Home Run Heart (Kitt’s Harbor #2)

1. one

one

Nora

August

Two hours into my Saturday morning shift at Delia’s Diner, I accidentally slam into a busboy. Our collision causes the plates of hot waffles I’m carrying to flip onto my chest, after which the waffles slide ceremoniously down the front of my body before plopping onto the diner floor. Servers rush to my aid and clean up the plates and spilled food in a flurry of efficient teamwork that makes my manager's heart sing. I’m frantically trying to scrub the sticky syrup off of my black polo shirt when I glance towards the front door, only to realize that Tommy Collins just entered the diner.

I curse under my breath and inspect my shirt. Thankfully, the syrup stain is hardly noticeable anymore.

Tommy’s gangly frame and eager gaze is visible from the waiting area near the hostess stand. Molly, our hostess, glances back at the dining area helplessly, no doubt feeling pressured to seat the ever-growing crowd of locals also waiting for a table. I wouldn’t put it past Tommy to buck protocol and weasel his way past Molly to get to me, so I hastily duck my head and make a beeline for the kitchen. I don’t have the energy to fight off another invitation to dinner or a movie today. Ever since my divorce two years ago, Tommy has felt like it’s his duty and his alone to swoop in and bind me up in matrimony before someone else does.

I desperately hope Tommy hasn’t already spotted me as I weave past crowded tables, servers balancing plates of hot breakfasts, and busboys filling plastic bins with dirty dishes at record speed.

Just as I’m about to enter the beverage prep station, I overhear a half-whispered conversation coming from within. I pause, angling my ear towards the doorway to listen.

“It’s him!” I hear Kate say in her signature, enthusiastic tone.

“Are you sure? He looks shorter in person,” Audrey replies, ever rational.

“I swear, Kate, if you don’t get back out there, you’re going to be on lemon-cutting duty tomorrow morning. Get moving!” That’s Roman, my right-hand man. I don’t think I could successfully manage Delia’s without him.

The conversation between the three servers is cut short as I make my presence known by joining them inside.

“Hey, boss.” Audrey resumes filling her table’s drink orders without missing a beat. Kate, on the other hand, looks like she’s about to combust.

“It’s him!” she squeaks again, her cheeks and neck patchy with pink splotches. “It’s him, Nora! In the flesh!”

Roman gives her a withering, albeit amused look.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I say. “Can you guys make sure Tommy stays seated once he gets a table? I can’t handle him today.”

“Tommy?” Roman says, looking confused. “Good gracious. That’s not who Kate is talking about, Nora. She’s freaking out over…” he clears his throat, “someone else.”

“How can you stand there and act like you don’t care one bit that a famous person just set foot in our restaurant?” Kate asks Roman in disbelief.

“Because,” Roman drags out. “I was born and bred with a class that you, miss ma’am, do not possess. You’re a disgrace to your namesake.”

Kate frowns. “My namesake?”

Roman looks at me in miserable commiseration. “I swear this child was born under a rock.”

“Catherine, Princess of Wales,” I clarify. “Who are you talking about?”

“It’s him, Nora,” Audrey says calmly. “Your ex.”

“Nate?” I breathe. I don’t believe it. There’s no way my ex-husband would have the guts to show up at my place of work. He’d end up dipped in batter, fried, and dusted with powdered sugar.

“No, your other ex,” Roman clarifies. “The hot one.”

“He requested an outside table,” Kate squeaks.

“I tried to cut in at the host stand, but it was too late. Molly sat him outside,” Roman adds.

Understanding settles over me. That ex. The one who usually requests to be seated at Booth Six, which results in me hiding out until he’s gone. I must have missed his grand entrance while cleaning up the waffle debacle.

Seeing him always sets me on edge, and not just because he’s by far the most attractive player on the Seattle Stormbreakers’ roster.

“I can’t serve him,” Kate says in a rush, clinging to my hands. “I can’t do it. Nora, I forgot my name the moment I looked into his eyes.”

Roman snorts.

“Here,” Audrey says, shoving two glasses filled to the brim with Diet Coke into Kate’s hands. “Your high-top is waiting.”

“Nora, please,” Kate pleads, resisting as Roman and Audrey start shoving her from behind. “I already got their drink orders in, but I’m going to screw everything up if you send me back out there. I’ll single-handedly put this place out of business.”

It would take a lot more than a flustered server to put Delia’s Diner under. It’s been around for nearly thirty years and is still as packed as ever.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I say in an attempt to reassure Kate and tamp down my own skittering nerves. “Treat him just like you would any other customer.”

“There’s no way I can pretend like he’s a normal person. He’s not. He’s got this presence, Nora. I’m begging you. Send Roman out there. Send anyone else. Molly talked to him just fine, maybe she can cover my table.”

“Molly is not a server,” Roman cuts in. “Besides, she reached her flirting quota for the day two minutes after he walked in the door. You should have seen the eyes she was making at him, Nor. Inappropriate.”

“Please!” Kate is unraveling before my very eyes. She’s young and relatively new to the team, but she’s a hard worker and desperate to please. I know she wouldn’t ask for me to cover for her unless she really felt she couldn’t handle it.

“I’ll do it,” Audrey offers. “Let me take care of that six-top in the back that Molly just sat first, and then I can–”

“No,” I hear myself say before I can reel the words back in. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got it. I’ll take his table. That way I can avoid Tommy.”

Kate sags with relief. Audrey shrugs and goes on her way, unaffected by the drama, as usual. I feel like I just swallowed an entire bottle of maple syrup at the thought of seeing my ex-boyfriend again. Sure, he comes into the diner every once in a while with his family, but I haven’t allowed myself to look directly at him since we broke up in high school. I think part of me has been afraid that it would still hurt to do so. But what else am I supposed to do? Try to work with Tommy breathing down my neck and gazing at me longingly from across the diner?

“Thank you!” Kate breathes, lifting her Diet Coke cups into the air and nearly sloshing the liquid all over the floor.

“Le-mons,” Roman says slowly. “Tomorrow. The next day. Every day for a week.”

Kate sticks her tongue out at Roman like a toddler before happily bouncing away, relieved of the burden of waiting on the local celebrity who decided to dine at Delia’s with his family this busy Saturday morning.

“Need this?” Roman flicks his unused notepad in my direction. Like me, he’s been here long enough that he can mentally record all his orders.

“I don’t think so,” I say initially, then my confidence falters. “Actually, maybe I’ll take it just in case.” My brain might flatline once I actually have to speak to him.

“You sure you want to take that table? I’ve got your back if you want to stay cloistered away in here like an old maid.”

“I’ve got it,” I laugh, trying to look confident. “I’m not sure why Kate is losing her mind.”

The corner of Roman’s mouth lifts knowingly.

“Right. Why would anyone lose their mind over a professional baseball player who looks as deliciously expensive as he smells?” He leans in closer. “Think about it, though, honey. I have it on good authority that you’re the only one in this place he’s kissed.” He gives me a saucy wink before sauntering off to take care of the tables in his section.

My stomach lurches at Roman’s bold declaration. We’ve worked together long enough that the line between boss and employee pretty much doesn’t exist anymore. He’s one of my best friends, and I love him to death.

You’re the only one in this place he’s kissed.

I curb the train of thoughts that involve my ex-boyfriend and kissing and Booth Six by focusing on the familiarity of my surroundings. I listen to the clatter of silverware reverberating through the dining area and clanging of cookware coming from the kitchen, the murmured conversations and bursts of laughter. I inhale the smell of sizzling bacon and pancake batter being ladled onto the griddle. I place a hand on the countertop that divides the beverage prep area from the rest of the diner, feeling the tacky pull of syrup and spilled soda under my fingertips.

I’m at home here at Delia’s, as comfortable here as I am in my own kitchen. I know our menu inside and out, can rattle off the orders our regular customers request when they come in, and can tell you which part Maisy Montgomery got in her seventh-grade class play and how sweet Mr. Herbert’s recovering from his fall last month.

I handled my son’s meltdown of epic proportions over me asking him to put his shoes on before daycare this morning without batting an eye. I can handle this.

I steel myself for the task of seeing him again. Looking into those grey-blue eyes that always reminded me of calm, clear skies after a thunderstorm’s blown over. Dodging his smiles while I parrot back my stilted answers to the polite questions his mother asks whenever she comes by. Trying not to think about the fact that I know what he tastes like.

Or rather, what he tasted like back when we were in high school. Before he dumped me to play college baseball at Oregon State while I stayed here and ended up marrying someone else. Before my marriage fell apart and I became a single mother to a beautiful little boy.

Before, before, before.

I slap the notepad down on the countertop, resolving to put to good use the sliver of my brain reserved for cataloguing orders and not rely on writing things down. I’ve worked here for eleven years, for goodness’ sake. How would you like your eggs? Bacon or sausage? Wheat or white toast? Can I get you anything else to drink?

“Do you want to put on some lipstick first?” Roman mutters to me as I pass him, reaching for the side door that leads to our outdoor seating area. “You’re looking a little pale, honey.”

“Get back to work, or I’ll dock your pay.”

“Do it. See how well this restaurant fares without me.”

“You know I love you,” I call out as I push open the door. I step out onto the dock that extends over the little stretch of harbor Delia had her restaurant built on. The morning sun prickles my forehead, and I blink in the bright light glittering off the surface of the water. Gulls are singing their morning song, most circling overhead, but a brave few land on the dock and scuttle under tables to snatch up fallen scraps of food. The briny tang of the salty air mixes with the scent of pancakes drenched in buttermilk syrup. I’m almost lulled into a false sense of security by the ease of it all when my eyes fall to the table in the far corner of the dock.

He’s laughing at something his sister is saying, the drink Kate brought him half-raised to his mouth. He’s got his other arm casually resting over the back of the empty chair beside him. The sound of his laughter carries on the late-summer breeze, tugging somewhere deep in my belly and stirring up memories. Memories I haven’t dared to revisit in a long, long time.

Roman was right. He looks expensive in his head-to-toe black athleisure with his blue baseball hat pulled down over his dark hair. He probably wore the hat to avoid being recognized, but it does nothing but draw the eye to the masculine set of his handsome features. Those bright eyes that used to hold mine are probably only going to pass over me with polite regard. I won’t blame him. I’ve avoided him pretty much every time he’s come to the diner, and up until two years ago, I was a married woman. But now? I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to see the sparkle of affection in his eyes again. For him to look at me the way he did in high school.

Pushing my shoulders back and my feelings down, I approach his table with a bright smile. My heart takes a little tumble as Brooks Alden’s piercing eyes dart up to meet mine.

Bubblicious bubble gum.

That’s what he tasted like.