“That can wait,” he insists, dropping cash on the counter and finishing his bottle of water. “Let’s go eat.”
I ignore him, though my hunger pangs are clearly paying attention. The thought of a jumbo burger from the diner sounds pretty damn good right about now. Not to mention breaded mushrooms and cauliflower, which is my go-to. They’re not on the menu as a combo, but ever since I washed dishes in high school, Jeff, the owner, always does a mixture of both for me.
“You know you want it. I’m guessing a jumbo burger with extra slaw, mushrooms and cauliflower, and a strawberry milkshake.”
I look up, startled by his accuracy.
Quinn chuckles. “I’ve known you a long time, Charli. You’re not that hard to read.”
Narrowing my eyes once more, I lift my chin and ask, “Because of my resting bitch face?”
He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “It doesn’t bother me.”
I sigh and snatch up the cash on the counter. I retrieve my money bag in the locked drawer and start to put his cash in there. That’s when I realize the amount. “Wait, this is too much,” I insist, counting five twenties. “An hour-long massage is sixty dollars.”
“Keep the rest as your tip,” Quinn replies, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s always a hundred bucks when I go to the other place, so that’s what you deserve too.”
My eyes practically bug out of my head. “They charge a hundred bucks? For a one-hour massage?”
“Well, it’s seventy-five or eighty, and I always leave a tip.”
I should have known Quinn would leave a generous tip.
Shoving the money bag back in the drawer, I lock the cabinet and stand up. He’s still here, staring at me, waiting. That’s whenmy stomach chooses to growl once more. It’s loud in the silence of the expansive space and I’m instantly pissed off.
With a huff, I move to my room, ignoring how amazing he smells as I pass by. I rip the bedding from the table and turn off the waterfall fountain and music. I grab a disinfectant wipe and clean the table, headrest, and footrest. Then I pick up the ball of bedding, flip off the light, and lock the room.
I keep my eyes locked forward as I retrieve my laundry bag from the back room, stuff the dirty bedding inside, and pick it up. It’s heavy, with five appointments worth of laundry inside, but I refuse to show weakness or ask for help. Growing up with three brothers, I’ve learned to stand on my own two feet and not lean on them like so many of my old school-age friends used to do. I’m my own person, and dammit, I don’t need a man for anything.
Making my way back to the front, I set the bag down on the floor and make sure I have everything. The main lights are off, though the entire space is bright from sunlight filtering in through the windows.
“Want some help?” Quinn asks, already moving toward me.
“Nope. I got it,” I insist, popping the P.
He stops in his tracks, torn between wanting to let his chivalrous side take over or let me handle it because I told him I would.
“Come on,” I state, grabbing the large laundry bag and hoofing it to the front entrance. I release the lock and pull open the door, stepping outside and waiting for Quinn to join me. Out on the sidewalk, I key in the code to lock the door and wait for it to do its thing. Once I’ve verified the building is secure, I head for my SUV to throw the bag inside.
Quinn stays with me, not offering to help but ready to do just that if needed. When I have everything in place, I close the hatch on the back of my vehicle and turn to face Quinn. “Let’s go.”
He practically jumps into action, leaping toward me and matching me step for step as I turn and start walking. “Where are we going?”
I don’t slow my stride as I reply, “I believe someone promised me a strawberry milkshake.”
I can practically feel his happiness ebbing from his body as we stroll down the sidewalk. “I did.”
We don’t speak as we make our way to the end of the block. He leaps ahead of me, pulling open the familiar door of the diner. The bell chimes, announcing our arrival and making me smile. It’s familiar. Home.
“Charli!” Jeff hollers from behind the counter.
“Hey, Jeff,” I reply, heading toward my favorite booth along the far wall. It’s away from the door and windows, giving a false sense of privacy, since everyone walking by the windows can’t watch you eat.
“Strawberry milkshake?” he asks from his post as he fills the straws behind the counter.
“Yes, please,” I say, sliding into the booth.
“Chocolate shake, Quinn?”
