His expression shifts, ruining the good thing I had going. “What am I doing?”
I rest my forearms on the table, leaning forward like we’re sharing secrets. “You’re smiling.”
The line of concern between his eyebrows eases. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Don’t ever stop.”
His smile shines out again, dazzling brighter than the sun reflecting on water. I don’t know why he kept it hidden for so long or why it’s back, but I hope he never locks it away again.
He slides his arms against mine on the table, cupping my elbows in a weirdly intimate gesture. I’ve never thought of my elbows as needing caressing, but his fingers smoothing over them now is intensely distracting.
Amy Ellison walks over, notebook out to take our order. She and her wife, Jodi, have run the diner since I was in high school, when they made it the local hangout. They welcome locals in like old friends and seem to magically know what’s going on in everyone’s lives, but with less poking and prodding than Fran or Nora use. They’re in their mid-fifties and are quite possibly the coolest women I know. Aside from the amazing fries they serve, Amy and Jodi are the reason this is my favorite restaurant.
Reed and I draw apart, leaving our fingers twined together between us on the table.
“Hey, you two.” Amy’s pleased expression makes me suspect she knows about our relationship. Everyone in this diner probably does. But she seems genuinely happy for us, as opposed to other people who act like they expect us to do a trick whenever they come into the coffee shop. The trick being PDA. “What can I get you tonight?”
“I’ll have a BLTA on wheat with fries and a side of ranch.” My order here might change, but the side of fries and ranch never will.
Reed passes her both our menus. “I’ll have a double bacon cheeseburger, hold the pickles.”
“You always get pickles.” He sometimes orders lunch for us at work, and I might have made note of his order. Complete with the topping that makes my stomach churn.
“Not anymore.”
“He’s just kidding,” I tell Amy. “He wants his usual.”
“I think I know what I want,” he says dryly.
Amy glances between the two of us, that curl of amusement back on her face. “I’ll get this to Jodi.”
She leaves to check on the next table, and I lean forward again so nobody overhears. “I don’t want you to change what you eat because of me. I’m going to go into the back and demand Jodi add a whole jar of pickles to your burger.”
He slides his hands over both of mine, clasping them tightly to make sure I don’t. “You put twenty feet between yourself and an open jar of pickles at the craft fair. I want to be closer than that to you tonight.”
Delight shudders through me at that prospect. But how many times have I been reminded that to hold onto a guy, I need to keep him happy? That includes not making waves. Like getting him to change his favorite meal because of a little deep-seated aversion to all things pickled.
“You love pickles.” It sounds ridiculous when I say it like that. Maybe I am overreacting. Or he is by avoiding all traces of the food. Maybe we’re both doing too much.
He huffs a breath. “I don’t love them, Rose.” He smooths his thumbs over the backs of my hands, soothing the alarm roiling through me. “Not getting pickles on a burger isnota sacrifice. You never should have been made to believe it was.”
I want to argue, but for the first time, I really hear those voices clamoring in my head.Be sweet and agreeable. Don’t be contradictory. Be the perfect person.If a friend came to me for advice—ifJoviecame to me—would I tell her the same thing? Or would I tell her to speak up for herself and not bend to everyone else’s wishes?
I relax against the vinyl cushion, the fight draining out of me even as heat rises to my cheeks. “I might have reacted too strongly. It’s sweet of you to avoid them. Even if you really don’t have to.”
“I appreciate that you care about my preferences. But let me care about yours, too.”
I nod, wanting to bask in this man’s caretaking. Illness, emotions, unfounded fears based on years of parental advice—he handles it all. “Deal.”
“The Sunshine Small Business Society needs to give out an award for Best Fries in Town.” I dip my last golden fry in the little pot my ranch came in. I’ve almost wiped it clean, but there’s enough for one more bite. Mmm. I close my eyes and savor the salty goodness. I manage not to lick the grease off my fingers, but only because I’m a lady like that.
Well. I might lick one finger. They’re really good fries.
“I don’t want to think about the Society tonight,” Reed grumbles. He’s demolished his meal, too, nothing but a few stray sesame seeds left on his plate.
“They do good things for businesses in town.” Which he would know if he gave them half a chance. Someone swings by to invite him to meetings every other month. Whether it’s Maureen Krause or Hope McBride or Grant Irwin, Reed shuts them all down. “They’re sweet, even if they can be a little annoying sometimes.”
“Did someone call my name?” Nathan slides into the booth next to me, slinging one arm over my shoulders. From another man, I might find his default level of flirting and physical touch off-putting, but Nathan gives off too many sweetheart vibes to make my danger alarms ring.
