Scott was already here, his truck a few rows away from her parking spot, and she reached up to tighten her ponytail as she crossed to the side door, her stomach tied in knots. She really didn’t want to do this.
Smoothing her bangs to one side, she stepped inside, a blast of warm air from the heater rushing over her, heavy with the rich smell of smoked meats and the chatter of Coney’s lunch rush. She spotted Scott on the other side of the long room, frowning at his phone. Ignoring a fresh twist of nerves, she wound her way through the crowded tables.
“Hey.” She dropped her phone, wallet and keys on the table and sank into the chair across from him.
Clearing his throat, he set his phone aside to fix those sharp blue eyes on her. “Hey.”
Their drinks – a glass of water for her, tea for him – already stood on the table, and she flicked a finger toward the cashier counter and the kitchen beyond. “Did you order?”
“I didn’t know what you wanted.”
Her brows twisted together. She always ordered the same thing here, so that made zero . . . whatever. “Do you know what you want?”
“Sort of.”
“Hey, you two.” Tiffanie approached, a pencil holding her red hair in a loose knot. “Know what you’re doing today or do you need a little while.”
“I know what I want.” Holly held Scott’s gaze. He dropped his gaze to the menu.
“Want what you always have?” Tiffanie’s fingers hovered over the handheld ordering station.
“Um, no. I’m changing it up.” She turned a smile on Tiffanie. “I’ll have the chicken salad without the bread but extra home fries.”
Fingers flying over the screen, Tiffanie grinned. “Have you been hanging out with Mrs. Sue Calvert? That’s her favorite.”
Holly scrunched her nose. “One of her favorites.”
“I’m doing my usual.” Scott passed Tiffanie his menu.
“Got it.” Tapping, she walked away, hips swaying in painted-on denim.
“What the hell are you doing, Holly?” Scott’s voice rasped over her stretched nerves like low-grit sandpaper.
“Okay, this is what we have to talk about.” She lifted a finger between them. “Guidelines so we’re able to actually stay friends.”
“I have no issue being your friend—”
Holly snorted.
He folded his arms. “Real mature.”
Cooling her irritation with a sip of iced water, she waved a hand. “Tell me what your issue is, then.”
“I realize you’ll see someone else.” Elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers. “But him?”
“What does it matter, Scott? You’ve made your choices.”
“If a guy’ll cheat once—”
“He was a teenager and he was drunk—”
“That makes a very convenient excuse.” He shook his steepled fingers, lines of disgust carved into his face.
“Hmm.” She sipped again. “Back in Houston, you’d already talked to Andrea because you said she asked you to propose.”
His lashes fell, and an exhale moved his chest. “Holly.”
“That didn’t stop you sleeping with me that weekend.” She set the glass down with a thunk. “And we were sober. I’m also assuming you were sober when you talked to her about marriage while we were still together.”
