“You look nice,” Dad says, instantly suspicious. “What’s the special occasion?”
“I don’t look nice. I look normal.” I adjust my watch for the fifth time and check my reflection in the coffee pot. My hair is down for once, falling in soft waves past my shoulders instead of being scraped back in its usual messy bun.
“You’re wearing makeup?”
“I always wear makeup.”
“No, you don’t.”
We’re interrupted by the delivery of the extra ingredients I ordered. Dad starts telling me we’re going to waste supplies. Before I can argue back, the bell above the door chimes again, and my heart speeds up.
Gabriel fills the doorway, the morning sun backlighting him like he’s stepped out of a firefighter calendar, playing havoc with my nervous system.
“Morning.” His voice is polite, but when his gaze meets mine, there’s a flicker of heat that makes my lungs forget their job. “Ready for the inspection?”
“Yip!” The word comes out squeaky. I clear my throat. “I mean, yes. Ready. So ready.”
Dad’s eyes dart between us. “Gabriel. Good to see you, son. Thanks again for yesterday.”
“No problem, Mr. Jolly.”
Dad glances at the clock. “I’ve got to take your mom to her appointment in Bakersfield. I might be gone a while.”
My chest tightens. “Give her a kiss from me, okay?”
“Will do.” He squeezes my shoulder as he passes. “This time, try really hard not to burn anything else down while I’m gone.”
“Very funny.”
The door shuts behind him, and suddenly it’s just me and Gabriel alone in the quiet hum of the diner. My pulse tap dances in my throat.
I gesture toward the kitchen. “Should we…?”
“Lead the way.”
He follows me, his footsteps heavy and sure behind mine. The air seems to shrink around us, his presence crowding out everything but the thud of my heart. When his arm brushes mine in the doorway, heat shoots through me so fast it makes my head spin.
He pulls out a clipboard, all business. He walks around the kitchen, peering into corners and bending to look under the counter.
“Nice sweater,” he says, inspecting the broiler.
“Thanks.” I fidget with my watch.
“It brings out your eyes.”
My face goes beet red. He’s not even looking at me when he says it, just making notes.
“So, um, how bad is it?” I ask, gesturing at the kitchen. “The safety stuff, I mean.”
He straightens, suddenly very close. His cologne is woodsy and warm, like cedar and spice.
He holds up the clipboard, his arm brushing mine again. “Not good. The broiler needs replacing. The electrical system’s outdated. The ventilation hasn’t been cleaned in… possibly ever. And don’t get me started on the spacing between the fryer and the open flame.”
I groan when I see the list. It goes on for two pages.“Oh, sweet mother of... we can’t afford all this.”
“I can help. With the repairs, I mean. I’m good with my hands.”
I bet you are,my traitorous brain supplies. “You don’t have to…”
