Chapter 7
Chapter
Working in the diner on sunny days is a certain kind of torture. To know that the beautiful weather is right there, but I have to stay inside pouring coffee and making small talk, when all I want is to sit at a picnic table outside and read a book.
Or study for my pilot’s license.
Or be in a plane, soaring through the blue skies, shoulder to shoulder with—
“What are the chances you can get that hot pilot to come by the diner again?” Riann asks when I pause at her table to refill her iced tea, her question tugging me out of my wayward imagination.
She blinks up at me from behind a set of thick glasses, and I swear the fourteen-year-old can see into my skull and follow the exact direction my mind was headed.
“Hot pilot…hmm…hot pilot…not ringing a bell.”
Liar. His chiseled face is already plastered in my mind.
Riann props her chin on her fist. “You know, Shawn’s friend. The guy who saved your life. The one who looks at you like you’re on the menu.”
I sputter, having lost my composure in the face of the teenager’s sass.
“Where are you getting this from?” She was at school when Shawn and George came by last.
“Sally, duh.” Riann rolls her eyes like I should’ve known. Which, yeah, good point. “She said he was ‘dreamy,’ which is old people talk for ‘hot.’ Then she said the menu thing.”
“George does not look at me like that.” Like I’m on the menu? What does that even mean?
Maybe he wants to see me dunked in the fryer.
“Ha! You do know who I’m talking about. The hot pilot.” Riann holds up a spiral notebook. “Do you know if he’s coming back soon? I want to ask if he’ll let me interview him.”
“For your school paper?”
“Yeah. Do you think he’ll do it? I’m so tired of writing about prom. We get it, it’s coming up, don’t spike the punch or vape in the bathrooms.” Riann sighs heavily and lets her notebook drop. “Freshmen aren’t even allowed to go to prom. And I want to write about actual news.”
“The emergency landing isn’t school news,” I point out. “Do you think they’ll let you run it?”
I don’t want to destroy her dreams, but there’s no guarantee George will come back to the diner anytime soon.
The few times he’s stopped by in the past—except for the last visit with Shawn—he’s only stayed long enough to order food to go.
And then he waits as close to the door as possible, head bent over his phone, not even acknowledging my existence with a nod.
Every time I’ve accidentally caught his eye he looks away quickly, as if he thinks I won’t recognize him.
Then, when Sally or Sam hands him his food, he books it out the door like he’s worried his private jet will leave without him.
I’m surprised George even bothers to stop here for lunch when he knows I’m on the staff.
“It totally is. For one, you all flew over the school before you landed.”
“We did?” I was too panicked to notice exactly what was under us.
The beads in her long braids click against one another as she vigorously nods her head. “And you’re an alumnus. He saved a Beaver!”
“I don’t identify as a Beaver,” I mutter, thinking of the well-worn mascot that would gyrate at our high school football games. My bet is that costume had fleas.
“Come on, Beth. Can you please ask him? For me?” Riann tries her best at a cherubic face, and with a set of dimpled cheeks and the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever encountered, she does a decent job.
I’m not a kid person. I mean, I can converse with them well enough to take their order and not make them cry, but I don’t beg moms to let me hold their newborn babies or get gooey when a toddler says I wuv you.
Give me a grumpy dog who hates the world over a child any day.
But Riann is different. She’s part of the diner family.
Her mom used to be a waitress here before she skipped town, leaving Riann’s dad to raise the girl on his own.
Mr. Howard is super sweet, soft-spoken, and kind.
But he also works maintenance at the local paper mill for longer hours than schools keep the kids, and childcare is expensive.
So for the past three years, Cornfield’s has been Riann’s after-school care for the price of a grilled cheese and a Sprite.
Sally tutors Riann in math—the teen’s least-favorite subject.
Sam reads over her papers to pick out spelling errors.
Billy cuts her grilled cheeses into funny shapes and shouts corny jokes to her through the pass.
Darla teaches her how to throw a punch.
And I listen to all the gossip Riann collects because I’m nosy.
But now I’m the hot gossip.
The bell of the diner door rings as I debate whether to make a promise I’m not sure I can keep.
Although, I guess asking is easy enough to follow through on.
And I’ll make it clear that George can say no.
From the way he ignored the few reporters that have contacted us so far, I assume he has no interest in any kind of press on the event.
“Fine.” I relent. “I have George’s number. After my shift, I’ll text him and ask.” Her eyes take on an eager light, and I hold up a finger in warning. “That doesn’t mean he’ll say yes.”
“I bet he will,” a familiar voice taunts behind me, and I whirl around to realize the new arrival is none other than my brother.
Shawn grins, and I roll my eyes to cover up how nice it is to get another unexpected visit.
“Did they close all the dinner places in the city?” I cock a hip and rest my fist on it. “Or are you on your way out of town?”
“No and no.” He steps in to give me a hug, then holds out his fist for Riann to bump.
Shock of all shocks, she does. I guess Shawn is cool, according to young people. Does he really need even more going for him in life?
“I was craving a Shawn Special. And George said he could go for a Reuben.”
“George is here?”
“The hot pilot is here?” Riann asks at the same time I do, and a few levels louder.
Shawn’s grin grows delighted. “Hot pilot, huh?”
“Yeah,” Riann doubles down on her description, even though I catch a flush darkening the tops of her amber cheeks. “Sally said he looks like Channing Tatum.”
“I see that.” My brother turns to me, lips still curved up with his amusement. “What were you going to ask the hot pilot? If we’re taking bets, I put money on him saying yes.”
“Why?” I jab a knuckle into Shawn’s arm. “Are you going to guilt him into agreeing? What if I ask him to give me all of his airplanes?”
“Still betting on a yes. What about you, Rey?” Shawn tosses the nickname at my snarky teenager, and I swear the girl swoons. Traitor.
“Yes. I bet he’ll say yes, too!”
I grit my teeth and sigh out my nose, kind of hating my brother for getting her hopes up when I’m betting he’ll say no. But I keep my doubts to myself.
Instead, I lean over to peer through the window, searching for a familiar shaved head.
And of course, I catch George the moment he reaches for the front door and glances through the glass. Where I’m staring at him.
Damn it! I jerk back, only making myself look like more of a weirdo.
George steps into the diner and immediately heads our way.
“Hey, hot pilot. Beth wants to ask you for something.” Shawn drops his hands on my shoulders and steers me toward his friend.
George halts and stares at me from under the brim of a worn baseball cap. One of his eyebrows lifts in question.
“I…” Damn that single eyebrow. The move does things to me, and I’m mortified to realize the adrenaline crush is still hanging around. Will it ever disappear, or am I going to have to make this my new normal? Is this my life now? Constantly wanting to jump George Bunsen’s bones?
He waits, and I dig through the mental lust fog in my brain and manage to ask, “Would you do an interview? About the emergency landing? For The Busy Beaver?”
Both eyebrows are up now.
Oh yeah, did I not mention the name of the school newspaper?
“I’m the reporter!” Riann pops up from her seat and strolls forward, hand outstretched. “Riann Howard. Reporter for the Blue Creek High School newspaper.”
George accepts her hand, and they shake like business associates. Honestly, I’m impressed.
“You want to interview me now?” he asks.
Wait…was that a yes?
“Could we schedule a time in the future to sit down?” she asks in full professional mode. “My dad is here to pick me up.” She points out to the parking lot, where a pickup truck turns off the main road.
“Sure,” George says. “Beth has my number.”
“Cool!” Riann skips back to her booth to scoop up all of her homework, stuffing the papers into her bag. On her way out she fist-bumps Shawn again. A mini celebration that they were right.
Then it’s just the three of us. Well, us and the two other booths I have, and the dinner crowd about to descend, and Billy in the kitchen and Darla about to get off her break, and Sally in the back office.
Sam would normally be here, too, but their dishwasher is broken so she’s at home, acting as handywoman.
“Sit wherever,” I tell the two men, realizing I’ve neglected my diners while I chatted with Riann and my brother. Luckily, no one seems to mind when I swing by their tables to top off their drinks.
Meanwhile, Shawn and George settle at the counter, my brother chattering while George listens, nodding every so often.
I wonder if that’s part of the reason their friendship works so well—one can ramble and one can stay quiet.
Or maybe George is normally more talkative when he’s somewhere other than Cornfield’s. Somewhere far away from me.
Well, too bad. This is my territory. And if I have to deal with residual horniness by having him here, then he can deal with the general unpleasantness of my presence.
“Okay.” I flip open my notepad when I stand across the counter from them. “You said Shawn Special and a Reuben?”
“You got it.” Shawn grins, and George offers a nod. I scribble out the order, pin the sheet in the pass for Billy, then turn in time to spy Darla strolling out from the back, returning from her fifteen-minute break.