The doctors turn toward my father. Another mini stare-off ensues, followed by his hand waving my dismissal.
I can’t leave fast enough, and I emerge from the mansion and stumble into the front courtyard. Once I’m outside, I take a deep breath before whisper-screaming. If I really scream, the asshole might come out. The sky is grey, matching my soul, and I decide to walk. My body feels invisible, like a specter who’s just meandering about, waiting to arrive at some unknown destination. My feet move, but my mind is somewhere else. I just walk and walk and walk.
Before long—it could have been hours for all I know—I realize I’m in the Patch, staring at a red sign that readsMaggie’s Diner.
Chapter 4
Torren
Maggie has owned this place since the 1970s, and it hasn’t changed much since then. The red upholstery is in dire need of a redo, and the appliances that stretch along the back counter are older than Gabe and me, but it’s the only place to get a cup of coffee in the Patch.
Gabe and I sit at the bar, hands wrapped around our coffee mugs, prolonging the inevitable. I stare down at the black liquid swirling around in my cup and brace myself for the taste as I bring the cup to my lips.
Fuck me!
My whole body shudders. I’ve been drinking this crap for years, and I’m still not used to it. I turn to Gabe, who’s munching on a double chocolate donut, his eyes closed as he savors the sweet treat. Maggie’s coffee might suck, but her donuts are the best.
The lady of the house slides a small plate with an old-fashioned donut right in front of me. That’s all I want. Gimme the original, and that’s it.
“How’s the Joe?” Maggie asks.
“Awful,” I reply before another gulp makes me grimace.
“Perfect. If it tasted good, I’d never get you two assholes out of here.” Maggie’s teeth look like they’re one more cigarette away from falling out of her head as she leans back and cackles.
This is why I come here every day—Maggie’s a freaking hoot. “The donuts are still good,” I reply as I take a big bite of mine.
“Now, donuts are different. Diners are supposed to have shitty coffee. Donuts? That’smything. My mother’s very own recipe.”
I’ve heard the story about her mother opening this restaurant a hundred times, so I quickly change the topic.
“I noticed a HELP WANTED sign coming in.” Maggie has a bitch of a time keeping staff. Despite everyone in the Patch saying they need a decent job, nobody’s eager to wait tables at a perfectly fine restaurant.
Maggie rolls her eyes as she wipes down the bar. “Denise called this morning, saying she’s ditching town with her new beau. New beau, my ass,” she mumbles under her breath. “The woman looks like a pitbull, so who the hell is she running off with? A dog catcher? Couldn’t tell me last night? Had I known, I would have come in an hour earlier to get things ready. We’ve been busy as hell all morning, and we’re down a server to boot.”
“You can’t find good help these days,” I lament, and get an elbow to the ribs from Gabe. “Except you, Baby Gabe,” I pull him in for some noogies to which he responds with more jabs to my ribs.
Our scuffle nearly knocks my coffee mug off the counter, and Maggie yells, “Hey! You break it, you buy it, little shits.” Then, she leaves to meet a customer at the register.
Gabe breaks free from my noogie assault and gives me his trademark scowl as he attempts to fix his hair.
“Who the hell are you fixing your hair for? You work in an auto shop.”
Gabe runs his hands down his black hoodie, smoothing out the wrinkles while giving me a look that says, “You never know.”
“Meh. Nobody good lookin’ lives here. Hell, we’re the prettiest things in the whole damn Patch.”
Gabe rolls his eyes, which I absolutely deserve. I’m half kidding and half not. Anyone young with even the slightest bit of moxy, intelligence, or good looks left this dump a long time ago.
Maggie saunters to the far side of the bar, saying, “What’ll it be, hon?”
I turn to see who she’s speaking to, and my eyes land on the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Holy. Shit.
I shake my head, making sure I’m not imagining this vision before me. He looks effortlessly regal. Even the way he folds his hands on the counter is elegant.
His face screams innocence as he eyes the menu hanging above the coffee station. The luminous brown hair on his head is coiffed with style, his beautiful green eyes shimmer with nerves, and his skin is like porcelain.
