Between orders, I find myself drifting closer to his booth, desperate for any sort of interaction. He never initiates anything, or says much, but when he does, it’s like he’s letting me in on a little piece of his life.
“How long have you been working here?” he asks in a low voice.
“Since I was old enough to climb a stool. My mom says I was born holding a coffee pot,” I say. “I think she was just tired.”
“You ever want to do something else?”
His question catches me off guard. Nobody has ever asked me that before. Maybe they figure I’ll never leave Crystal Falls, or maybe nobody cares. But hearing it from him stings in a way that makes me want to tell the truth.
“Yeah,” I admit, my tone turning quiet. “Sometimes. I think about leaving. But who would serve Mr. Halpern his pie and stop Mrs. Ethan’s kids from setting the place on fire?”
Dean gives a little shrug and nods, like he gets it. “Family’s a bitch that way.” He looks away, jaw tense, and I want to reach across the table and touch him, but I don’t.
We do this dance every day. Flirt, pull back, flirt again. Sometimes he’ll lightly touch my wrist when I set down his plate, his fingers rough and warm, and the touch lasts way too long to be accidental. Sometimes I catch him smiling at my stupid jokes, only for the smile to fade quickly like he remembers he’s not allowed to be happy.
Every conversation with Dean is a game of chicken. Who will crack first? I’m dangerously close to losing.
By Thursday, the tension is killing me. Gina corners me in the back hallway. “You know, Aub, you could just ask him out. The world won’t end.”
I snort. “Says you. If it’s a disaster, and I’ll have to serve him coffee every morning until I die.”
Gina rolls her eyes. “Girl, stop! You’re allowed to be happy…to want things. Just don’t go all psycho chick on us, and burn the place down if it doesn’t go well, okay?”
I flip her off, and she laughs, tossing a rag at me. But her words stick.
Gi’s right. I’m allowed to want things, aren’t I? Even if it’s just one night. Even if it’s him.
That night, as I’m mopping up spilled chocolate milk and wishing for a meteor to hit the diner and put me out of my misery, Dean’s still there, and watching. The dinner crowd has thinned out; it’s just us, a few regulars making small talk over pie, and the buzz of that stupid neon sign in the window.
Fuck it.
If I don’t do something, I’m going to lose my mind. So, I march over to his booth, trying not to overthink what I’m about to do. “Random question,” I say, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, “do you ever do karaoke?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You offering free humiliation?”
I laugh, nervous energy bubbling over. “It’s karaoke night at Maggie’s Taproom. It’s dumb, I know. But it’s fun. You shouldcome. Everyone gets drunk, sings like shit, and tries to forget it ever happened in the morning.”
Dean sits there and just stares at me. I nearly back out, but then he gives this slow, lethal grin. “You singing?”
I shrug, trying to act like it’s nothing. “Maybe. Depends on how much whiskey I get in me.”
He nods. “All right. I’ll show. But you gotta sing.”
Holy crap, he actually agreed to come. My stomach flips. “Deal. But if you laugh when I butcher ‘Jolene,’ I’m spitting in your coffee for a week.”
He lets out a laugh, deep and rough, and stands, tossing a few bills on the table. “See you tonight, trouble.”
I freeze. Trouble. It makes my skin tingle, and my heart skip.
He walks out, and I’m left standing there like I’ve been hit by a truck. Gina pokes her head out again, all mischief. “Well, look at you, miss thing. Was that a date?”
“It’s not a date,” I snap, but my cheeks are burning. She just giggles as she wipes down the counter, not fooled for a second.
The rest of the shift is a blur. I spill coffee, forget to ring up a table, and almost burn my hand grabbing a piece of pie out of the case. I can’t focus on anything but the way Dean looked at me, that dare in his eyes. Everything feels charged, like the air before a summer storm. I keep replaying the way he said “Trouble” … soft, almost possessive.
After closing, I linger in the empty diner, pretending to clean. Really, I’m freaking out. I haven’t been this nervous since…well, since the night of the wedding, if I’m honest. I try to picture Dean at Maggie’s Taproom, all leather and tattoos, maybe loosening up, maybe finally letting me in. What if he kisses me again? What if he leaves again?
I head home, a ball of nerves. I change clothes three times, curse my reflection, and finally settle on jeans, boots, and my favorite top. Not too casual, not too desperate.
