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The good Samaritan sat at the far booth on her side of the diner. No doubt Sylvia sat him there on purpose.
Today his red hair was damp from the misting rain. He wore an evergreen and brown flannel; she tried not to notice how it stretched over his broad chest and bulging biceps.
Grabbing a clean mug and the pot of decaf, she went over to him.
“Welcome to Donna’s Diner, what can I get for you?”
“You remembered.” He smiled at the orange-capped coffeepot. “I’m flattered.”
“Part of the service is knowing our regulars.”
His smile widened. “Does two visits qualify me as a regular?”
Clearing her throat, she looked down. His hands were folded atop the table. They were wide and looked strong. She wondered if his hands would feel warm and calloused if she touched them. How they might feel against her sensitive skin.
Clarissa averted her eyes to the pot of coffee as a heated flush crept up the back of her neck. What was wrong with her?
“Did you need some time to look over the menu?” she asked.
“Not necessary, I know what I want.”
Was it her imagination, or was there a double meaning to his words?
Setting down the coffeepot, she pulled out her pad of paper. Against her better judgment, she looked directly at his face.
Her heart skipped a beat, and then it sank. He was staring at her arm. She’d forgotten to pull her sleeves back down. Pursing her lips, she glowered at her pad of paper and steeled herself for the invasive questions and rude comments. They didn’t come.
“I’ll take another vegetable omelet, please.”
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Hash browns.”
“Comin’ right up.” She stalked back to the counter and put in the order.
Yanking her sleeves down to her wrists, she caught the eyes of Jeff, Eugene, and Sylvia.
“What?” she snapped.
“Nothing,” Sylvia said innocently.
“So, who’s the new customer?” Jeff asked.
“No one.” Clarissa scowled.
“Sure doesn’t look like no one,” Eugene said.
Ignoring them, she busied herself with non-essential tasks behind the counter. Anything to keep her gaze, and mind, off the man sitting in the corner booth. Clarissa muttered to herself while she worked. This was stupid. She was an adult, and an adult has the right to some sort of privacy and anonymity in her own life.
Yes, the man was terribly handsome. Yes, he returned to the diner, yet again, for no good reason. Yes, she’d been hoping to see him, but it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t because she didn’t want it to. It wasn’t practical, and right now, ‘practical’ was her middle name.
She had Rachel to think about. To afford a home care aide, she needed to start picking up extra shifts. Clarissa had more important things to think about than handsome redheaded strangers who were kind, and selfless, and looked like a lumberjack from a dirty calendar.
Once more, she still had issues with being touched. Sure, she’d had boyfriends in the past and she wasn’t exactly the virgin Madonna. But it was difficult. Being bare, allowing herself to be so vulnerable with someone—it wasn’t easy after everything that happened.
She usually got tipsy before she had sex, sometimes refusing to take her clothes off … It was awkward. With everything else going on in her life, she didn’t have time to fix her intimacy issues.
“Order up!” Adam said.
