Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
T he bell above the diner’s door jingled as Deb stepped inside. The familiar scent of coffee and fried food wrapped around her like a warm embrace. She had been coming here for years, yet it felt like enemy territory lately.
The low hum of conversation didn’t stop completely, but she caught the subtle pauses, the quick glances in her direction before heads turned back to their meals. It wasn’t outright hostility, but it was close. It was a clear reminder of the damage she had done, the bridges she had burned...as if she could forget.
Sliding into a booth near the window, Deb exhaled slowly, shoving away the unease creeping up her spine. She was hungry and wasn’t about to let the past dictate whether or not she ate dinner.
Sharon, the waitress who had worked here for as long as Deb could remember, approached with a pad and pen. The woman didn’t smile, but she didn’t scowl either. Progress, Deb supposed.
“What’ll it be?” Sharon asked, her voice clipped as if she wasn’t entirely sure Deb deserved to be waited on. If she were Sharon, she would feel the same way. She had helped spread the rumor Linda Cadel had started about Sharon’s husband having an affair. She had since apologized, but the damage had been done. Her stomach churned at the thought of how many lives she affected.
“Burger and fries,” Deb answered, handing over the menu. “And coffee.”
Sharon nodded, scribbling it down before walking away without another word.
“Thank you,” Deb said, but Sharon was already walking away.
Deb leaned back with a sigh, trying not to let the tension settle too deep. She knew what people thought of her. That was the thing about reputations...they clung to you like a stain that wouldn’t wash out. It wasn’t their problem. It was her problem. She had done this and deserved their mistrust.
She stared out the window, watching the streetlights flicker on as the sun dipped lower behind the town’s miniature skyline. She had always liked this time of day, the quiet moment between dusk and nightfall when the world seemed to take a breath.
The bell above the door jingled again, and a shift in the air made her pulse stutter. Her eyes moved to the door to see Brock walk inside, his intense gaze scanning the restaurant. She looked away quickly, hoping he didn’t see her sitting alone. His presence filled the small diner like a thunderstorm rolling in—heavy, commanding, and impossible to ignore.
Deb didn’t move or react, but she could feel him approaching. It was a strange sensation that came over her body as if she could feel his presence.
“Mind if I join you?” The deep timbre of his voice sent something sharp and unexpected through her chest. Slowly, she looked up, meeting those dark, unreadable eyes.
“You don’t have to,” she said, forcing her voice to remain even.
“I know.” He slid into the booth across from her without hesitation.
Sharon headed their way, her eyes all for Brock. “What can I get you?” Her tone was much more pleasant, almost making Deb roll her eyes, but she stopped herself.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Brock said without looking at the woman, instead he continued to stare at Deb.
Sharon frowned and then shot Deb a dirty look before walking away.
“Seriously, you don’t have to sit with me. I’m a big girl, and this place has plenty of open seats.” Deb said as soon as Sharon was out of earshot.
Brock smirked, settling in like he belonged there. “And yet, here I am.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. “Why?”
“Why not?” He answered her question with a question.
Deb let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “You do realize sitting with me isn’t great for your reputation, right? I know you’ve heard some things about me, and I’m sure you’ll hear more the longer you stick around. Best cut and run while you can.”
“I don’t give a damn about my reputation, Deb.” Brock leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his voice steady. “And I don’t run.”
She scoffed, stirring her coffee with unnecessary force. “Must be nice.”
“What?” Brock asked, cocking an eyebrow. “That I don’t care about my reputation?”
“No.” She shook her head, staring into the dark liquid in her cup. “That you don’t run. I think about running every damn day. Just before you walked in, I thought about running out of this place.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Brock’s voice was lower now, his gaze locked onto her.
Deb swallowed, suddenly feeling too exposed, and wondered why she even told him that. She shrugged, reaching for a sugar packet to have something to do with her hands. “Guess I was hungry.”
Brock didn’t look away or let her brush it off so easily. He leaned in just a little closer, his presence a weight she could feel, pressing against all the parts of her she didn’t want to examine too closely. “I don’t think that’s the reason.”
Her fingers tightened around the sugar packet, crinkling it in her grasp. “You know nothing about me.”
Brock smirked, but it wasn’t amusement—it was knowing. “You’re not a runner.”
That made something twist deep in her chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar. No one had ever bothered to try and see her before. Not really. Then again, she had never really given anyone the chance.
Sharon returned before she could say anything else, setting their plates down with too much force. “Anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Brock replied smoothly, still ignoring her and continuing to look at Deb.
Sharon didn’t react; she just nodded and walked off, muttering something under her breath as she went.
Deb huffed out a humorless laugh. “See? That’s what I was talking about. You keep sitting here, and soon enough, they’ll be talking about you, too.”
“Let ’em.” Brock picked up a fry, chewing slowly before adding, “I’ve dealt with worse than small-town gossip.”
Deb studied him, searching for the lie, but there wasn’t one. He really didn’t seem to care.
“But I was one of those who spread and even started some of the small-town gossip about the good people of this town,” Deb whispered, her eyes shying away from his. “I wasn’t a very nice person.”
He said nothing as he sat there listening and eating his food, though his eyes rarely left her, and it was very unsettling if she were being honest.
“Listen, you don’t have to sit here, be nice, and act like I’m not the person I used to be.” Deb decided to nip this shit in the bud. There had to be a reason this man—who she barely knew—was acting like she was the nice girl in town. She wasn’t. She had never been.
He remained silent, which was starting to irritate her.
“I’m not going to toss your sister and nephew out on the streets,” she continued, meeting his eyes with a steady, unflinching gaze. “I gave my word.”
Brock stopped chewing, his expression shifting, the easy warmth in his eyes cooling into something unreadable. He swallowed, took a slow drink of coffee, then wiped his mouth deliberately.
“That’s what you think this is?” His voice was calm, but there was something beneath it. Something sharp.
She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling exposed under the weight of his gaze. “I think it makes the most sense.”
Brock leaned back, draping an arm over the back of the booth, studying her like she was a puzzle he intended to solve. “So let me get this straight. You think I’m sitting here, having dinner with you, because I’m worried you’ll kick Tammy and Ben out?”
She forced a smirk, lifting a shoulder. “Stranger things have happened.”
Brock huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Deb, that is the last thing I would ever think. For one, I am a man who can take care of my own. You offered to help women, not just my sister. I took you at your word, and I don’t take you as a liar. For two, you are not cruel.”
Deb laughed, but it sounded brittle, even to her own ears. “Tell that to the rest of the town.”
“They don’t matter.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Brock’s jaw tightened. “I said...they don’t matter. People love to hold onto their versions of the past, especially when it makes them feel better about themselves.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean they’re right.”
Deb swallowed hard, looking away. “Again, you don’t know me, Brock.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. “Maybe not. But I know enough.”
The certainty in his voice unnerved her. No one had ever looked at her like this, like they saw her and not just the reputation she’d spent years cultivating.
Before she could respond, a burst of laughter from a nearby table drew her attention. A couple of women glanced over, whispering behind their hands, shaking their heads.
Deb clenched her jaw and looked away, fingers tightening around her cup.
Brock followed her gaze, his expression darkening. “You gonna let them get to you?”
“I deserve it.”
“The hell you do.”
Deb let out a bitter laugh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t know the full story.”
Brock leaned back, crossing his arms. “Then tell me.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, she almost considered it. She nearly let herself believe that someone like him could see her for more than the mistakes she’d made. But the walls she had built were too thick, too ingrained.
Instead, she shook her head, took another sip of coffee, and muttered, “Eat your damn burger, Brock.”
He smirked, but there was something else in his eyes. Something that told her this conversation wasn’t over. And damn it…a part of her didn’t want it to be.