His head whips over to eye me. “Not welcome?”
I grip the back of my neck. “Pretty sure it was, based on the response, but then she sort of froze, something shifted, and I realized it was messed-up timing and apologized, but I don’t think that was the right move, either.”
My cheeks bloom with heat under his silent glare. I don’t even mention the horrible moment when I realized she wasn’t just frozen, she wascrying.And I wanted to comfort her, to beg her to tell me what was wrong, but I alsohad this alarm blaring in my head saying,Haven’t you done enough? Get out of her space!
How many times can one man react the wrong way so completely?
So I bolted.
“I’m not the Casanova amongst us, but even I know that probably wasn’t it.”
I drag a boot along the cement. “Yeah, thanks for that.”
His hand claps me on the shoulder. “Well, come on. Am I wingmanning for this?”
“You’re free?” His weekday schedule is usually so full of appointments, he’s unable to do anything outside of his usual lunch hour. I’m on the early end and was shocked when he popped out after my SOS text.
I’m trying not to bottle things up. I learned the hard way those first few years after my entire existence changed that I couldn’t survive alone, and even though it’s not my first instinct, I know it’s true. Having Dec home and right here with me has been the best, and even though he’s not opening up to me just yet, I’m going to keep trying with him. The second Mac gets back, he’s going to get a heaping helping of Grant-shares-his-feelings-101 and we’ll see if he’ll reciprocate, too. Finn, I’m less concerned about, though I’m well aware he’s keeping any discussion of his actual love life locked up tight. Maybe we’ll have a fireside meeting andallshare feelings.
I don’t say it all, of course. I’ve never admitted what gnaws at me and pushes me forward at every turn. Still, admitting this is something, and he’s receptive in a way that confirms it.
“We’re doing our lunch hour early today. Maggie has an appointment in Silverton, and Evie is catching up on filing since we had some insurancechanges.”
His lips thin, brow pinches, and I can tell how much he loves this change of routine from Maggie, or maybe it’s Evie working through lunch. Probably both.
“Then yes. You can wingman until I get her to step aside with me. I don’t need you to witness my groveling, though.”
One sardonic brow raises and we both turn to walk toward Jerry’s. I couldn’t stop in and see her earlier, especially not during the breakfast rush, but I did spot her car parked in the lot around the corner from the diner. I know she’s there.
By the time we get there, my heart is hammering. The stakes here feel mountain-high, and I need to get a grip.
“You good?”
I’ve got nothing more than a nod for him, because I see her through the glass. She tucks a pencil in one pocket of her apron, then pulls out a few straws from the other side and shoots the customers a wide smile. It hits me like a basketball that slips right through my fingers and pounds me in the chest.
The second we walk in, her eyes find me and her face blanks.
Great start.
“Hey, boys. How ’bout the counter for lunch?” Jerry’s sitting at the entrance near the hostess stand that only she mans, balanced on one of the shiny stainless steel stools with patent pink covers like the booths, her voice Velcro and amusement.
She’s got deep red lipstick on with a sunburst of wrinkles feathering out around her mouth from her years of smoking, despite having quit well over ten years ago. Her hair is teased high with bangs sprouting in all directions in a black and cranberry color to match her lipstick, andher cat-eye glasses have rhinestones and chains to hook around her neck so she can tug them off and skewer anyone who runs afoul of her with her signature suspicion. Her skin is weathered from sun even at this time of year and I mentally banish that I know she’s a part of the periodic Juniper View nudist club we all pretend doesn’t exist until someone—usually Divia Robertson—calls to report them.
In off times, the waitstaff seats people, and in busy times, Jerry’s bustling around in the thick of it, too. The ebb and flow in mountain town life can be extreme, but today, it’s busy enough to have two waitresses, Jerry here on her perch, and Morgy in the back on the grill.
“Actually, I believe my brother is hoping to be seated in Ms. Ellis’s section.”
The glare I send in Dec’s direction would excoriate a lesser man, but he’s impervious. And I’m both shocked and annoyed, because in what universe does my quiet, terse brother throw me under the bus to Jerry?
Speaking of, she’s the cat who ate the canary as she eyes me.
“Young Grant got a crush? You’re not the only one with eyes for our Sammy.” Then her face blanks like I’m some ruffian from Salt Lake and not a kid who grew up coming here for as long as I can remember, well before the remodel. “You give her any trouble, and you’ll have not only me but Morgy to answer to. Hear?”
I nearly choke, but I nod. “Yes, ma’am. Understood. I have no plans to give her any trouble at all.”
Dec’s eyes are sparkling with amusement, and I know I’m going to catch hell for this. There’s no escaping it. But finally, Jerry flicks her wrist toward a booth.
“Off you boys go. Tip ’er good, huh?” She gives me,then Dec, a firm look, then shifts her attention to someone behind us, and we move on our way.
