I slide into the seat across from her, setting my bag on the chair beside me. “Morning,” I answer, and nod toward the waitress as she fills my water.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” my dad says, warm and easy.
“Morning, Daddy,” I reply, and the way Abi’s jaw flexes is a small gift from heaven.
Talon leans forward. “Good morning, Penelope.”
The way he says my name, sends a small shiver down my spine. My stomach flips, a traitor, and I have to blink once before offering the polite, practiced smile expected of me.
“Talon.”
We fall into comfortable small talk about his classes because that is how all of this works. Presentation. Image. Grades and futures instead of sex clubs and secrets.
“He’s doing very well,” my father says, proud. “Sociology especially.”
Talon gives me a sideways look. “Excellent tutor.”
“Excellent student,” I answer, keeping my tone light as I meet his eyes for a brief, controlled second.
The waitress reappears with a notepad and a practiced smile. Abi orders an egg-white omelet with goat cheese and herbs, a side of fruit, and black coffee. My dad asks for crab cake Benedict with roasted potatoes and fresh orange juice. Talon picks the steak and eggs with truffle hash and a side of blueberry pancakes.
I ask for lemon ricotta pancakes with fresh berries, a side of crispy bacon, and a strawberry mimosa.
“I’ll have a strawberry mimosa too,” Talon says.
Abi’s head snaps up. “No, he will not. He is not twenty-one yet.”
The waitress laughs under her breath and glances at Talon with a little sympathy. “Just the one then,” she says to me before sliding away.
Abi turns her attention back to her son. “What have you been doing on weekends? You are never at the house.”
“Working,” Talon says, reaching for his water.
Abi blinks. “Working where? No one told me you had a job.”
“Garage in town,” he says. “Small repair shop. Bikes, cars. Part time.”
She lets out a short, ugly sound. “You get covered in grease for pocket change? You should be looking for something that suits you.”
“I like it,” he replies. “It’s fun. Good people.”
My dad nods. “I think it’s great. A man should know how to work with his hands.”
Abi laughs and pats his arm. “What do you know how to do, dear?”
He smiles. “Maybe not engines, but I can change a tire and oil, and I’m pretty handy around the house. You just never let me. You always call someone.”
Talon smirks into his glass, and I have to look down so I do not.
After a beat, Talon clears his throat and turns to me. “What about you, Penelope? What do you do on weekends?”
“Nothing exciting,” I say. “I catch up on my homework and get ready for the week. Lesson plans. Grading. TA things.”
His eyes hold mine a second too long, glinting with something playful, dangerous only in the way it makes my pulse skip.
“I could have sworn I saw you somewhere else though.”
A small pull curls low in my stomach. “I doubt it.”
