Chapter Four
Over the next several days, Dixie tried to keep Kyle’s image from popping into her head throughout the day. Much harder was suppressing the memories of the intense moments they’d spent together in the stairwell. While busy at work, she succeeded, mostly, but as soon as she closed her eyes each night, he invaded her dreams.
The nightly visions weren’t limited to a charming smile or a gentle caress, they were full-on naughty sex dreams. And having Kyle Prescott naked in her bed every night left her damp with sweat and aching between her thighs. She woke afterward—or in the middle, which was pure torture—and had to take care of that ache on her own before she could relax enough to go back to sleep. Occasionally, her needy body would wake her a few hours later with more of the same. It was exhausting.
Consequently, she was irritable at work and her tips were beginning to suffer.
To make matters worse, he started to come into the diner routinely. At first, he’d get a table in her section, but she’d get the other waitress to switch out. After the second time she did that, he asked for the other girl’s section deliberately. He’d sit quietly and eat, but she could feel him watching her while she worked. If a stranger did that, it would freak her out and likely she’d call the cops. But Kyle wasn’t the typical stalker, and it helped that he didn’t look the part. He wasn’t creepy with thinning hair and bad skin like in the movies, or in the mug shots on the six o’clock news. It was unsettling, however, bringing back the achy feeling that visited her nightly, and his smile made her heart race. And did he have to be so good looking? She couldn’t keep from sending him sidelong glances, taking in his beautiful blue eyes with their long inky-black lashes, or his full, gorgeous head of hair, or his smooth complexion, except for the scruff of beard he sported at the end of the day, which she found incredibly sexy.
She knew what he was doing, trying to wear her down. Well, it wouldn’t work.
Even so, she asked herself in a moment of complete honesty, if that were true, why did her inner voice sound so entirely unconvincing?
He didn’t come in every day, maybe two or three times a week for dinner and he always had pie. How he ate so much and stayed so trim was beyond her.
One evening, he arrived late, near closing, and took a seat in her section. As strategies went, it was effective because she was the only waitress left and had no choice other than to take his order.
“Hey, Dixie,” he greeted her with a friendly smile.
“Kyle,” she said, all business. “What can I get you?”
“Coffee, black, and peach pie.”
“We’re out.”
“Blueberry?”
“Nope, outta that too.” As she replied, she kept her attention fixed on her order pad as if his pie selection was so complex it had to be written down. If he were a regular, he’d see through her act because it was well known she could take an eight-top’s entire order without paper and pen and get it dead right, down to the doneness of the meat and all the substitutions.
“Dixie.” She peeped at him from beneath her lashes and found him grinning up at her. She arched a brow, saying nothing. “How about we make this easy, baby, and you tell me what you do have?”
“Apple and prune. And don’t call me baby.”
“Prune!” His reaction was animated, his lips curling in distaste. “No wonder you have that left. Gross. I’ll take apple, darlin’.” His wink was slow and sexy and it did strange things to her tummy. And it was all she could take.
“What are you doing?”
“A man can’t have coffee and dessert in the only sit-down restaurant in town?”
She frowned. He was right.
“Or did you think I was coming to see you?” His blue eyes twinkled as he cocked his head to the side, an endearing look on his face that sent a flood of heat to her panty region. “Or did you hope that I was?”
“I, um… No. It’s not that.”
“You did. That’s okay, because you’d be half right. The other reason is because I’m a lousy cook and have been working late. It’s no fun going home to frozen dinners, and takeout gets old quick. The food here is good and the service is excellent. Tonight, I ran so late that I choked down a vending machine sandwich a few hours ago.” He shuddered. “Now I’m thinking apple pie might get the awful taste out of my mouth. Can I get it a la mode?”
“Yes, we have vanilla bean ice cream,” she uttered softly as her face flushed hotly. As if he would stalk her after a few kisses. A man as handsome and wealthy as Kyle could have any woman in Western North Carolina and probably had. That he’d be interested in a poor waitress from the wrong side of the tracks for more than a little fun was laughable. “I’ll be right back.”
She scurried away to get his pie, rushing into the kitchen to get the ice cream from the walk-in. Lester, who had already shut down the fryers, was watching her, his mouth quirked up in amusement as he leaned on the counter with his arms crossed.
“Dr. Love at it again, Dix?”
Twisting around, she stared at him, finding it disturbing that he’d used the same title as the man in the stairwell. Could it be true? “I, uh… no, he wanted… um, pie a la mode.”
“He wants something all right, but it ain’t got shit to do with ice cream.”
His chuckle prompted her to ask, “You know him, then?”
“I know of him. That’s Kyle Prescott, the football star.”
“That was a while ago.”
“Yeah, now he’s a sawbones for sick kids. Why don’t you go out with him? You could do a hell of a lot worse.”
She shook her head. “I’m not interested.”
Lester smirked, not buying her fib. “Is that why you stare him down when he’s not looking, and your eyes scoot away the second he does? You’re not shy, gal. What gives?”
“We have a history.”
“In a small town like this, most folks do.”
“No,” she corrected him, lowering her voice as her eyes went to the door, checking to see that it had closed. “I mean together.”
“I took your meaning. So, deal with it, get past it, and get on with the wining and dining. I bet the good doc could show you things you only dreamed of.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. He was a player when I knew him.”
Lester frowned. “Hm, not from what I hear, and I usually hear that kind of thing.”
“But you called him Dr. Love!”
“I was joking. He has a reputation for being a former college star with a pro career cut way too short who turned that misfortune around to become a damn good doctor, not for all the women he’s had.”
Dixie hesitated.
“He does a lot of volunteer work, and is involved with what little culture and society we have hereabouts. You like that kind of stuff: art and music, and the like. Sounds like the two of you would get on well.”
“Trust me, we wouldn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do, okay?” Annoyed with the late-night interrogation, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“He dump you back in school or something?”
“No,” she shot back. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re holding something against him, woman. He dump one of your girls? Are you denying him over that whole chicks before dicks rule? If so, that’s dumb.”
“Lester,” she said, her patience running thin. “Can we drop this? The doctor and I have nothing in common, so let it go.”
“Hm, a shame. The two of you would have made beautiful babies together.”
She gasped; her dream last night had been exactly that. Married and in love, they’d had a baby girl first, then a little boy, both blue-eyed with sandy hair. And they’d named their son Wyatt. It was the same dream from her freshman year in high school.
As usual, it started out sweet, but soon degraded into a XXX free-for-all on their kitchen table after the kids went to bed. At least that was the location du jour last night; it always varied. Dixie’s nipples hardened at the memory of how in her dream Kyle had stripped her naked, spread her wide open on the table, and then feasted on her pussy like a starving man.
Flustered, she ended the pointless discussion, whirled to the walk-in freezer, and got his order. Kyle didn’t say a word about the second scoop of vanilla she absentmindedly put on the pie she’d forgotten to heat before dropping it off at his table. She didn’t speak to him either, too distracted by both his presence, and how Lester had seemed to know about her dream and her train of thought.
“Dixie?” he called as she was walking away.
“Yeah?”
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I’m just tired and ready to go home.”
“I’ll be quick. Then, I’ll drive you.”
“What?” she bristled. “When was that decided?”
He nodded at the window. “About five minutes ago when it started snowing.”
She shifted her focus outside, seeing the dark, wet pavement, then glanced up at the street light. It was peppering down, but she denied it. “It’s barely flurrying.”
“There’s a winter storm watch out and the already wet roads are going to freeze. I don’t want you driving home in this.”
“That’s nice of you, but I walk to work. Besides, it’s really not any of your business.”
He reached out and caught her wrist as she turned to leave, spinning her back. “What if I say I want to make it my business?”
A blue flame that she suspected was equal parts desire and determination lit his gaze. She tried to deny the uptick in her pulse his touch caused, but couldn’t. Still, she stuck to her guns, saying coolly, “That’s not your call, either.”
“Some asshole did a number on you, didn’t he? And I don’t mean an insensitive high school jerk shooting off his mouth, trying to be cool in front of his friends.”
Dixie didn’t reply, tugging at his firm hold. When his hand slipped down to curl around her fingers, she prayed her palms didn’t sweat and give her away.
“Who was he?”
“There wasn’t a he, so much as a they. And you don’t have enough hours in the day for me to count them all down. We close in five minutes.”
“You can fill me in while I take you home.”
Her brows arched in disbelief. As if.
“If you give me a chance, I could show you I’m not like any of them. I swear.”
“I’ve heard other guys swear they are different. But they only proved me right and themselves jerks. I don’t have the time or the patience for that anymore.”
He caught her other hand while looking up with concern and compassion on his face. “You were hurt, darlin’, and I hate that for you, but those other guys weren’t me.”
“No, but the worst of the lot was my daddy, who left my mama with five kids she couldn’t feed. He’s a tough asshole to follow.”
Startled by her sudden confession, or maybe because he felt he needed to let her go after that bombshell, when she tugged next, he released her. Dipping into her pocket, she pulled out his check and left it on his table, before hurrying into the back and away from the intensity of his scrutiny. Then she busied herself with prep work for the next morning, rolling silverware and setting up the giant tea dispenser so that all she had to do was press start when she came in.
If Kyle pushed it, she’d ask Lester or Pete, who was doing the books in his office, to drive her home. No way was she getting into his fancy car and letting him see where she lived. It was embarrassing.
With no more busy work left to do, she went to her locker and slipped into her winter coat, which was thin, worn, and at least ten years old, and provided little protection from the chill winds and driving snow of a winter storm. Once she’d tucked her seen-better-days old work shoes into her tote, she stomped her feet into her boots, tugged on her gloves—at least these were new, with the tags still on them; she’d scooped them up for a steal at the thrift store down the street—and headed up front. Pete was cashing out the register and Kyle was nowhere in sight. A mix of relief and disappointment warred inside her.
She asked Pete, “Where did he go?”
“You mean the rich dude who clogged up a booth for hours and only racked up a puny four-dollar eleven-cent bill? He left. Next time he comes in, tell your boyfriend there’s a twenty-five-dollar minimum for squatters.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Right,” he drawled. “He the same non-boyfriend who’s been here three or four nights this week, sitting in your section, and glaring death ray stares at any other man who dares glance your way?”
“He does not,” she shot back reflexively, stunned. Had she missed this, or was Pete spinning another of his tall tales?
“Russ Parker came in for his usual Wednesday night after prayer meeting slice of pie and had the bad luck to arrive the same time as the doc. When he took the last booth in your section and you greeted him with a huge smile, I thought the good doctor was going to perform surgery on poor Russ’s vital organs right there on the Formica without anesthesia and nothing more than his dull case knife.”
Clearly, he was exaggerating, and Pete was well-known for laying it on thick. If he saw a lizard, by the end of the yarn it’d be an eight-foot gator, and a minnow always turned into a five-pound bass. But she didn’t say anything else when he scowled at her, having caught her eye roll.
“Remember, I’m off tomorrow. I’ve got the crafts show in Asheville.”
“I know. You’ve been talking about it for weeks.”
“Sorry, but it’s important. I always sell a lot of my paintings when I go to these things.”
“I know, Dixie. You’re covered.” His head angled toward the front windows as a car went by outside on the wet pavement. “If you wait fifteen minutes, I’ll drive you home when I leave. I promised your boyfriend that I would.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, it was either that or he was going to hang around all night and wait for you.”
So, he hadn’t just left. She wasn’t sure what she thought about that, although the warm, tingling feeling that stirred inside her was meaningful.
To Pete, she repeated, “He is not my boyfriend. I’m also not waiting. Your fifteen minutes ends up being an hour, sometimes more. I have to be up early so I’ll walk, but thanks, Pete.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on his scratchy beard-roughened jaw. “You don’t fool me, you know,” she murmured close to his ear. “You’re just a big old softie beneath that gruff exterior.” And it wasn’t lost on her how much he cared or that after working with him for nearly a decade, he was the only stable male figure in her life.
“Spread that around and you’re fired, hear me, girl?”
“Yes, sir, boss man. Never fear, your dirty secret is safe with me.”
He grunted. “Get out of here, brat.”
Before the big bear’s grumble became a roar, she was out the door, rushing home.