“I’m serious, Eliza,” he added. “I’ve got something special planned for opening night. The mayor’s coming. The chamber of commerce. It’s going to be big.”
Someone behind us in line cleared their throat loudly. I turned just enough to see an older woman elbowing her husband.
“I thought she was seeing Hot Diner Dad. Are they fighting over her?” she whispered. Not quietly.
“I saw them together in the park. With her cats,” someone added.
“We did too,” the husband muttered. “He’s Joyce and Winston’s grandson. Good folks.” He turned to me. “You’re a good boy. We love the Pennywhistle. You’re doing a great job.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, turning red as I contemplated running off into the distance, but Graham’s presence kept me where I was.
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Graham came back to town too big for his britches. Like he doesn’t have to wait in line like the rest of us. Team Diner Dad.”
There was a tense pause, the kind that made the whole crowd lean in a little closer. Even the hiss of the espresso machine seemed to quiet down, as if everyone was caught in the undercurrent of their exchange.
I shifted my weight and ducked my head, pretending I was somewhere else, anywhere else.
Graham flicked his eyes toward them, clearly annoyed, but said nothing.
“Yeah, I know you can hear me,” she huffed when she caught Graham looking at her. “I’m friends with your grandma, Graham. Mrs. Woods, remember me? You used to tag along with her when we played cards.”
I looked at Eliza again. Her cheeks were pink—not from the cold. She looked pissed.
“If you want coffee, you’ll have to get in line like everyone else,” Eliza informed him, her tone flat and clipped, eyes already back on the espresso machine.
Graham slid onto a stool at the counter anyway. “I can wait until it clears.”
From where I stood in line, I watched Eliza’s jaw tighten. She didn’t look at him this time. “Suit yourself,” she said, already calling out the next order, like he was a problem she’d decided not to engage with.
He sniffed and sat on a stool.
I didn’t say anything. Not yet. I stood there, waiting my turn, watching her work, letting Graham sit there and stew in whatever weird little power move he thought he was making.
After another minute, Graham finally turned toward me, flashing that effortless smile that probably made investors hand over blank checks. “Pennywhistle’s looking good. Still planning to compete in the Taste-Off?”
“I am.” I gave him a steady look. “You?”
“Of course. Got a little surprise planned.” He winked at Eliza. “And some high expectations.”
“He always did like attention,” Mrs. Woods announced behind us, her voice steady.
His smile didn’t falter, but something flickered behind his eyes. “Good thing I’m excellent at delivering,” he shot back, smiling at her as if he had a chance to charm away her hostility.
“Right.”
The whispering behind us hit a fresh high.
“Is she dating them both?”
“God, I hope so. This is better thanDays of Our Lives.”
Eliza didn’t even blink. She slammed a to-go lid on a cup and leaned one forearm against the walk-up window.
“No,” she said, voice flat as yesterday’s drip coffee. “I’m not dating anyone. Not him. Not the other him.” She pointed at me. “Not your cousin Steve. Not even myself at this point.” She raised an eyebrow, “But if I ever do decide to date someone—let alone two someones—you’ll know, because I’ll stop looking like I sleep in cat hair and maybe start wearing more makeup. Anything else?”
A few nervous laughs.
One person backed up a step.
