“Ha. Definitely not.” How could I even sum up the last seven years in a few words?It happened. “I spent most of my timeworking for my uncle’s restaurant and sent extra money back whenever I could. In whatever free time I had, I coached a youth kickball league.”
“No way.” Kira’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the table. “Coach Cole, huh? No wonder you’re so good with kids.”
I shrugged, chuckling. “Teaching kids how to paint something pretty is miles different than telling them to run laps, but I guess the same concept applies—patience, snacks, and hiding your stress from them.”
“Did you live alone in Atlanta?” she asked.
“Yeah. Big fan of peace and quiet.”
“Bachelor pad and all?” Her tone was light, but I caught the flicker of something more in her expression. Curiosity? Nerves?
I grinned. “I suppose.”
Then she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the straw. “And did you, uh…” Her voice dropped slightly, more cautious now. “Live a bachelor life?”
“There were a few flings along the way,” I admitted, holding her gaze, “but nothing serious. No one I brought home to meet Mom. No one I kept thinking about the way I thought about you.”
A faint flush bloomed across her cheeks. I couldn’t tell if it was from the heat of the diner, the weight of what I’d said, or some emotion she didn’t want me to see.
“You thought of me?”
“All the time.”
A deep and familiar voice joined. “Well, well, if it isn’t my two favorite students!”
Both our heads snapped to the side, where our old high school art teacher was standing. His salt-and-pepper hair had thinned since we’d last seen him, but the mischievous glint in his eyes was exactly the same.
“Mr. Pollard?” Kira said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing!” he replied, grinning. “This is my local haunt. They have the best pancakes in the city.”
There was absolutely no way that was true—especially with my family’s diner reopening—but I didn’t bother disagreeing. As I’d learned in his class, my judgment on what was good was often wrong.
“What have you two been up to? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all my riveting lessons about chiaroscuro and negative space.”
Kira laughed. “Of course not. I think about contrast every time I pick an outfit.”
“I think of negative space every time I attempt to draw literally anything,” I added dryly.
Pollard chuckled, his eyes darting between us. “You two still the dynamic duo, huh? It’s nice to see. I can’t believe you’ve been together since high school. How long ago was that—six years?”
I froze. Kira’s smile stiffened, her eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second.
“Oh, uh,” Kira began awkwardly, “we’re not?—”
“Seven years,” I interrupted smoothly.
Kira shot me a look that I ignored.
Pollard grinned, satisfied. “I knew it. You two were always glued at the hip in school. You’ve got that rare kind of connection. Don’t let it go.”
The waitress returned with our salads and pie, sparing us from having to respond. Pollard glanced at his watch.
“Well, I won’t keep you from your date. I just wanted to say hi. Great seeing you both! Don’t be strangers.”
“Bye, Mr. Pollard,” I said as he waved and strolled off to another booth.
Once he was out of earshot, Kira turned to me, incredulous. “Seven years?”
