"Best I can do is a burger and a decent conversation," Luka said, hopping onto a stool. He didn't crowd me; he just leaned back on his elbows, his presence comfortable and light. He reached out and gave my ponytail a playful, tug—the kind of touch that was easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. "You look like you’ve been running marathons. Everything okay?"
"The kitchen is a disaster and I think Gary is still trying to dissolve a customer’s pants with soda water," I muttered, brushing a stray hair from my face. "But honestly? I'll take the chaos. It’s better than the alternative."
Luka’s expression softened into something a bit more focused, his eyes searching mine. "Is it? Because I saw the car outside. I figured the atmosphere in here might be a little... pressurized."
"He’s being himself," I said, glancing back at the general area. "Which is to say, he’s currently a permanent fixture in the booth section. I don't suppose you want to sit with them and be the buffer?"
Luka made a face, a genuine, boyish grin that made me chuckle. "And ruin my peaceful night? Not a chance. I’d much rather stay here and see if I can convince the prettiest waitress in the city to actually take my order for once."
I rolled my eyes, missing the way his eyes lingered on my smile. "Flattery won't get you your fries any faster."
The silence didn't just settle; it pressed in like pressure behind glass.
"Luka. Didn't know you were slumming it tonight."
Dominic was suddenly there. He didn't just walk up; he occupied the space, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders a rigid line. He looked restless, like an animal that had just realized its cage door was unlocked. Behind him, Sienna was still at the booth, her expression souring as she watched the three of us from a distance.
Luka didn't move away, but his posture shifted, becoming a little more protective. "Just grabbin' a bite, Dom. Didn't realize this was a private club."
Dominic’s eyes flashed to the counter, his focus lingering on the inches of space between Luka’s arm and mine before settling on me. "The service here is non-existent," he snapped. The words were sharp, designed to cut through the easy air Luka had brought with him.
Beside me, Luka didn't miss a beat. He leaned back on his stool, a lazy, amused grin spreading across his face. "Really? I’ve never had an issue. In fact, I was just thinking the service is the best part of the place."
I felt a spark of wicked satisfaction. I turned my head slowly toward Dominic, matching Luka’s energy with a sharp, sugar-coated smile of my own. "Is that so? Well, if Luka’s happy and the rest of the diner is fed, I suppose the problem must be specific to your table. Maybe it’s the company."
Dominic’s jaw ticked—a rhythmic, violent pulse of frustration. He looked like he wanted to argue the physics of how long a person should wait to order, but he caught himself. He looked at Luka, then back to me, his shoulders sharp. Like he’d never had to sit still long enough for something he wanted to not show up immediately.
"I would like to order," he said, the words sounding like they were being squeezed out of him.
"Oh, you’re ready now?" I clicked my pen with another rhythmic, annoyingsnap. "I thought you were still busy withthe... atmosphere. What can I get for you? Besides a better attitude, obviously. We’re all out of that tonight."
Luka let out a soft, huffed laugh, and I saw Dominic’s eyes darken. He was vibrating with a silent, frustrated energy, but he didn't retreat.
"The special. No onions," he clipped out, his voice tight. "And..."
He paused, casting a look back at the booth that was less about concern and more about pure, unfiltered annoyance. Sienna was sitting perfectly still, one hand pressed flat against her stomach while she stared at the napkin dispenser like it had personally offended her. She looked pale, her usual poise replaced by a rigid, fragile sort of tension.
Dominic turned back to me, his expression hardening into a look of dry, biting irritation.
"Sienna’s decided the smell of the grill is a personal attack on her nervous system," he said, his voice dripping with enough sarcasm to coat the floor. He didn't lower his voice; he didn't seem to care if she heard him or not. "Bring her a club soda. Heavy on the lime. Apparently, the tap water isn't 'filtered' enough to settle her drama."
I raised an eyebrow, my pen hovering over the pad. "A club soda? Are you sure? I thought she only drank the tears of her enemies."
Luka let out a sharp bark of a laugh, and Dominic’s eyes flicked to him—cold and warning—before landing back on me.
"Just bring the drink," Dominic said. He didn't say please. He said it like an ultimatum, his eyes boring into mine as if challenging me to make one more joke. "Before she decides the oxygen in here is too 'greasy' for her to breathe."
"Sensitive to grease in a diner," I repeated, scribblingClub/Lime/ASAPon my pad. "Bold choice of venue on your part, then.Or did you just pick this place because you knew it would make her miserable?"
Dominic didn't flinch this time. He leaned in just an inch, his presence suddenly heavy, pushing aside the light energy Luka had built up.
"I picked it because I had a craving I couldn't get rid of," Dominic said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous frequency that made the hair on my arms stand up. "Her being miserable is just a side effect of not taking a hint."
He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He turned away, his back a hard, unyielding line as he retreated toward the booth.
I stared at his back for a second too long. My brain tried to loop back to the afternoon, but I cut the thought off before it could take root. He couldn't have meant it like that. Men like Dominic didn’t have "cravings" for females in grease-stained T-shirts. He was just being cryptic because he liked the sound of his own voice.
"Wow," Luka whistled softly beside me. "He’s really working on his people skills, huh?"
