“I meanoverthink,” he says. “We need you present, but also out of this slump. Cal, you’re the best. But you’re going through something. It happens to all of us. But this woman—” He peers to the side, where Fran fills up water glasses and checks on an older man at the counter. “For whatever reason, she helps you loosen up. Like it or not, she may actually be your lucky charm.”
“She isn’t my?—”
“Two waters,” Fran says, all at once next to our table. She sets the filled glasses in front of us and pulls out her notebook. “Have you guys decided?” Her eyes play ping pong, bouncing from her tablet to me, the water glasses on our table to me, and then Zev to me.
I want to laugh. And I want to hold her eye contact and tell her it’s all going to be okay. And—dang it, with her quirks, I do feel more at ease.
“I’ll take an order of flapjacks and a side of bacon,” Zev says.
I huff at Zev’s order. Brian would choke ifhe heard that. We arein season, man. He’s going to be bloated and slow tomorrow. “Can I get an egg white omelet?”
“Just egg whites?” Fran says, a small crease between her eyes.
“With a little Swiss cheese, veggies, and turkey if you have it.”
Her head tilts, her eyes studying me as if I am a puzzle to be solved. “But just the egg whites. No yolk?”
“Just the whites.” Clearly this isn’t a common order at Stacks. “Can your chef take the yolks out for me?”
Fran glances at the older man through the cook’s window, then turns back to me. “Oh, I’m sure he is able to. I’m not sure he will.”
Zev reaches across the table and slaps my shoulder. “Live it up, Superman. You could use the protein.” Zev slips out of his seat. “I’m going to the bathroom.” And in two blinks, he’s gone. Leaving me alone with Fran—and the rest of the café.
“Superman?” she says.
I squirm a little in my seat. “Yeah. Most of the guys have nicknames on the team.”
“Why Superman?” she says, tapping her pen to her small notebook, looking more at ease.
“My name is Callum. Superman’s real name is Kal-El. I’m an attacking forward.” I shrug. It sounds so dumb as I try to explain it to her.
One side of her mouth quirks up in a grin. “That’s cute.”
Cuteis not exactly the term I’d use. I squirm in my seat. “Listen, Fran, I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have kissed you the other night. It was forward and out of line and… just dumb.” And it was all Lucca’s fault, but I leave that out.
Her brows pull together and she smirks. “You did say you’re forward.”
“Yeah. Uh—different kind of forward. I just—” I run a hand through my hair, blowing out a tired breath. “I never meant to be so invasive or assertive. It sounds stupid”—because it is stupid—“but I needed to be spontaneous and—” I cram my eyes closed because this might be the worst apology ever given.
“It wasn’t a bad kiss,” she says.
And her response makes me chuckle. “No, it’s not that the kiss was bad. It wasn’t. But?—”
“And you’re single,” she says, sliding onto Zev’s seat across from me. “You said you were single. So, it’s not like you turned me into the ‘other woman’, right?”
She isn’t making me feel any better. I stare at her from across the table. “No. I wouldn’t do something like that. You’d broken up with your boyfriend on stage and?—”
“Doug?” Her brows knit. “Doug wasn’t my boyfriend. That was our first date, and it didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”
I sigh out a breathy laugh. “I think I need something outside my team,” I say, giving in to Zev’s theory. And Fran, who I find more funny than cuckoo, makes me laugh. She distracts me in this pleasant, unexpected way.
“Everyone needs something outside of work.” She tilts her head in thought. “I have Rosalie. And my remakes. And school—though I’m pretty sure that counts as work.”
I’m not sure what she’s talking about, and surprisingly, I’d like to ask a follow-up question. But just then, Zev exits the bathroom.
“Frances!” a man booms over the bustle of the half-filled diner. “Whereis Frances?”
“Crap!” Fran’s face blooms bright red. “I have to go. I’ll be back with your food.”
