Shaking my head, I continue toward the diner situated on the corner of the block. Muffled barking greets me as I pass Bree’s family’s animal shelter. The bright lights of the grocery store across the street are cheerful and welcoming, and a few late-night shoppers duck inside.
Wrapping my black winter coat tighter around my body, I stand in front of Double Shot, admiring the view from outside for just a moment before heading into the chaos. I’ve arrived at the diner with a few minutes to spare before I’m due to meet Bree and her girlfriend. Evan and Catalina will be showing up at some point later. Evan was vague about what time, and that’s fine. It gives me time to catch up with my best friend.
And even if a certain person I am anxious to seeisn’tthere, I’m sure to run into other old friends and acquaintances.
Double Shot Diner is Blue Field’s social hub. In the mornings, one can come in for classic breakfast food and coffee to die for. During the lunch and dinner rush, a typical diner fare menu is served: sandwiches, burgers, and steak with homemade mashed potatoes.
Folks can enjoy a beer or glass of wine with their supper, but when the after-dark crowd comes out, the diner is transformedinto a bar.
Beloved local diner by day, modern day tavern by night—hence the play on words with the name. A double shot of espresso, or a double shot of vodka? Guest’s choice. The owner, William, thinks he’s very clever coming up with that one—and I agree.
I pull open the door, quickly scanning the room for a familiar head of pale pink hair. Bree turns to look my way at the same moment I spot her, and twin grins split across our faces as we run to meet each other in the middle of the crowded tables and chairs.
We bounce up and down, hugging each other tightly like little kids and not two women turning thirty next year. You would never guess that we just saw each other a month ago.
“My Mellie! I fucking missed you!” Bree screeches into my ear, then tugs me over toward the bar. Her girlfriend she abandoned is leaning against the counter, giving me a wide smile as we sidle up to the stools. Bree wraps her arm around the pretty woman’s shoulders, who slips her arm around Bree’s curvy waist.
“Is this Mellie?” Her voice is slightly husky and it matches her appearance perfectly. She has pale skin and long black hair which hangs down to her shoulders in waves. Her eyes are a piercing blue that crinkle in the corners with laugh lines. Her eyebrow and nose are pierced, and her black shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, tattoos peeking out from beneath the fabric.
“Yes! Mellie, this is my girlfriend, Brooklyn. Brooke, this is Mellie, my oldest friend in the world.” Bree is beaming as she glances between us, her two favorite people meeting for the first time. Her pink hair has been cut short to her chin since I last saw her over Thanksgiving, which accentuates her heart-shaped face and wide brown eyes. The ivory-colored sweater she’s wearing compliments her warm, olive-toned skin. She is positively glowing.
“Hey, it’s so nice to meet you, Brooklyn.” I reach out with a hand to shake hers, smiling at the couple. I am genuinely happyto see Bree so content. Our breakup is still fresh, but I have no bitter feelings toward either of them. Bree traded up, in my opinion. Brooklyn is hot.
“Nice to finally meet you, too,” Brooklyn responds. She looks over her shoulder to flag down the bartender. “Drink?”
“Sure, I’ll have a beer. Something citrusy,” I answer, skimming the bar to finally take in the scene.
I spy a few familiar faces in the crowd, waving across the room to a table of old classmates that we graduated with. It seems I’m not the only Blue Fields alumni home for the holidays as I recognize a few people who’ve also since moved away from our hometown.
I turn back to the bar and shrug out of my coat, then hang it on the back of the stool along with my backpack. Settling into my seat, I plant my feet on the bottom railing and spin to face Bree and Brooklyn.
But I look past them as one voice in particular drifts over the chattering around us. A voice that I would know anywhere, one that was my constant companion for half of my life. My palms immediately feel clammy again. It’s like one of those scenes in a movie, slow motion and all.
He’s behind the bar, just past Brooklyn. His deep brown hair is grown out, hanging down past his chin. He hasn’t noticed me yet, focus trained on the woman in front of him as she makes a joke, a smile breaking wide across his face as he laughs.God, that laugh. The sound of it washes over me, wraps me up in its throaty timbre, transporting me back to countless days spent in his grandparent’s bookstore. The gazebo. In the fields of blue flowers. The entire town is awash in memories of that laugh, and I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment, my senses going into overload.
When I slowly open them again, I watch as he wipes a towel across the bar top before flipping it over his shoulder, finally turning to see our little trio before him. Brooklyn catches his attention, signaling for another round of drinks.As she places her order, his eyes meet mine, widening slightly—so quick I almost think I imagine it.
Ronin.
Ronin. Here, at the diner. As our bartender. Bree could have fucking warned me.
He’s still watching me, and his throat bobs slightly as he swallows. I’m frozen, stuck in his gaze, until he finally ducks down, reaching under the bar for a fresh glass before moving to the taps behind him to fill it with the foamy beer. His jaw works as he waits, until he finally turns and places my beer in front of me, meeting my eyes once more.
“Hey, Mel.” His deep voice sends chills down my spine. “It’s really good to see you.”
I struggle to find my words, as if hearing the nickname is holding me captive. Nobody else calls meMel. My throat suddenly feels dry.
“Hi,” I finally manage to croak out before I break eye contact, picking up my beer and taking a large swig. When I set it back down on the counter, I find him still watching me with intensity. I clear my throat. “Hey, Ronin. Good to see you, too.”
A small smile plays at one corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he picks up the empty glasses in front of Bree and Brooklyn and turns to refill them. I let loose a deep breath and lift my hands in frustration.
“What thefuck, Bree?” I angrily whisper at her. “A little warning next time?”
She gives me a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry! Honestly, I’m so used to him being here that I didn’t really think of it until you were walking in the door, and then it was too late to warn you.”
I narrow my eyes, shooting what I think is my meanest glare at her before picking up my beer and taking another long sip. I’m trying desperately not to read too much into this, but Bree not mentioning anything feels too coincidental. Self-doubt creeps in, tunneling my vision, and my insides squirm. Ihatefeeling left out, like I’m the brunt of a joke I don’t even realize is being told.
No.Bree wouldn’t do that to me. I shrug off the intruding thoughts and refocus on Ronin.
