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“Coffee, please, and I already know what I want.” He slides the sticky, one-page menu between the condiment caddy and the windowsill.
Caffeine at this hour? I’d be awake until sunrise. Might be, regardless.
I take his order for Charlie’s chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and beans, drop it off at the kitchen, then set a fresh pot of coffee to brew. The old one was starting to grow stuff.
I stand nearby as the pot drips, conveniently at an angle I can watch John without being obvious. Every time I’ve served him he’s been dressed professionally. Tonight, his attire is scaled up a notch and without a badge clipped to his waist. No holstered gun either. He’s a handsome man, with his strong jaw and full head of dark hair. A dash of sliver peeking out at the temple contributes to an aura of authority. The one occasion he didn’t eat alone seemed to be a business lunch, and I got the vibe he was the boss.
I press my fingers to my mouth. Can I really do this? His appearance tonight, a Saturday, of all things, is either an answer to prayer or a cruel tease.
But, my problem is huge, my funds limited, and I don’t know where else to turn.
I watch as he loosens his silk tie and undoes the top button of his shirt that’s splotched with rain. I’m guessing in the back of his car somewhere is a suitcoat tossed aside.
I bump my knuckle against my lip. My nature grates against the idea of harassing a stranger…but surely he won’t be offended? Most people like to talk about their area of expertise.
The coffee finishes and I carry the steaming pot to his table. “Here you go. It’s fresh.”
“Thanks.” His eyes don’t leave his scrolling phone.
Nope. Not the time.
Back in the sweltering kitchen, Marlene starts in on me again, convinced this is my moment. But…it’s a weekend, and the man looks tired. I should leave him be.
When I deliver his order a few minutes later, I feel invisible, and his politeness is perfunctory. See, there’s my sign.
As he eats, I wipe down tables still in disarray from the much earlier dinner rush. The phone in my pocket vibrates.
At Reagan’s house. Be home in an hour.
Ugh. Jacob is supposed to be at homenow.That was our deal.
Another vibration.
Don’t be mad. She needed help with an essay that’s due at midnight.
My fingers tremble as I type.Midnight. Not a second later. Text when you leave.This crazy rain makes me even more nervous about him driving at night.
He knows I don’t like him going over there, especially these days. I have my reasons, several of them, but at seventeen he’s beginning to think my rules are negotiable. Beginning to think he makes the rules.
Still jittery, I tuck the phone away. I don’t know which of my fears is worse: that he and his girlfriend are alone in her bedroom at all hours or that he might be hanging with those brothers of hers. I’ve heard whispers about one of them, and trouble—make that more trouble—is not in anyone’s best interest.
Across the room, John’s plate is nearing empty. I’m guessing his cup might be too. I swing by the drink station, grab the pot, and go to his table.
Chapter 2
John
“More coffee?”
It’ll be another regret by 2 a.m., but, “Sure.” I hold my cup, and the waitress fills it.
Hollie. I think that’s her name.
No. I know it is and have known for the entire six months I’ve come here. The tag on her shirt makes her name a no-brainer.
I’ve noticed everything about her. She’s pretty. Very, very pretty. Younger than me for sure, but old enough that I figure if she’s making her living waiting tables in a hole-in-the-wall like this, she must not have a lot going for her. Probably has some loser parked on her sofa even as we speak, smoking pot and raiding her cabinets.
Granted, she doesn’t wear that been-around-the-block look one comes to expect from the staff at these kinds of places. That may simply mean she’s even younger than she appears. It’ll come in time.
