Page 17 of The Irresistible Distraction

It’s closer to nine before the regulars start trickling in. Claudia, a former classmate I only speak to in passing, comes in wearing a tight-fitting tank and short skirt that suggests she’ll be partying tonight; she orders her usual.

“Apparently, you have news.” She gives Sexy Tourist a less-than-discreet once-over before pinching her fingertips and thumb together in a chef’s kiss gesture.

In response, her boyfriend, Winston, who was two years ahead of us in school but in a completely different social circle, bristles. “I’m right here.”

Claudia ignores him. “We have got to go out sometime and catch up.” Her smile is slyly teasing, mine is . . . polite. We haven’t hung out since high school, but when she presses the issue, I nod in agreement, as if I’ll definitely follow up. A few minutes later, another former classmate wanders in. Lauren carries a twin on each hip, and since there’s no easy way to balance two three-year-olds, four party platters, and the door, Clark comes over to help, smiling easily and winking carelessly at me on his way out.

Lauren raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes, mouthing, We’ve got to talk as she follows Sexy Tourist out the door, not bothering to look back for my response.

Since having Sebastian, most of my non-Maggie friendships have naturally faded to nothingness. There’s been surprisingly little judgment, and the distance happened naturally. On slow days, former friends and peers will still linger over coffee while updating me on their lives. Some still invite me to gatherings I rarely attend. Years ago, it was because their parties were adult-only events that necessitated getting a babysitter. But more recently, it was because each time I went, I was reminded of just how much my life has veered off the original path.

While there are people like Maggie who stayed in Lake Arrowhead, most of our friend group went on to college, tried out different jobs, or moved away for at least a year. They dated and eventually settled down. They planned bridal showers and engagement parties, produced babies and now toddlers, whereas I have a ten-year-old with the attitude of a preteen.

At every party they had life updates to share. In comparison, I had pediatrician reports on whether Sebastian was above or below median height.

“Where’d you go?” Clark crowds me from behind, his hand resting next to mine, pinky reaching over to touch mine. It’s so slight that no one would notice unless they were looking.

And are some of the regulars looking?

Probably.

He’s the six-foot-something Sexy Tourist, dressed in the Halloween version of a diner uniform. The whispers have been both amused and endless. Meaning I really should have thought this through before agreeing.

“Woolgathering, before the lunch rush.”

“I can take over the cookies,” Clark offers. He’s been a great sport today, doing whatever chore we need as if he’s always secretly wanted to work (and do well) in a small-town diner. He’s washed dishes and (somehow) dug out sandpaper to fix our front door so it no longer sticks; he’s helped carry platters to and from the diner and has joked and chatted with every customer he’s interacted with as if this is his hometown. “If you prefer, I could fix the banquette I knocked loose yesterday and take a crack at the jukebox.”

“Are you a carpenter? A secret electrician?”

He laughs, one hand coming to rest on my waist, as if it’s the most natural thing ever. “Neither. But after a year of barely understanding quantum mechanics, everything else feels like . . . not quantum mechanics? And given the jukebox is already broken⁠—”

“It’s not like you can break it more.” The Shepards enter, way ahead of schedule, suggesting even they have somewhere to go later. “If you get it working, can you show me how to fix it?”

“Sure.” He arches an eyebrow instead of asking directly.

“My father used to be our all-purpose handyman, and now that the diner’s my responsibility, I’d love to do as many repairs as possible myself.”

“Got it.”

Almost as soon as he agrees, the holiday rush comes in full force. Despite Clark’s masking tape name tag and his assurance that “it can’t be that hard,” he screws up two orders and banishes himself to a repairs-only position. (“Maybe getting orders right is also . . . quantum,” he jokes self-deprecatingly, his gaze lingering on me long enough to attract attention.) He hangs up the loose framed photos and gets the jukebox working and blasting music, before he nails down the booth again.

It’s not until the rush has died down that I remember to tell Clark, “You’re past due for a lunch break.” Maggie went out the back just a few minutes ago, seeing the lull and likely needing a break.

“What’s on the menu?” Clark holds my gaze until I blush.

“Please behave,” I tell him, half smiling, not sure whether I want this to continue or not. I hand him a menu and gesture for him to go into the kitchen himself.

He stares at me for a moment longer, brushing a strand of hair to the side.

“I do appreciate everything you’ve done today.”

“And the day’s still young.”

Because I can feel the flush starting already, I gesture to the back kitchen, and with another scorching smile, he finally leaves. Since I’m not hungry, I take a moment to check my phone and see that Jesse has added to last night’s unread chain.

JESSE: You’re probably working tomorrow. But we do need to talk.

JESSE: A group of us drove up to my parents’. I didn’t tell you I’d be coming because it was a last-minute decision. We’ll all be driving down again first thing in the morning.