaze from my rainbow beanie to my sturdy boots, I couldn’t help but feel an unexpected tug of attraction.
“What’s with the chair?” Fox asked, and I nearly died. Teenagers had no filter.
Chris didn’t seem fazed, pulled at his pants leg to reveal a prosthetic, and all the breath left me in a rush. That was why he’d been unsteady toward the end of the conversation, yesterday when he’d leaned against the booth.
“Wow, what happened?” Fox pushed.
“Fox, that’s enough?—”
“Car accident,” Chris interrupted, and kept his gaze locked with Fox’s. It hit me then—the car accident where a teenager died must be part of the same story.
“Sheee—”
“Fox!” I warned. Then, I wondered if maybe I should say something—offer condolences? I mean, who the hell did that? Chris appeared unfazed by it all, so why in God’s name would condolences be my first thought.
He glanced up at me. “I thought I could take you both for coffee?” he asked, and levered himself up and out of his chair, a little unsteady, then took a step closer, leaning on the booth the same as he had done yesterday. “Both of you, I mean, get you out of the cold in here and… I know JJ’s has some good pie.” He seemed embarrassed to ask, and I was torn. So torn.
He was as bundled up against the cold as I was, a thick all-weather coat, a purple scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, and a beanie pulled down over his blond hair, just a few inches of the longer layers evident on his forehead. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his blue eyes sparkled, and I found myself caught up in their depth for a moment. Something curled inside me that felt a lot like desire.
What the fuck?
“Coffee,” I repeated.
