She wanted to eat, but she didn’t like putting him out when he had a long drive back home after dropping her off at Blackwell Tactical’s compound. “I can wait.”
“I know you can, but you’re a real grump when you get hungry.” He pointed at a road sign that announced Gert’s Diner. “We’ll stop there.”
The sign with old-fashioned lettering boasted the best downhome cooking and baked goods in the state. Her stomach rumbled louder. “Ever eaten at Gert’s before?”
He shook his head. “But it’s open and nearby, and that fits my criteria.”
“I was more thinking about the fact that Kane can’t connect it with you.”
“Oh, right. Makes sense. Nope. No connection.” He exited the highway and took the access road for a mile. He cranked the wheel into the well-lit lot. Only two cars were parked near the large window, but an “open” sign flashed its welcome.
A red and white awning spanned the width of the building, and the signs in the window also foretold of downhome Southern cooking. Odd choice out in the rural Oregon countryside, but she was a big fan. Her granny had grown up in Alabama before moving to Oregon to get married. She made the best Southern dishes and had taught Brooklyn’s mother how to cook them, too, so Brooklyn had her fill growing up.
Nick pulled around back. “Don’t want my license plates in view of the road.”
“Good thinking.”
“Do you expect anything less?” He laughed. He’d never served in law enforcement, but his work at the Veritas Center involved working on law enforcement investigations, and he’d learned a lot about procedures and how to stay safe.
They hurried through a robust wind that smelled fishy and hinted at the coast not too far away from the front of the building. Inside, the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries set her mouth to watering. The delectable treats scenting the air filled a large glass display case to her left.
An older woman, who had a single white streak like a lightning bolt going through the side of her short black hair,greeted them with a smile. Her nametag readLinette.“Welcome to Gert’s. Are you here for takeout or would you like a table?”
“A table please.” Nick smiled at her.
“Sit anywhere. Menus are on the table, but if you’ll be wanting pastries, you might want to check out the case before you take a seat.”
“Gladly.” Brooklyn stepped up to the glass and drooled over rows and rows of donuts, cookies, muffins, and other pastries, but when her gaze landed on an individual pecan pie, her search was over. Her granny baked the best pecan pie ever, and memories flooded back of days spent in her kitchen, baking and cooking with her, before dementia took over and she passed away.
Tears pricked Brooklyn’s eyes. She hadn’t seen her parents since Kane started stalking her. She’d had to stop any communication with them then. She couldn’t risk him hurting them to get information about her.
Oh, how she missed them. Tears ran from her eyes, and she angrily swiped them away.
Nick stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”
“The pecan pie reminds me of my granny, and I miss seeing my family.” She looked up at the fluorescent lights to stem the tears.
“Something else Kane’s taken away from you.” Nick gestured at the aisle leading to small tables with striped tablecloths that matched the exterior awning. “Let’s sit. Go down to the end.”
She strode down the aisle through tables on both sides of the room, past the only two couples in the room. Both were young and, from what she could see, in love.
What would it be like to come here with a boyfriend instead of a friend? To be dating? At her age, she should be settling down. Having a family. Most of her friends, who she no longer could keep up with either, already did. Nick was a perfectexample, and with his work obsession, she’d always thought he was the most unlikely of her friends to get married and have kids. Yet he’d fallen hard for Piper, and now they were parents too.
He circled around the table and dropped onto a black wooden chair facing the door. She sat on the other side. He handed her a colorful menu in a plastic sleeve. “I had to bail on my event before dinner, but I guarantee whatever I choose here will be better than the rubber chicken dish they were planning to serve.”
“Especially the dessert.” Images of that pecan pie came back, and her stomach rumbled again.
“I’ll get an apple fritter. I’m not a big fan of pecan pie.”
She snorted.
“What?”
“The way you say it. Pea-can versus puh-con. Yours is how a lot of Northerners would say it, and if my granny was still alive, she would chastise you and say that’s a can to pee in.” She chuckled.
He smiled. “Not sure that’s just a Northern way of saying it.”
“Yeah, I heard that even pecan farmers vary on their pronunciation. Just saying.” She opened her menu before they got into a discussion about her family and she started crying again.
