One of his impressive shoulders lifts. “Hasn’t failed me yet.”
“There’s a first time for everything. Brown or cream gravy on the potatoes?”
His nose bunches. “Brown. You guys and your flour water.”
My pen pokes to my hip along with my hand. “Youguys?”
“Southerners.”
“Ahem. Texans.” I tilt my head. “You’re not from here?”
“Nope. Kansas City.”
I should have perceived the absence of a drawl. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”
“Work. My company’s installing sewer lines for the City of Chandor.”
“So you’re only in town temporarily?”
He folds big arms over a big chest. “Who wants to know?”
I toss my head back. “Brown gravy it is.”
Knox’s laugh follows me to the kitchen, where I clip his order for Buck to see. It’s the only order left to fill and will hopefully stay that way. Days in this grease pit are impossibly long. No wonder Uncle Charlie had a heart attack.
With a toodle-oo, Marlene abandons me. I fritter time away in back while Knox’s order processes. He’s talking on the phone when I deliver it.
You should learn how to have fun, Everly.
Lance’s words gong back to me. Why is everyone so concerned about my lack of fun? Rather, their faulty perceptions of my lack thereof.
Ten tiny little minutes before closing. I peer toward Knox’s table. I did a drive-by a few minutes ago, dropping his ticket off while his mouth was full, and he was reading on his phone. Now, he’s finally pulled out his wallet, I think scrounging for a tip. Whew. Dare I hope he’ll leave a twenty on the table and call it done?
Remind me again why you’re avoiding a handsome man who’s shown interest, Ev?
The bell above the door dings.No way. Two guys saunter in, bringing a chill with them. Spooky tattoos. Scraggly hair. Shifty eyes.
They plant themselves at a table before I can turn them away with asorry, kitchen’s closed.
Their gazes creep and crawl over me while I take their drink orders. My eyes involuntarily flit to Knox every so often. Would he perchance like the last slice of apple pie? Sure, Buck is still in the kitchen, but he’s nearing seventy and in worse health than Uncle Charlie.
Knox holds up a finger on my way to drop the ticket off in the kitchen. “Got any apple pie left?”
“Sure thing.”Is the man a mind reader?“A la mode?”
He smiles. “Why not?”
Buck groans when I personally hand him the order, mumbling that Charlie would have turned the latecomers away. I don’t believe a word of it. Uncle Charlie has never turned away a dollar.
Buck fries up the chicken-fried steaks in no time. The duo eat fast and Knox eats slow.
Slow enough for me to read the situation. His leisurely speed, combined with surreptitious eagle eyes on his fellow customers,tip me off. The center of my heart softens, if not full-on melts. Yes, I’ll take big old Knox any day of the week over the two jokers reeking of alcohol.
Tension seeps out of me once the men leave, their money tossed into their table’s center. From behind the register, I watch them get into a beat up old car and rumble away.
Not a minute later, Knox shows up, smiling at me from across the counter. He lays his ticket and a twenty beside the register.
I can’t hide from the man any longer—and why would I? A smile comes effortlessly. “Thank you, Knox.”
