He lifts his coffee again.“You’re welcome.”
“I mean it.I appreciate it, but you don’t have to step in and save me from the creeps I seep to draw in everywhere I go.”
“So do I.”
I lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted.“Sorry about the drama.”
He shrugs.“Seen worse.Probably caused worse.”His mouth twitches.“Maybe.”
The old man beside him chuckles again.“You should keep him around,” he tells me.“Best breakfast entertainment we’ve had all week.”
I roll my eyes.“Eat your pancakes, Harold.”He grins and goes back to them.Johnny slides Tucker’s plate through the kitchen window.
“Order up!”
I grab it and carry it to the counter.
Eggs.Bacon.Toast.Hash browns.
Tucker studies the plate like it’s a mechanical puzzle.“You sure this isn’t poisoned?”he teases
“Only if you annoy me.”
He picks up his fork.“Taste test will tell.”
I watch him take a bite.For a moment he just chews.Then nods.“Good.”
Relief I didn’t know I was holding slips out of my shoulders.“Glad the diner passed inspection.”
He glances up at me again.“You okay?”
The question is quieter this time.More personal.
I think about lying.Instead I say the truth.“He does that sometimes.”
“Show up angry?Get pushy?”
“Yeah.”
Tucker’s jaw tightens slightly.“He ever hurt you?”
The bluntness of the question catches me off guard.“Not like that,” I reply quickly.Too quickly.
“Like what?”
“Like the guy last night.”That’s technically true.Roger likes to feed empowered.He hasn’t grabbed me.He just makes sure his presence is felt. Pressure of sorts.
Tucker watches me carefully.Like he can tell I’m only giving him half the story But he doesn’t push.Instead he nods once.“If he bothers you again?—”
I cut him off.“I’ll handle it.”
He studies me.Then nods again.“Okay.”But something in his eyes says he doesn’t entirely believe that.
And strangely, part of me doesn’t either.
Because the truth is when Tucker Bostic walked into this diner this morning, for the first time since leaving Clint I felt a little less alone.
SIX
