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I feel bad for Bradley, so I tell him what would scare off any guy his age.
“I have a son, and he is all I’m interested in right now.”
They both stare at me with surprised expressions. Not what every guy likes to hear. A woman with a child working in a diner. That should scare him off. I turn to leave the table and take the next customer seated in the next booth.
“Is that the only reason?”
I turn back around. “Excuse me?”
“Is that the only reason you won’t give me your number? Because you have a son? I know you don’t have a husband or boyfriend. No guy in their right mind will ever let a girl as pretty as you work at a diner where every guy that walks in can try to take you away from him.” He pauses when I cross my arms over the chest of my light-pink retro uniform. “I know I wouldn’t.”
Judy smiles, and so does Nancy standing behind him, serving other customers when they look my way. There is that word pretty. Why does every guy I meet tell me that I look pretty? Not gorgeous or beautiful. Just pretty.
Kalum’s words came back to me when I last saw him. “I prefer experienced girls. You're pretty but plain.”
Lane called me pretty all the time. Even in bed, he said my pussy was pretty. Everything he said about me was pretty. I thought I loved when he said it but now I hate being called pretty. It is like I’m this delicate flower that could break any second. Weak. Fragile. It’s like calling a guy cute.
I raise my chin. “You’re right, he wouldn’t. Not much he can do about it since he’s dead.”
Bradley looks down, avoiding my gaze. Not how I wanted this conversation to go but I think it hit home for him to leave me the hell alone. Not only do I have a son but my husband is not here to fight my battles for me. That I will have to do all on my own.
“Mommy!” Lane races toward me as I enter the house with the TV on.
“Hi, sweetie. How was your day?”
“Super-duper fun. Camila and I made cupcakes.”
“That is awesome,” I tell him, ruffling his straight black hair.
The TV is on the gossip news. Camila is sitting on the living room couch and a flash of cameras from paparazzi can be seen in front of a fancy club in New York. A door opens from the back passenger of a black Rolls and Kalum can be seen exiting with a tall, statuesque woman on his arm. My stomach clenches, but I take a deep breath, calming myself. She is wearing a cream color gown with a daringVin the front that looks gorgeous against her deep-red hair.
The headline reads, St. Claire is still a month strong with the heiress. I can only be happy for him. They look great together. He is tall, but so is she, and they do make a great couple.
Camila looks at me warily and then back at the TV.
“They look great together,” I tell her.
Camila frowns. “She is awful.”
“Really. Then why would he still be with her?” I can see him place his hand on her lower back possessively. His words about his taste in women repeating in my head like a mantra. I wonder why his words bother me, but it does.
“I have no idea.”
“She must be great to have his attention. She is very beautiful.”
“No, she is not. You’re beautiful.” She points at the screen. “She has makeup.”
I snort. “The most I have been told is that I’m pretty. Certainly not beautiful. That woman is beautiful, and she looks great on his arm. I could never pull that dress off, I’m too short.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. If you ever wear something like that.”
“I have no place to go that would require me to wear anything like that.” I wave down at my diner’s uniform. “This is what I need to wear. I don’t belong in that world. I never did. I prefer a hot dog from that stand down the street than to sit and eat an overpriced meal that tastes like crap.”
Camila giggles. “You have a point.”
“I’d rather be sitting here eating a cupcake with you and Lane than being caught eating at some uptight place where everyone is judging you.”
“Are you ever going to go out on a Saturday? It’s tomorrow, you know.”
