“We’ll need more than one item,” I pointed out, going for the joke.
“In that case, I’ll count Scott Crawley twice.”
Okay, then. “He did come up to me,” I reminded him. “Not the other way around.”
“I know,” he replied. “And I’m aware that this”—he moved a hand between us, both the word and the gesture vague—“isnot officially a relationship as much as an extended agreed nighttime meetup.”
I raised my eyebrows. “It sounds almost boring, when you put it that way.”
He lifted a finger, running it through one of my waves. “You think this is boring?”
My breath caught. “I said almost.”
Now he moved his hand down my shoulder, spreading his fingers over my arm. “So, hypothetically, let’s just say we stop hiding. What does that look like?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Different.”
He traced the line of my chin. “Different good, or different bad?”
“Is there such a thing as different better?”
“I can’t say I have a lot of experience with it,” he said. “Have to start somewhere, though.”
I slid my hands, palms flat, up his chest. “The other option is that we decide now we don’t have to solely sneak around anymore. But we also don’t plan, like, a big reveal.”
“So you’re saying youdon’twant us to have a passionate moment by the bus pan tomorrow morning?”
“Maybe not just yet.”
He bent his head, pressing his lips to my temple. Making me reconsider, honestly.
“This happened in its own way,” I said softly. “Maybe we give whatever is next that chance too.”
“Okay.” His mouth trailed down to my cheek, then collarbone. “Daytime Us will let it play out.”
“I like Daytime Us already,” I said, sliding my arms around his neck. “We’re so practical.”
“Whereas Nighttime Us make bad decisions.” He scooped up my legs, putting them over his own. “Like meeting at two a.m.”
“Climbing out of windows,” I added.
“Keeping people from their REM cycle,” he said. We were entwined now, face-to-face, our lips only the slightest bit apart. That edge, again. “Should we keep going?”
“Yes,” I said, and then my mouth was on his, and we did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The following couple of weeks passed in a blur, each punctuated by the morning’s rush. One day Cardoon brought three vans. Another morning, due to an ordering snafu, we were out of bacon. After the AC at the nearby daycare went on the fritz, resulting in a crowd of kids, I’d stopped trying to prepare myself for whatever chaos awaited me. There was just no way.
“Eighty-six chocolate chips,” Clark said, just as I was about to stick a ticket with three orders needing them.
“What?” Lana said. “Half my tables just ordered those in their pancakes.”
“As did others,” he replied, stirring batter. Ben was back by the grill, head bent, flipping bacon. Thank God Clark had stocked up at Bly Supply. The day we were out, people were losing their minds. “Normally we hardly need chocolate chips for anything. But now we’re a grade school cafeteria, I guess. So…”
“At least it’s just one day,” Kasey said as she slid behind me, carrying a tray of dirty dishes. “And things went a little better with the buses, now that we’re getting some advance notice.”
“Thanks to Lana.” Clark stuck two plates in the window,slapping a ticket on top of one. “Now that Cardoon’s got her number, he’s sure using it.”
