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“You might not like it,” he warned.
I waved my hand dramatically. “Proceed.”
He was quiet for long enough that I glanced up to study his face, wishing I could pry open his mind. His jaw ticked as our eyes met, and it was almost like I could see him weighing each of his words carefully, measuring their sincerity individually and then as a whole.
The faint lines around his mouth deepened as he came to a decision on which ones to use. “I’d rather you weren’t on your own.”
For some reason, I frowned. Even though nothing had ever sounded better.
Dawn’s Diner really was at the top of my list of favorite places.
Treading on the black-and-white tiles of Dawn’s and being visually assaulted by alternating pastel-blue and bubblegum-pink booths, my ultra-clashing red hair should have created a giant glare that blinded everyone in the general vicinity.
We’d made it to Dawn’s without issue, if you didn’t count the heavy silence that weighted the air between us. Along the way I’d keyed in the passcode beside the nondescript door of the employee locker room and ducked in to change into leggings and a plain heather-green T-shirt and had taken a moment to redo my wrecked hair, tying it into a neat ponytail with my matching green bandana—one of the several different colored ones I owned—before facing the dilemma of what to do with Vinh’s jean jacket.
Ultimately, I decided to fold it neatly and give it back to him.
But not before giving it a thorough sniff in the privacy of the locker room.
The only negative about Dawn’s was the long trek through the casino floor to get to it, which was by design. Dawn’s was the most family-friendly restaurant at Fortuna with its simple but delicious menu, reasonable prices, old-school jukebox, and tiny vintage 1950s televisions on the table of each booth that only played throwback cartoons and sitcoms.
Families who were staying exclusively on the resort side of Fortuna—there were actually quite a few thanks to the theater, family-friendly pools and splash pads, and easy access to the Coast’s man-made beach—who didn’t intend to gamble had to walk with their families through an entire floor of penny slots.
Penny slots that flashed their lights and blared their music as if to say, “Look! Only a penny for a fun game! Why not take a ‘bathroom break’ and try a few spins?”
It was an effective strategy and made even more so by each family receiving a meal comp ticket exclusive to Dawn’s at check-in.
“This place is… loud,” Vinh commented tonelessly, casting his gaze over the diner as if for the first time, though I knew it wasn’t. I stepped back to see how he fit in with the space, and… nope. Not a potential glare in sight. In fact, if his unruly hair were slicked back to fit the decade’s aesthetic, he would’ve fit perfectly.
“I’m still shocked by it every time I walk in here, as if my memory couldn’t have possibly imagined a place that is so….” Not finding the appropriate word, he looked at me.
“Unapologetic? Surely you weren’t thinking ‘tacky’?”
He smiled softly, but any response was banished by the hostess’s greeting.
“Welcome to Dawn’s. Just the two of you tonight?” She raked her gaze up and down Vinh, who seemed oblivious to her blatant appreciation as he scanned the restaurant for his brother. If he weren’t so distracted, he probably would’ve noticed how adorable she was in her retro red-and-white-striped uniform and matching hat, her dark-brown hair half pinned back with the rest done in large decade-appropriate waves.
“Hi, Kristen.”
Her gaze—which had been lingering on one of Vinh’s scars, or maybe one of his tattoos—snapped to mine. “Oh. It’s you,” she replied, her gaze darting back to Vinh briefly. “Hi, Faust.”
It would take more than that to break my training in the art of Southern manners.
“It’s good to see you. It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”
“It has,” she answered sweetly, “and look at us, both still here.”
I offered her a smile and shrugged, unbothered that she’d ignored my question, and pushed onward. “How’s your family?”
Kristen had a huge family. A bunch of brothers and sisters—more than I could easily remember—but what was even bigger was the chip on her shoulder.
“They’re fine. And how’s your grandmother? Still rich?”
Vinh paused his scan of the restaurant for the first time since we entered the diner and turned toward me.
The fluorescent lights suddenly felt too bright and too hot as my cheeks flushed.
Kristen, sensing Vinh’s attention back on us, laughed as if she were simply reminiscing and leaned toward him. “Faust’s grandmother was such a gem when we were in school. Catering breakfasts for the entire class, sponsoring our dance team…. She really was one of a kind. Such a character—and so involved and dedicated to her girl. What did she always call you? Her little leprechaun?”
