Mason
She keeps threatening to move back home to France. Her parents want her to, and right now, I’m doing all I can to convince her to stay. She hates it in Seattle, but refuses to leave the house and make friends. Marriage counseling feels like the last roll of the dice to try and make things work. During the summer, I thought we were making progress and the scars from the past were starting to heal. Then the regular season started back up, and … yeah, everything’s going to shit again.
“Can I help you?” A bright-faced blonde woman smiles at me from behind the large white reception desk.
I blink a couple of times and lock my phone, still thinking about Mason.
“Hi,” I say, approaching the desk. “I’m?—”
“I know who you are,” she says with a chuckle. “Are you here to see Drew?”
Impressed at her attentiveness, I nod once. “I don’t have an appointment with her, but I was wondering if you could call her and ask if she had a spare hour to talk.” I thumb behind me toward the glass double doors I just walked through. “I’m in need of breakfast, and I’m pretty sure she could use some too.”
The lady just grins and picks up the phone, keying in a few numbers but keeping her attention firmly on me.
“Hey, Drew,” she says after a few seconds. “I have Will Jones downstairs in reception for you. He wants to know if you can join him for breakfast.”
She listens for a moment and then puts the receiver to her chest. “She wants to know if you’re paying.”
I burst out laughing. This girl is all kinds of hilarious.
“Yeah,” I say, pulling out my wallet and waving it at the receptionist. “Anything she wants—cheesecake, hot chocolate, an ice cream sundae—it’s on me.”
The woman looks confused, and I’m not surprised. None of those items are considered breakfast food.
Another couple of seconds pass before the receptionist ends the call and points to a row of cream seats lining the left wall. “Take a seat for me, Will, and she’ll be right down.”
“Areyou going to look at me?” I ask Drew, sounding more desperate than curious.
This Waffle House has nothing on the menu I can eat. Even the fruit salad is likely full of additives.
Conversely, the woman sitting opposite me is studying waffle toppings like she’s considering ordering all of them.
Or maybe she’s deliberately avoiding eye contact because of what I did last night.
I wouldn’t blame her if she was, but still, I need her to give me her eyes so she can see the sincerity in the apology that I’m about to give her.
“I’m just so freaking mad at you, Will,” Drew declares, fingers gripping the menu even tighter.
“All right, what can I start you guys with?” The server looks between us both, obviously not recognizing me.
I motion to Drew for her to go first.
“I’ll get a black coffee and your berry surprise waffle stack, please.”
“And for you, sir?”
The server’s attention rests on me, and I pull my ball cap lower.
“I’ll just get a freshly squeezed orange juice, please.”
The server waits for me to add to my order.
“That’s all I want, thanks,” I finish with a smile.
She turns away before looking over her shoulder at me, a flirtatious glint in her eyes, which, ordinarily, I’d appreciate.
Right now, all I want is to gain Drew’s trust and turn her frown into the smile I picture when I’m not in her presence.
