The diner has that small-town charm with a slice of classic Americana. Er, sort of.
“Lily! Where have you been?” Mitch calls out from behind the ordering counter. He’s inputting a customer’s order beneath the glowing neon sign, the scripted words PINEBROOK DINER in bold.
I glance down at the checkerboard-tiled floor. “Sorry, Mitch. I had an accident. Was in the hospital for the night.”
His eyes widen.
“B-but I’m fine now. Just going to get my car then I’ll be all set for my next shift. Promise.”
The middle-aged woman he’s ringing up slides into one of the chrome stools at the counter, topped with a red cushion. “It’ll be just a moment, Sue.” He turns to focus on me, or my pink scrubs, I’m not sure. His mouth drops open. “The hospital? Damn, girl. What the hell?”
“I was hiking yesterday. With the storm and the?—”
“Can I help you?” Mitch interrupts me, eyes lit with his usual customer service charm, as he stares past me at the door. The rusty chime jingles as it shuts.
“Sure. A coffee to-go and whatever she wants.”
I scrunch my nose at Noah’s voice, annoyed. I said I’d be right back.
“You know him?” Mitch asks, brows furrowed.
I nod and regard Noah, who of course, fills the small diner with his entire presence of authority. A few tourists beam at the national park ranger standing in their midst. As if they aren’t a dime a dozen around these parts.
But …
I inspect Noah while I chew my stubby thumbnail. A muscle feathers in his jaw.
Perhaps rangers like Noah are a rarity. Purely in looks, that is. They’re all a bunch of demanding, prideful?—
“I’m taking Ms. Parker back to her car. Tried to convince her to go home, but she refuses.”
Mitch raises his eyebrows at me, and I scowl. No, I didn’t mention I don’t have a home to Noah. Why would I? He’s a passing stranger.
Overhead, the neon menu board hums and I study the menu I’ve had memorized since my first day here three months ago. There’s a breakfast burrito filled with egg, cheese, and mushrooms.
I hold up four fingers. “Number four, Mitch. Thanks.”
“Give me just a second,” he says.
I turn, expecting to find Noah there, but he’s already moved down the counter, across from the antique salt and pepper shakers that Mitch has an affinity for collecting. Kind of like my grandmother and her gnomes.
Noah laughs, engaged with the older gentleman. His broad shoulders lean against the counter. He’s rolled up his uniform sleeves to show off his tanned forearms. They flex in the rising sun filtering through the windows, and he reaches up to remove his hat before rubbing a hand over his tightly shaved head.
The easy grin. The annoying yet perfect stance. Damn town should plaster him on a postcard. Tourists would flock here.
He chuckles again, offering a gentle slap to the older man’s shoulder. As if sensing my stare, he looks over, and his smile softens.
For a split second, there’s an odd flutter in my belly accompanied by that warmth that melted away when he left my hospital room. Something … comfortable.
Stupid.
Mitch pops up in my peripheral, hand extended with the white paper bag. I take it, smelling the deliciousness seeping from the inside. He slides the to-go cup across the counter toward me.
“So he’s?—”
“No one.”
Mitch holds up his hands, like he’s calming the storm in me before it starts. “Hey, was just asking. Gotta make sure my favorite employee is okay.”
