Boy, sisters have a way of pushing buttons and going too far. I scan the dining room, both near and far. The clock reads a quarter of eleven, and in addition to the decorating mess, three tables remain un-bused. “I have a question for you, Oakley.”
“Yes?” She’s eager, as if she’s a puppy and I have a treat in my hand.
“I admit Knox is interesting, and he’s definitely cute, but…”
“But?” She practically pants in my face.
I plant both fists on my hips. “If Knox is such a nice guy…why did he leave me with a giant mess to clean up?”
The flippant question stemmed the tide ofdate Knoxnonsense Oakley flooded me with once he left. I wasn’t serious about the accusation of decorating-and-dashing.
She and I stayed until nearly midnight, though, cleaning and readying the diner for the breakfast crowd, her sniffling away with the remnants of her cold.
No, I don’t hold Knox at fault for the extra work or having to stay late. Every minute I spent with him was worth the latehour and the lost minutes of sleep once I was home in bed—yes, indeedy, tucked in by looping memories of his playful smiles and strong, steadying arms.
Oakley’s arrival totally threw off the mood…but what would have happened had my sister not derailed the course of the evening?
As I wipe down the sticky drink station following the Sunday breakfast rush, I contemplate the question that’s picked at me since Friday night. Might Knox have kissed me? I think he was close to making a move there in the storage closet. Of course, it’s good he didn’t. That would have been too soon, and plus, I was feeling a bit boxed-in in that tiny room.
I’ve kissed two men and two men only in my life. Both relationships bombed with lasting repercussions. Chalk one up for all the advocates of dating around before declaring any man to bethe one.
My gaze wanders to a certain booth along the front window. The middle-aged dude in biker garb filling the spot is not the man occupying my thoughts, the man who happens to be partial to that very table. His failure to make an appearance yesterday left me unaccountably empty feeling as my Saturday wrapped up. Will today be different?
In need of corralling racing thoughts, I zip into the one-seater employee bathroom off the kitchen. When I’m done, the near-empty soap bottle on the sink spits a drop of nondescript-scented liquid onto my hands, reminding me I can’t procrastinate any longer on a trip to the store for random items Uncle Charlie’s suppliers don’t provide. The Christmas spirit has hit hard ever since decorating Knox’s tree, so I purpose to search out more festive fragrances, maybe cinnamon or gingerbread. I need something to get me through the next month of this drab job.
Drab? I must say, last week wrapped without the tedium I’d expected. A certain broad-shouldered construction worker made rolling out of bed each morning easier. Weird. I’m not easily swayed when men approach me, and who would have thought a man as interesting as Knox would find me here.
I mean, notfind mefind me. Just…
Whatever. I’ve got work to do.
The flurry of the dining room quickly zaps my oomph—until a certain man with impressive shoulders and inspiring strength rings the bell above the door.
He seats himself at a four-topper table in the middle of the fray, stretches his arm across the top the adjacent chair, and studies the menu as if something new and wonderful might have materialized since Friday night. No chance of that. Uncle Charlie hasn’t altered the selections in at least a decade, and that was only to remove liver and onions—his personal fav—becausenone of the young folks knows what tastes good these days.
Heart attack. Explained.
I tug at my ponytail, tightening it, and run my palm down the front of my shirt. There’s nothing to be done, sadly, about the giant grease spot on the fabric at my midsection. Nobody said waitressing was glamourous work. I grab a cup and the coffee pot. The Christmas music I switched to following Friday night rushes from overhead speakers.
Instead of a utilitarian jacket or a flame-retardant work shirt, Knox wears a light blue dress shirt. A silky tie in shades of blue and white is knotted at the throat, although I can see he’s loosened it a little and unfastened the top shirt button. His cheeks are smoothly shaven, and his hair is un-warped from a day wearing it beneath a cap or hard hat, or whatever his norm is on the job.
A vision fills my head. Not sugarplums dancing around, but rather, Knox in a Santa hat, delivering gifts around the family circle, a baby in his arms—
I give my head a hard shake and go the extra mile of figuratively smacking myself upside it.Uh-uh. I barely know the guy, nor am I a fanciful person, despite my love of novels and romcoms. Knox’s and my relationship does not warrant this kind of ridiculousness.
Strike the wordrelationship.Acquaintanceis more to the point.
I slide up from behind. “Hey, stranger.”
His smile dances like snow crystals following a storm. “Hey, there, Ev.”
Ev?
I bump my elbow to his shoulder. “You clean up alright.” Boy, does he. “Nearly didn’t recognize you without the mud.”
Lines tug around his eyes before softening into a smile. “Thanks.”
“Coffee?” I gnaw the inside of my cheek. Did I say something wrong? See, this is what happens. Any attempt at playfulness, much more flirtation, hits like a snowball with a rock inside.
