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I don’t move a muscle, letting her know I have all day. Or at least the next thirty minutes.
“He’s the owner’s son. Dale’s oldest.”
“Not your boyfriend?”
I earn a scowl for that question. “No. Not my boyfriend. Listen, it’s not really any of your business who or what he is. We don’t even know each other. Did you come in here to get breakfast or to insert yourself into a situation where you don’t belong?”
“What would have happened had I not shown up in that hallway?” I press, trying to get her to take this seriously.
She sniffs and looks away, her jaw locked tight with annoyance. “The same thing that always happens. He’d have backed off eventually. He’s not as dangerous as he seems.”
My derisive chuckle causes her blue eyes to sweep back to my face.
“What is it you’re after anyway? A thank you? Because you’re not gettin’ it.” She huffs sarcastically. “Order or leave. You’re wasting my time.”
I lean forward as my heart pounds. She has so much life in her I want to bleed it out and take some for myself. She wants me to leave. Her eyes dart between me and the door, hoping I’ll vacate this stool and give her peace.
Instead, I slide my menu across the counter to her.
“I want the same thing I had yesterday,” I say, my voice harsher than I intended.
Her jaw ticks in annoyance as she takes the menu and disappears back into the kitchen. I hear pots and pans clanging. She’s gone longer than I expected as I sip my coffee and listen to all the commotion going on back there. It’s ten minutes later when she comes back out carrying a plate of food that looks nothing like what I ate yesterday.
She drops it down in front of me like it’s an insult to have to serve me.
“I know it’s nothing fancy, but just eat it and leave. You’re annoying me and I have better things to do than wait on some nosy jerk.”
“I’m not a jerk.”
“But you are nosy.”
I shrug, giving her that much.
I look down at my breakfast. There’s scrambled eggs and ham on my plate, along with some cut-up fruit. It looks good, but also not quite right. There’s no rhyme or reason to how the fruit’s been sliced. The scrambled eggs are a little runny. It’s obvious my food’s been made by an unpracticed hand, and when I look up at Raelynn, she’s scowling at me.
“You cooked me breakfast?”
“What? Not fancy enough for you? See if I care.”
I barely stifle a grin. I like this side of her as much as I like any other side of her. She’s no shrinking violet, that’s for sure.
I glance pointedly at the swinging door to the kitchen.
“Cook’s not in yet. He had car trouble this morning,” she continues.
I tilt my head in question, and she answers as if she can read my mind.
Why’d you lie earlier?
“I didn’t want you knowing we were alone.”
“Smart.” I motion to the plate. “You want some?”
She rears back in confusion. “Do I want some of your breakfast? Absolutely not. What is it with you? Aren’t you busy enough with all your basketball stuff without coming in here and tormenting me?”
“I’m hardly tormenting you. If I were…you’d know it.”
I don’t miss the shiver that runs down her spine at my words.
Good. I’m glad to know she’s not immune to me, no matter how much she acts like she is.
I start eating while she goes back to work, trying her best to ignore me. A few minutes later, a bell chimes behind me and a Southern-accented voice calls out.
“Mornin’, Birdie.”
“Hey, Doyle. Cook’s not in yet, can I get you some coffee?”
“Sure. That’d be fine. I got nowhere to be this mornin’.”
I don’t turn back to see if Doyle recognizes me. If he does, he’s smart enough to leave me in peace as he takes a seat at a booth far enough away that I can’t see him in my periphery. I keep eating as Raelynn gets Doyle his coffee. When she makes it back behind the counter and finds me watching her, she scowls.
“What?”
“Birdie?” I ask, referring to how Doyle addressed her.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, it’s my last name. Some people call me by it.”
I hum in interest, and she continues, “You don’t get to call me that though. You don’t get to call me anything. Are you done yet?”
She takes my plate out from in front of me before I can scoop up my last bite of eggs. My fork’s hanging in midair. I’m smiling, and that only seems to annoy her more.
“Well, thanks for coming in for breakfast, but you better get moving,” she says, pointing toward the door. “We need the counter space.”
My smile only widens.
There’s not a soul in sight waiting to take my place, but I have to get going anyway. I stand, drain the last of my coffee, grab some cash from my wallet in my back pocket, and then leave it underneath my empty cup.
