Not that a man like Brewer Benson would ever look twice at a girl like me.
I’m curvy, but not in an Instagram model, tiny-waist-big-ass kind of way. My thighs are huge, my belly sticks out, and I have plenty of stretch marks and fat rolls. I wish I could be confident in my curves like Savannah, but self-confidence doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m just really good at faking it—good at hiding my insecurities behind a smile.
I push down my thoughts as I tape up the box of Valentine’s Day crap and shove it in the backroom. Then I glance at the clock, my pulse spiking when I see it’s about to strike seven on the dot. Brewer should be here soon. He usually arrives a few minutes after we open, taking the same booth by the counter and ordering the Creekside Special with eggs over easy, an extra hash brown, and a strong black coffee. I could recite the order in my sleep at this point.
My heart jumps as the door opens, the bell tinkling as someone steps inside…but it’s not Brewer. I force a smile to hide my disappointment as the customer sits on one of the chrome stools at the counter. I busy myself with their coffee order, making small talk, but my whole body is on edge as I wait for the bell to ring again. When it finally does, I don’t have to look to know that it’s Brewer. I can feel it in the way my breath catches, the air sucked from the room like a vacuum.
I snatch a glance at him, my knees threatening to give way. He’s so enormous that he has to duck over the threshold, turning to the side so his giant body can fit through the doorframe. Once he’s in, he seems to fill the whole diner, his shoulders taking upmost of the room. His sleeves are rolled up, tattoos snaking up his thick forearms, biceps straining against his gray plaid shirt. A thick brown beard covers the bottom half of his handsome face, and a pair of dark eyes peer around the diner beneath heavy brows.
I force myself to look away, sliding the coffee across the counter to the other customer.
“Enjoy!” I say brightly, my heart in my throat as Brewer walks past the counter toward his usual booth. I watch him discreetly and will myself not to drool. Before I mustered the courage to ask his name a few weeks ago, I used to call him Lumbersnack in my head. It seemed fitting, but Brewer Benson isn’t just a snack.
He’s a six-course meal with champagne and an extra portion of dessert.
It’s not like me to get this crazy about a stranger, but something about Brewer has gotten under my skin. I’m desperate to learn more about him, but I’ve stalked and scoured every corner of the internet, and he doesn’t have social media.
I’ve gathered a few scraps of information from Savannah now that she’s dating his brother, but even that isn’t much. I know Brewer is forty-two and served in the Army. I know he has a cabin on Cherry Mountain…and that’s about it. I’ve tried to press Savannah for more, but she’s too busy climbing Clay like a tree to ask him about his brother.
I watch as Brewer takes a seat, the red vinyl sagging beneath him. He makes the booth look ludicrously small, like it was made for a doll, even though it’s plenty big enough for most people. I stare openly as I round the counter and walk toward him—disappointed but not surprised when he keeps his gaze averted.
It’s Brewer’s only flaw: no matter how much I stare at him, hoping to catch his eye, he refuses to look at me. He seemsallergic to meeting my gaze, and it’s a little depressing when the man you’re obsessed with can’t stomach the sight of you.
“Good morning!” I say, forcing my usual happy-server tone as I stop by his booth. “Do you want the usual?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
It’s only two words, but Brewer’s voice is so deep that it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Perfect.” I try to keep my voice from quivering. “So that’s one Creekside Special with eggs over easy, an extra hash brown, and a strong black coffee. Anything else?”
“That’s it.”
Still no eye contact. He’s looking down at the table like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“Coming right up,” I say.
“Thanks.”
I smile at him—kind of pointless since he’s not even looking at me—then I head back to the counter. I swear I can feel those deep brown eyes drilling into my back as I walk away, but every time I look around, Brewer is staring out the window, down at his hands, the menu—anywhere but me.
When I finally take him his breakfast and coffee a few minutes later, he’s suddenly fascinated by the sugar caddy. He grunts a thanks as I set the plate in front of him, eyes sliding straight to his food, and I try to ignore the burn of frustration in my throat as I walk away.
I’m not freakin’ Medusa,I want to yell at him.
Looking at me won’t turn you to stone!
The diner is filling up, the breakfast rush hitting full swing, and I’m forced to focus on my job, taking orders and making drinks instead of dwelling on Brewer’s lack of attention. But even when I’m on the opposite side of the room to him, I can still feel the tension in the air—a rubber band pulled taut between us.
I know it’s all in my head.
Heck, Brewer doesn’t even care enough to look at me, let alone feel any tension when I’m near him…but it still feels like the air turns thick as molasses every time I walk past his booth.
“Did he look at you yet?” Willa asks.
We’re both working behind the counter now—me pouring coffee, her at the register.
“Nope. I’m still invisible.”
