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He chuckles and nudges my arm, the moment lightening as the waitress returns with our food.
Once she leaves, I drown my pancakes in syrup and take a bite. I might not have been hungry when I ordered, but as soon as the sweetness hits my tongue, I groan.
He grins. “That good, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.” I nod and watch as he takes a bite of his food.
“I think I’ve ordered everything off this menu, and it’s all good, but the pancakes are one of my favorites.”
“I can see why. So, where do you need to go?”
“Post office. I’ve got a few packages to pick up, and I need to go to the hardware store. What about you? Is there anything you need while we’re here?”
“Well, considering I don’t even know what’s here, I have no idea.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckles and leans back, pointing out the window. “You can see down most of Main Street from here, and honestly, what you see is about it. There’s a drugstore, feed store, and hardware store at the far end. Opposite that is the post office, a hair salon, and a bookstore. Down the other way, there’s a florist, grocery store, and gym. And on the very far side is a bar that has been there for six generations. There are some other shops in between, but I can’t say I’ve paid much attention to them.”
“I don’t know, I think you did pretty well. Most men don’t remember nearly that much, and especially not places like florists or bookstores. Actually, that’s pretty fucking sexist now that I think about it. That’s like saying a woman wouldn’t remember the hardware store.”
He laughs and finishes his pancakes in half the time it takes me to finish mine. He signals for the waitress just as the door opens and Slade walks in. He spots us and heads over, slipping into the seat opposite me. His eyes fix on mine, and the intensity in them makes it impossible to look away.
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s not your fault. It’s my issue, not yours. I’ll work on my reaction.”
I’m saved from replying by the arrival of the waitress. “Do you want to order anything?” she asks Slade.
“No, I’m good.”
“Just the check, please,” Jagger tells her. She nods and walks over to the counter.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
“I’m fine.”
He’s not, but again, I let it go. This biting-my-tongue thing is annoying as fuck. For as antisocial as I am, I still like to be in the know. But if I force the issue, they’ll feel like they have the right to push the issue with me, and I just don’t have the strength to dig through my baggage just yet.
“Well, I’m ready when you guys are. I just need to use the restroom.”
Jagger slides out of the booth so I can get out, then stands to the side so I can move past him.
I ask at the counter where the restroom is, and the woman refilling the salt shakers points me in the right direction. I’m not a big fan of public restrooms, but this one is clean, and that’s always a bonus. Still, I don’t dawdle. I take care of business and wash my hands before pulling the door open.
Someone must really need to go because, as I walk out, I’m shouldered out of the way, catching only a glimpse of long sandy blonde hair before the door is slammed closed and locked behind me. She might be gone, but my skin still tingles where it came into contact with hers. Sometimes that’s all it takes. Like a watercolor painting in all its hazy glory, a vision flickers behind my eyes as I hold the wall for support.
It’s barely more than a snippet, as images flicker. No, not flicker. Flash. One, two, three. There’s no sound, which is a blessing because it only takes me a second to realize the flashes are from a gun being fired in a dark room.
As suddenly as it started, it’s gone.
And the world around me materializes—the lights of the diner, the noise of the kitchen staff clattering pots and pans, and the cook yelling out which orders are up. I can hear a child crying in the distance. Everything is so overwhelming that I’m tempted to curl up into a ball right here. But I don’t. I take a deep breath and blow it out, then take another and another.
Once my heart has stopped racing, I straighten up, wipe my sweaty palms against the legs of my pants, and walk away. A sour sense of guilt threatens to make my stomach revolt, but I keep walking, putting one foot in front of the other, until I spot Slade and Jagger waiting for me next to the door.
“Are you okay? You look pale,” Slade asks when I get closer, sliding his arm around my shoulder.
“I’m always pale,” I remind him as I lean closer and breathe him in, using his scent to help ground me. The farther we get from the diner, the easier it is to breathe.
I don’t look back. I don’t think about the woman in the restroom because thinking about it makes me feel like a coward.
