Chapter 22 #2
As Rowan groaned in either embarrassment or annoyance, Enya noticed the tips of his ears were red as if he was blushing. “Sally Johnson was a fool.” She didn’t know why she’d said that, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“Yes, she was, honey.” Nora-Mae placed their coffees in front of them. “We all done told her that, too,” she added when she placed a small jug in front of Enya. “Here you go, honey, fresh cream, because we don’t all like black sludge.” She bustled away as another customer walked in. “Earl…”
“Bet you regret your cobbler addiction right now,” Enya teased. It was fascinating watching badass Rowan Salieri blush.
“Yep. I do.”
The diner wasn’t busy, just them, Earl, a couple of old men nursing coffees in the corner booth, and a family with a toddler who was more interested in throwing Cheerios than eating them.
The hum of conversation, the clink of silverware, the hiss of the grill, it was all so normal, and she felt herself enjoying the hominess about it.
Rowan leaned back on his stool, stretching his arms over his head. The movement pulled his shirt tight over his shoulders, and her gaze snagged on the way the fabric clung to him. She looked away fast, and this time it was her turn for heat to creep up her neck.
“Sorry about that?” he said, like he didn’t know exactly what he did to her when he moved like that. “They’ve known me an’ Gael since we were kids, and they think it’s their role in life to keep us from getting too big for our boots or something.”
“I can see that,” she said. “It’s kinda the same where I’m from, too.”
“Small towns, huh?”
“Yeah.” She shot him a look. “But you know they’d help you out of a hole if you needed it, right?”
“That they would.” He grinned, and damn if that didn’t make her stomach flip. “But still. There are times I wish for a little discretion, you know?”
Nora-Mae slid a basket of cornbread in front of them. “Munch on that while you’re waiting, food’ll be out in a minute.”
Rowan tore off a piece of cornbread and offered it to her. Enya took it, their fingers brushing for half a second. His skin was rough, calloused from work, and the contact sent a jolt through her that had nothing to do with hunger.
She ate the cornbread too fast, crumbs sticking to her lips. Rowan watched her, his dark eyes unreadable.
“You always this quiet?” he asked, “you know, um, before…”
Enya swallowed. “Not always.”
“Good to know.”
She wanted to ask him if he was always this loud…all presence and heat and barely contained energy, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she reached for her coffee and buried her nose in the mug.
The burgers arrived, juicy and messy, the fries golden and crisp.
Enya dug in like she hadn’t eaten in days, which wasn’t entirely untrue.
She’d been picking at meals lately, her appetite coming and going like the tide.
But this? This was the nectar of the gods and she was more than ready to eat her fill.
I might even lick the plate.
Give them all something to talk about.
Rowan watched her for a second, then shook his head and bit into his own burger. “You’re gonna put me to shame.”
Enya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You talking or eating?”
“Both.”
She laughed again, and this time it didn’t surprise her. This time it felt better or maybe it was easier, she wasn’t sure which, but she was more than a little sure she liked the feeling.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Enya stole a fry from Rowan’s plate when he wasn’t looking, and he “accidentally” knocked his elbow into hers when he reached for the ketchup. It was stupid, childish, but it made her chest warm.
“That was freaking awesome.” She wiped her mouth with the napkin.
“If I’d known all I needed to do to get you to eat more than a bird does was to bring you here, I’d have done it weeks ago.”
“She’s been at your place for weeks?” Nora-Mae appeared with two plates, one with a generous slice of peach cobbler, the crust golden and flaky, the peaches glistening under a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and the other with lemon meringue piled high with lashings of whipped cream.
“Dig in.” Rowan ignored Nora-Mae’s blatant attempt at fishing for information and reached for his spoon.
Enya took a bite. The lemon was magically both tart and sweet, the crust buttery and perfect, and she moaned in happiness as the flavors lit up her taste buds.
Rowan’s spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “Good, right?”
She nodded, too busy savoring to speak.
He watched her for a long moment, his expression doing something strange, softening, maybe, or darkening, she couldn’t tell. Then he cleared his throat and went back to his own dessert.
Enya scraped the last of the cream from her plate, then pushed it away with a satisfied sigh. “I’m considering licking the plate. But I think we’ve given everyone enough gossip today without adding that I’m an uncultured heathen to it.”
Rowan smirked. “I dare—”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
Rowan chuckled and opened his mouth as if he were going to do it anyway. But he snapped it shut again when Nora-Mae appeared to clear their plates.
Her eyes twinkled as if she’d seen and heard everything. “Y’all need anything else?”
Rowan scratched his stubble. “Just the pies to take home for the boys, and the check.”
“You got it,” Nora-Mae replied, reaching for a box on the counter near the coffee maker. “I have them already boxed up for ya. You bring this one back again, you hear?”
Enya’s face heated. Rowan just chuckled. “Will do.”