He chuckled, dragging a palm down his face. “Make it two. When do you finish work?”
“Why?” I whispered, wrestling nerves I couldn’t quite hide.
“I’ll take you home.”
Excitement surged through me, only for the thought of Sharon to cut it short—she always picked me up.
“What about your mom?”
“She can’t.”
I had no reason to feel disappointed, but part of me wished he was here for me and not because of Sharon. Irrational, I knew. We weren’t friends—we’d barely spoken since he came back. He wouldn’t show up at the diner just to see me.
I cleared my throat. “I’ve got another couple hours. Didn’t your mom tell you that?”
“I must’ve forgotten.” Asher’s gaze lingered on my face. “But since I’ll be here, I’ll take more than one slice of the famous mud pie. Or a club sandwich. I’m not picky.”
I tried not to grin and failed. As I turned away, I caught Cynthia watching from across the room, and my stomach dropped. Crap. The last thing I needed was her thinking I was wasting time.
A few minutes later, I set down a club sandwich and an espresso. Asher thanked me, and I slipped back into the rush. Still, I couldn’t shake the awareness of him at that table. He scrolled his phone most of the timebut ordered another espresso near the end of my shift. I had no idea how he’d manage to sleep.
When he downed the second drink and signaled for the check, anticipation quickened my steps. I couldn’t wait to finish so we could talk without Cynthia’s eyes drilling into me.
Asher reached for his wallet while I scanned my empty tables.
“Take it, peque,” he said.
I grabbed the leather checkbook, thanked him, and turned toward the register. Peeking inside was a mistake.
My pulse spiked. I pivoted back.
Asher arched a brow. “What’s wrong?”
“The amount.” I set the book on the table. “There’s an extra hundred dollars.”
“Ah.” He shrugged. “People leave tips here, right? That’s what I did.”
“That’s not how it works.” My voice came out sharper than I meant. “That’s too much.” He’d given me what I might earn in a whole rush, and while he could afford it, taking it felt wrong.
“Not too much if you’re saving for a car.” He slid out of the booth. “I need to make a call. I’ll wait outside.”
Confused didn’t even cover how I felt. As I cleaned up and clocked out, I debated whether to give the money back. I needed it, but accepting so much for doing so little tied me in knots.
When I stepped into the lot, Asher leaned against his bike, casual and solid in the glow of the lights. My steps slowed. Bikes weren’t new to me—Dad used to have one—but the thought of climbing onto the back of Asher’s made my stomach flutter.
I stopped beside him. “Hi. I’m ready.”
“Cool.” He held out a helmet. My gaze flicked from his hands to the bike.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“A lot.” I smoothed a hand over the black leather seat. “Is it the same one you race with?”
He shook his head. “The race bike’s more powerful.”
“Guess you’re a menace on the road,” I teased, half serious. Someone addicted to speed probably didn’t bother with limits.
A smirk tugged at his mouth, warming me all over. “Worried about your safety, peque?” He zipped his jacket. “Don’t be. I’ll go slow.”
