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CHAPTER 6

WYATT

We drive in silence, windows down, the city air thick and humid even at four a.m. The roads are empty except for the flickering orange cones of construction and the occasional police cruiser. Naomi rides shotgun, legs folded under her, hair pulled back in a messy knot. She smells like citrus shampoo and a touch of vanilla, and the back of her hand rests just inches from the gearshift. It takes all my restraint not to reach out and cover it with mine.

The 5th Avenue Diner is exactly what you’d expect from a place that’s survived every economic crash and food trend since the Eisenhower era. It’s got chrome trim and Red vinyl booths. Naomi beams when I pull up out front.

“God, I haven’t been here since prom night,” she says, laughing. “They threw us out after one of my classmates started dancing on tables.”

“Do you plan on dancing on tables tonight?” I tease as I hold the heavy glass door open for her to walk inside.

“Maybe.” She glances over her shoulder and winks teasingly. “We’ll just have to see how the evening goes.”

The tired looking waitress behind the counter tells us to pick whatever booth we want. Naomi stops at a booth in the very back of the diner and I slide in across from her, knees bumping under the table. She doesn’t move away. Neither do I.

A waitress who looks like she’s had better mornings plops two mugs of coffee down, sloshing some on the table, and slides us menus. “Are ya’ll ready to order?” she asks,

“We’ll need a few minutes.” She shrugs and shuffles off with a harried smile. When she returns a few minutes later, we each order the Belgian waffles with strawberry sauce and orange juice.

“So tell me all your deep dark secrets, Mr. Security Man.” Her direct approach steals the little part of my heart I was guarding in case this doesn’t work out. Now, I’ll just have to do whatever it takes to make sure it works.

“There isn’t much to tell.” All I want to focus on is her. I don’t want to think about my former life right now.

“Bullshit,” she says, eyes narrowed. “I’ve already heard the rumors so you might want to set the record straight with the truth.”

Fuck me. I’ve heard some of those rumors and they’re not only insane but they’re also completely false. “I was the head of security for Steel Pulse for ten years,” I admit the painful truth. “And it was hell.” That’s an understatement.

Naomi’s eyes go wide. “Shut up. My sister would give away a kidney to see them in person.”

“She isn’t missing much,” I admit honestly. “They’re just a bunch of spoiled assholes who know how to sing and play the guitar. I got tired of cleaning up their goddamn messes.”

“Why did you decide to move here?” Curiosity shines from her electric blue eyes.

“Roman Sterling is my cousin,” I explain. “He heard through the family grapevine that I was looking for a new gig and called me up.”

Naomi props her feet up on the edge of the booth. “And here you are.”

“That’s right.” I sit back and lay my arm across the back of the booth.

“What are your plans now that you’ve settled in?” I don’t answer right away. The real answer is complicated, and I’ve never said it out loud.

“When I decided to move back, I bought a small house out in the country,” I give her the watered-down version. “Living out of a suitcase got old really fast and I was ready to put down some roots.”

Naomi nods slowly, as if she truly understands. "I gave Hollywood a shot right after high school. Acting wasn't all it was hyped up to be. I lasted two years before the city chewed me up and spat me back here, weary and wiser."

"Was it that bad?" I inquire, curiosity piqued.

She laughs, but there's a slight catch in her voice, an echo of lingering disappointment. "It's all a numbers game out there. You feel like a superstar in your drama class, but once you step into that vast ocean, you realize you're just one of a million versions of yourself. They're blonder, taller, and more willing to do whatever it takes to land roles."

"So, you decided to move back," I say, attempting to sound casual even though my heart is pounding with curiosity.

She shrugs. "Casey was having a tough time, and my mom isn't getting any younger. It was the logical thing to do." She fiddles with the corner of her napkin, her eyes wandering to the window. "I do miss it sometimes, though. The hope, I suppose."

"Are you planning to stay in Silver Spoon Falls now?" I watch her closely, searching for any hint of her intentions. The thought lingers in my mind, wondering if I will need to adjust my own plans to align with hers, to follow whatever path she chooses.

Our breakfast arrives and for a minute we eat in silence. The waffles are so fluffy, they nearly melt in my mouth. Naomi takes three bites, then licks her fork clean, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen that didn’t involve actual nudity.

“God, that’s better than sex,” she says.