Chapter Six
Enimton
The diner’s neon sign flickered above us, irrelevant in the bright midday sun. I held the door open, and Helen glided past me. My pulse kicked up, same as it had earlier when I’d kissed her.
That moment in the bookstore, her lips soft and warm, her gasp when I pulled back, played on a loop in my head, making my skin flush.
This can’t go anywhere, I thought, heart tripping like a kid sneaking into the library stacks.
This place, with its red vinyl booths and the sizzle of fries, was one of my sanctuaries.
Too mundane for any Gravestone to wander into.
Too harmless for them to care that I did.
It was the perfect place to be Ashen and Helen.
Everyone knew me, but they didn’t know me.
I was just a man who came in, ate alone, and tipped well.
“Ready to go back in time?” I asked, grinning as we stepped inside.
The jukebox hummed “Sweet Caroline,” and Betty, the waitress who’d called me “hon” for years, waved from the counter.
Helen’s brown eyes scanned the diner from the chrome-edged counter, to the checkered floor, to the photos of women in poodle skirts beside men with slicked-back hair and varsity jackets.
Many places tried to recreate the style of the 1950s, but this place had been open since then and, although they updated whatever became worn, they hadn’t changed a damn thing.
Even the uniforms of the waitstaff were throwbacks to a simpler time when women wore longer skirts with aprons and men wore pleated pants.
Helen’s pink glasses slipped down her nose, and she pushed them up, smiling like she’d stumbled onto a treasure.
God, she’s beautiful, I thought, my chest tightening.
Not just her face, but the way she moved confidently through a space.
She might have her insecurities when it came to her writing abilities, but something told me she could hold her own in a spat.
“Are we on a movie set?” she teased, sliding into a booth. “It sure feels that way.”
“I know, right? I can’t believe this place isn’t always packed,” I said, sitting across from her. “But I’m always here right before the lunch crowd. I’ve heard they get a rush around dinnertime.”
Her head swiveled as she continued to take in everything from the still-functioning jukebox full of old records to the saddle-shoe-wearing waitress taking an order from patrons at a nearby table.
I slid a menu over to her, my fingers brushing hers, and a jolt shot up my arm. “Pick something ridiculous,” I said, trying to play it cool. “Peanut Butter Bacon Burger. My secret shame.”
Her eyebrow arched, and she laughed again, loud and real, nothing like the flustered Helen from the bookstore. “You’re serious? I’d devour that.” Her eyes danced, and I swear the diner got brighter. Who is this woman?
“Fun fact, its origin isn’t local. It’s rumored to have started in Missouri where it was called a Guber burger.”
“Fun fact,” she said with a huge smile. “Peanut butter and bacon are two of my favorite things, so I’m ready to taste a Guber burger.”
I hadn’t expected her to be so open to something that would have repulsed everyone in my family and many in my social circles. I leaned closer. “Now for a serious question, would you dunk a French fry in a chocolate shake?”
Her mouth rounded. “What you should be asking is if anyone could stop me? Chocolate and salt? How is that not heaven on earth?”
“Completely agree.” I nodded while wondering how anything this good could be real.
Her smirk was conspiratorial. “Honey mustard only, no ketchup, right?”
My jaw dropped. “Ketchup is for people with no better options.”
“Exactly.” Her laugh rang out and echoed in my heart.
I sat there for a long time, simply smiling at her and enjoying our connection. Could this be me? No medication, self-doubt, neither too much nor not enough. This wasn’t the first time I’d enjoyed being with a woman, but it had never been this easy.
We’d cracked a code, a secret language of weird food combos only we spoke. Our kiss flashed again. Her lips, her breath catching, the way she’d leaned in before pulling back, like she was fighting herself. I wanted to kiss her again, right here, but I wasn’t Ashen, and she wasn’t Helen.
Good as our time together was, it wasn’t real.
And I made myself okay with that.
“Let’s order,” I said, waving Betty over. “Two Peanut Butter Bacon Burgers, two chocolate shakes, curly fries, honey mustard on the side.” Betty winked, scribbling it down, and Helen’s grin widened, like we were kids plotting a prank.
“You’re trouble, Ashen Ryse,” she said, her pen name for me rolling off her tongue like a song. I loved how it sounded—new, untainted, like I could be someone worthy of her. “If you want to continue to see me in this dress, we should go easy on the caloric intake.”
I’d rather see you out of it. My lips twitched as I held in that thought. “Surely we deserve a reward for all the plotting we’ve done?”
The way her gaze dipped to my mouth just before her chest heaved . . . damn. “Just this once.” Her voice was delightfully husky.
I traced an invisible cross over my heart. “Nothing but lettuce and water after today, I swear.”
“Please no.” Her laugh was louder this time. “But perhaps next time we can split the burger?”
Next time.
I could barely breathe for a moment.
Of course there’d be a next time. Why wouldn’t there be? She didn’t know who I was or why I had nothing but this to offer her.
I dug a few quarters out of my wallet and held them out toward her. “Go pick a song from the jukebox.”
She hesitated, then slid out of the booth, her dress swishing, then waved for me to join her.
I hopped to my feet, not surprising since I would have followed her barefoot over red-hot coals.
At the jukebox, she scanned the list, then punched in a code for a Creedence Clearwater Revival song: “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?”
“Guilty pleasure,” she said, smirking as she sat back down. “Don’t judge.”
“Judge?” I leaned forward, singing a line off-key: “There’s a calm before the storm. It’s been coming for some time.”
She looked away then back. “I could pick something more cheerful.”
“No. It’s perfect. Real. Raw.” I said, scratching my neck. “Like life.”
She nodded. “Yeah.” Then she turned back to the jukebox. “Now, you. Pick something you think I’ll know the words to.”
I smiled at that and considered everything I knew about her. She was inquisitive. Observant. She loved characters and was writing a story that was romantic yet with suspense. I chose a song I thought would make her laugh. “Every Breath You Take,” by The Police.
She frowned when I hit the code in, and the record number lit below hers. “Why did you choose that one?”
“Because everyone loves the Police?” I answered with a shrug. “Do you not know the song?”
“I know it.”
“You don’t like it?”
She blinked a few times then smiled. “Of course I like it. It’s a classic, although not from the fifties.”
“Neither was yours, plus it’s romantic in the creepiest of hilarious ways.”
Her smile widened and . . . relief . . . filled her eyes. “So true.”
“Have You Ever Seen the Rain” started to play, and I held up my hand as if I were holding a microphone and began to sing along.
When she laughed, I held the imaginary mic up to her and she sang the next line.
We went back and forth like that until I moved my hand between us, and we were both belting out the song in unison.
We were chuckling when it ended, then both turned mock serious when the song I’d chosen came on.
This time we sang together through each crazy line of it, laughing as we did.
When it ended, the few patrons in the restaurant as well as the staff clapped.
We ducked our heads together, waved acknowledgement to them, then hastily returned to our table.
“Every breath you take . . .” I sang just above a whisper.
She covered my mouth with her hand. “Don’t you dare.”
I smiled beneath her touch, and we exchanged a heated look before she whipped her hand away.
Our food had arrived. She sipped her shake, then asked, her tone light but pointed, “You seem to know this area well. Did you grow up around here?”
“Yes and no.”
She wrinkled her nose at me. “That’s pretty vague.”
I shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about myself.” A thought occurred to me so I quickly added, “That doesn’t mean I’m married or dating anyone . . .”
She tipped her head to one side. “Are you—married or dating someone?”
“No. You?”
She shook her head.
We were beginning to feel too close, too real for me to not care how she felt. “Is it strange to not know my real name? I can tell it to you.”
She seemed to weigh that for a moment, before answering. “Not strange. Freeing. I kind of like getting to know you before we each bring out all the baggage we carry with us. I don’t have to explain every last of my life choices to you . . . I can just be me.”
Yes.
“I like that. And it works for me as well. But if you ever change your mind, say so.”
She looked uncomfortable before she said, “I will.”
Part of me wanted to take her hand and tell her to never feel uncomfortable with me. She should relax because no matter what she might be holding back or feel embarrassed about, I was more fucked up than she was. Hands down. No competition.
Instead I dunked a French fry in my chocolate shake and held it up to her mouth. Her eyes darkened and for a moment I thought she might refuse, but she didn’t. She opened her mouth and half closed her eyes.
My blood rushed south as I slid the fry between her lips, and my heart was pounding in anticipation of her teeth gently closing around it. When they did, I groaned and popped the rest of the fry into my own mouth.
Her tongue darted out to catch a drop of chocolate on her lip, and I almost forgot where we were. Did she have any idea what she was doing to me? The easy laughter, the ridiculous food, the unguarded smiles—it was all rarer than gold in my life.
She licked a bit of salt from her finger, and my mind went places it shouldn’t. I grabbed my burger like it might save me from myself.
“Verdict?” I asked, watching her take the first bite.
Her eyes closed, a soft hum slipping past her lips. “It’s . . . dangerously good.”
I grinned, taking a bite of my own, trying not to imagine her making that sound for any other reason. “Told you. Peanut butter and bacon are an alliance that shouldn’t work but does.”
Her gaze flicked up, holding mine for just a beat too long, as if she heard the double meaning I hadn’t intended to say out loud. “I wish . . .” She stopped and took another bite.
I almost asked her what she wished, but I was temporarily lost in my own resentment of the situation. I was a man with secrets. A man with nothing of my own.
Maybe she wasn’t single.
Or she was still in love with her ex.
I had secrets, shouldn’t I allow her to as well?
She was studying my expression, and I forced a smile then took a long drink from my shake, letting the cold anchor me.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said.
“You’re welcome. I’m enjoying myself,” I answered, and meant it more than I wanted to admit.
“Me too,” she whispered.
If this were a different life—if I were really Ashen Ryse and she were really Helen—I’d memorize every shade of her laugh and never let it go. But my life didn’t work like that. So I’d take this afternoon, lock it away, and guard it like it was mine to keep.
For now, it was enough.
She picked up a fry, dunked it in her shake and held it out to me.
I took it into my mouth without hesitation.
This woman—whatever her real name—was someone I couldn’t imagine saying no to.