“Gwen. You’ve got to be around the same age.” She points at me with her half-eaten cookie. “Twenty?”
“Twenty-one,” I correct her. Then frown. “Do your pancakes have some kind of ‘forever young’ powder in them or something? I’d like to get me some of that, too.”
Kate laughs. Crumbs tumble onto the countertop when she takes another bite of her cookie. “I became a mom pretty young. At seventeen. But if I come across anything like that, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
The bell rings, announcing a customer.
“Shit, is it cold outside.” A young man with a huge sports bag knocks snow off his boots onto the tiles. Which is followed by further flakes when he rubs his gloved hands together.
“Morning, Wyatt,” Kate says. She’s already moving to fill up a to-go cup with coffee. “You’re late today.”
“Yeah, I overslept.” The guy takes the cup, places two singles on the countertop, and pours so much sugar into his coffee that I seriously have to wonder whether it’s a kind of cure-all for the town. “Went a bit late last night.” He pushes the top down onto his cup. “Should probably take it down a notch.”
Kate raises an eyebrow. “You say that at least three times a week when you show up here in the mornings.”
Wyatt grins. His features are frighteningly attractive, and I’d bet he’s one of those guys who is all too aware of it.
“Truth. What can I say? You only live once.” He lifts his cup in goodbye and shuffles toward the door. His bag grazes my skates. Two crossed hockey sticks sewn into the side pocket.
Ah ha. Hockey player.
“Best steer clear of his parties,” Kate says once Wyatt has left the diner. “Or you can kiss your dream goodbye before even thinking of the wordOlympics.”
I swish my coffee around and watch the dark liquid moisten the ceramic. “Competitive sports and parties don’t go together.”
“Oh, don’t let Knox hear you say that.”
With a wrinkled brow, I lift my eyes. “Knox?”
“He should be showing up any second,” she responds and points to the coffee machine she is filling up.
“Another hockey player?”
“Not entirely.” A mysterious smile appears at the corners of her mouth. “Knox is a snowboarder.”
Before the last syllable of her words fades, the bell rings again. A wide-shouldered guy with cropped brown hair steps into the diner.
The first thing he looks at is me. His eyes bore directly into mine. They are large and green; I’ve never seen a green as bright. The white sky outside turns his pupils into pinheads, and I feel like I’ve been blinded by the color of his irises.
He turns away first. Snowflakes fall from his hair and land on his black down jacket. His feet are tucked into warm Panama Jacks.
“Thanks, Kate,” he says while—surprise!—pouring three packets of sugar into his coffee. He rubs his other hand across his face.
“Tired, Knox?” she asks bemusedly.
“That’s not the right expression at all. No idea how I’m supposed to survive the day.”
“Maybe by deciding to go to bed a little earlier tonight?”
“Kate.” Knox breaks into an incredulous grin. One of the disarming kinds. One of the kinds that make women weak. “Please.”
She waves her hand through the air. “It’s all right. Now take your coffee and get out of here! With your bloodshot eyes, you’ll scare off all my customers.”
Knox draws a fake punch. “I’ve got the face of an angel. Say I’ve got the face of an angel, Kate.”
“If angels look like their daily bread consists of shots, well, yeah. You’ve got the face of an angel.”
He laughs, pays for his coffee, and makes his way to the door. Once again his eyes graze mine. The carefree look there a second ago is gone, and now it’s hard to gauge what they’re saying. He looks like he’s judging me for something. Before I can interpret his features any further, though, he’s out the door.
