And of course, my mind drifts to Bill, and I chuckle because that’s the biggest absurdity of all. Of all the men, I’d have to fall for one like that. It’s so unbelievable and makes everything so much more complicated since he’s Noah’s boss. Still, my heart ticks up a notch when I think how the corners of his eyes crease when he looks at me.
The coffeepot coughs, bringing me back to reality. I had pressed the on button, but apparently Monday is too much for it, because hot steam hisses from the back. I just bought this thing last summer, but it’s always something. I frown, yank the cord from the wall, and plug it into a different outlet, praying that’s exactly what it needs.
I can’t imagine how I will make it through a Monday morning breakfast rush with no coffee. The mere thought of it springs a bead of sweat to my forehead, and I smack the side of the machine a couple of times. A few seconds tick by where a couple of drops leak out, and I hold my breath as it slowly thickens into a steady flow of dark coffee.
The brewing coffee should be a relief, but a knot in my chest jerks unexpectedly, and hot tears prick at the back of my eyes.
It’s just stupid coffee.
Not a big deal or reason to cry.
Dabbing at the corners of my eyes, I turn my back to the kitchen line to make sure Margie doesn’t see me.
It’s nothing to cry over.
Things break.
Sometimes they can be fixed and sometimes they can’t, but that’s life as a diner owner. I smooth my apron as three regulars stroll through the front door, heading straight for their table by the window. They’ve been having the same eggs and bacon platter for years, and there’s never a need to take their order. I jot down “3 #5 platters with white toast” on a ticket and slide it through the window to Margie before I pour their coffee and take it over to the table. “Good morning, gentlemen. How are you all this morning?”
They accept their coffee with pleasant smiles but, as always, when I serve them I feel like I’ve accidentally wandered into the middle of a friendly debate. As retired teachers, they dress in crisp polo shirts, and I’ve always felt this coffee club is basically a roaming teacher’s lounge that lasts long after the last lecture was given. They rotate cafés throughout the week, but Mondays are mine. I’m never sure if I’m more grateful for their business or for the gossip they bring with them. Of course, I’m not one for gossip, but since I’m so busy, they seem to be my most reliable news source.
This morning, Mr. Crowles leans over his mug. “Did you hear the rumor?” He’s speaking in a tone I can picture being his most-exciting lecture series tone. “Billionaire Bill Baker was seen leaving the airport Friday night after dark with a mystery woman, and they didn’t get back until last night. Nobody knows who she is, but it appears he’s got a new girlfriend.”
My breath hitches in the back of my throat.
Small towns are terrible at spreading gossip, and that’s why I never wanted to go in public, but it never dawned on me that someone at the airport would see us.
I freeze as Mr. Deke picks up the conversation from across the table. “Seems to me to be a little impossible. He’s never had a serious girlfriend as he’s a huge playboy. I’m sure it’s another fling.”
My throat cinches so tightly, I have trouble breathing. I back away and dart into the beverage station nook, where I frantically wipe the counter. Their laughter blends into the background noise, but the air changes behind me, and I don’t even have to look.
I didn’t hear the door open.
I just know he’s there.
Before I can lift my head, Bill's moving straight toward me like he’s always belonged here. With a confident smile on his face, he catches my gaze. All at once every bit of the dream rush I’ve been feeling floods back into my chest. I’ve got one leg behind the beverage station, when suddenly his lips are on mine. It’s so unexpected that I startle and pull back, and I panic and whisper-shout, “What are you doing? I have customers.”
“I was kissing you good morning.” I’ve never seen a shrug that shows less concern as he looks at me, his gaze almost pining. “Who cares if they see?”
Caught off guard by the boldness in his voice, I struggle to find a reply, and I stare at him dumbfounded. Yes, I want us tocontinue to move forward in our relationship, but kissing at my restaurant in front of my guests feels like we are skipping a few steps.
The biggest one: telling my son.
Now I’m reminded of that complication, my throat cinches tight again.
“I get wanting to sneak around before when you didn’t know if you should trust me,” he says as his eyes search mine. “But you must admit we’ve made progress. I don’t want to play games. It’s starting to feel childish.”
I swallow hard as my gaze bounces from him to the customers in the corner. I whisper, “I want Noah to find out from me, and I haven’t had time to tell him yet. Just give me a little while longer.”
He shakes his head, but a mischievous smirk grows on his face. “You’re lucky you're cute.”
The customers in the corner have refocused their attention on Bill, and I find myself switching to my professional tone, and pointing to Bill’s counter stool. “Grab a seat,” I say, “or no pancakes for you.”
He laughs, as he’s caught on to the game I’m playing, and he pulls out a stool at the counter. I hate playing this game at all, but with Noah, things are complicated. He has an extreme anxiety disorder, and he was unwell for a long time. We tried so many medications and therapies. Sure, he’s mostly functional now, and it helps that he made Bill’s team. It’s keeping his spirit up, but I’m not going to risk putting my son back into that spiral over a weekend fling, even if I want it to be more than a weekend.
I have to be sure.
It's like he can hear me thinking about him. The door swings open, and Noah’s gaze finds me first, and he smiles. “Hey, Mom.”
