6. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Savannah
O nce I leave Kenzi with Kate, I head to work. The Greasy Skillet was the first job I found in town. The only place to eat downtown, besides a coffee shop and bakery, is the charming vintage diner that draws a crowd. With its retro appearance, the building brings a sense of nostalgia and comfort. The quality of their food is outstanding. In a small town, it’s a miracle that I get good tips, but it’s because of the food. My income is still barely enough to cover my expenses, so I need to find more work.
Kenzi is outgrowing her clothes quicker than I can keep up with, and I don’t have many for myself. Running from Derek, we didn’t have time to pack most of our belongings, and I brought more of hers than I did my own things. Prioritizing my daughter always results in me sacrificing my own needs, such as skipping meals when we have limited groceries. To save money, I don’t spend money on unnecessary luxuries for myself. I occasionally spoil Kenzi because she’ll only be young once, and I want her to have amazing memories of her childhood. She’s already missing out on having a father, so I try to make up for it in other areas.
Dale and Darlene Parker are the friendly owners of the diner, and they give off a genuine country vibe. Dale oversees cooking, while Darlene takes care of serving. They hired me to help serve as well. Dale and Darlene have someone else to assist with cooking when they want to take a break. Chet is friendly, overly so. The man looks like an overgrown frat boy. His hair is gelled into place, combed back. He wears a polo shirt to work and reminds me of a used car salesman. If I didn’t know him, I’d never guess he was cooking in a greasy diner for a living. He seems entirely out of place and looks at me like he wants to eat me. I’ve made it clear that I’m not looking for romance, but I’d like to be friends. He’s reluctantly accepted that, but I can tell he isn’t happy being friend zoned. To maintain a peaceful work environment and avoid drama, I pretend not to notice his lingering looks and flirty comments. While it makes me uncomfortable, I can’t risk losing this job, especially since he has been working here longer than me. I fear Dale will support the man, and I can't rely on the Parkers to defend me, so I stay silent and disregard his remarks.
Every morning, the elderly men gather for coffee and chat about the town’s happenings. Everyone knows each other, and there are no secrets here. They all gossip openly. The old men also bicker like little old married couples, which makes my job highly entertaining. Darlene is good at reigning them in when they ask me too many questions. They all want to know where I’m from and where the father of my little girl is, but I don’t want to talk about my past. I can’t afford to. The consequences could be dire if word somehow finds its way to Derek. I just try to do my job and hold everyone at arm’s length because letting anyone too close could be dangerous not only for me and Kenzi, but for them.
This morning, as the town’s sheriff settles into my section, I can hear the clinking of cutlery, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air. My spine tingles with fear at the mere sight of his police uniform, and I instinctively avoid meeting his eyes. Men like him, with their towering presence and commanding voices, wield their power to inflict pain upon women like me, leaving scars that go unseen. The fear of catching his attention paralyzes me, as if time stands still in his presence. With every step I take, I can almost feel his piercing gaze burning into my skin, as if he possesses the ability to see right through me. The mere thought that this man, with his probing eyes and handsome smile, could reveal my whereabouts to Derek, sends shivers through me. I cannot afford to draw even the slightest inclination of interest from him .
When I go up to the table to take his order, I can’t help but notice his friendly demeanor as he introduces himself as Mason. He, of course, tells me he is the sheriff and says if I need anything, to let him know. I know the friendly facade is just that. Behind closed doors, this man probably beats and rapes his wife and abuses his kids. I don’t want to get to know him, and I want him away from me as soon as possible. The plan is to serve him, keeping my eyes down and my mouth shut. But he keeps staring.
Moments later, the door swings open and a hulking figure strides in. Standing at least six foot four inches tall, his presence fills the room. He’s stocky but not fat, bulked up with muscle. The heavy thud of his work boots resonates with each step he takes on the old tile floor. Clad in faded jeans and a well-worn flannel shirt, he exudes a rugged masculinity. A thick, overgrown mane of beautiful red hair adorns his head, partially obscuring his handsome face. He has gauges in his ears and intricate tattoos adorn his neck and hands, hinting at a hidden canvas beneath his clothing.
Sitting down with the sheriff, I immediately recognize the stark contrast to the previous occupant—the sheriff’s calm and composed demeanor versus the agitated and nervous energy exuding from the tattooed man in the work boots. His brows are furrowed like dark storm clouds; a deep frown etched on his face. He emanates an aura of anger and frustration that hangs heavily in the air. Although, despite briefly meeting his piercing blue gaze, an instinctive fear engulfs me, causing me to avert my gaze. The tremor of unease courses through my body, like an electric current, amplified by the palpable tension in the air. My heart thuds, breaking the deafening sound of silence. There’s a magnetic pull to hold his gaze but at the same time, I’m too intimidated by his hulking size. Derek was a small guy and with the damage and pain that he inflicted I can’t imagine getting on this mammoth’s bad side.
Summoning my courage, cautiously bracing myself for his order, I look at the man who just arrived. But the intensity of his expression petrifies me, as if his simmering anger could engulf me in its fiery grip.
With a furrowed brow and squinted eyes, he sits, his lips forming a disapproving line, as though he’s analyzing every move I make. I’ve never seen anyone look at me like that before.
“Good morning. Can I take your order?” I try to act like his presence doesn’t affect me, but the words come out cracked.
The man stares and says nothing at first. The sheriff looks at him and then back at me as if waiting for one of us to speak. Not sure what the tension between us is, I clear my throat and ask him again if he is ready to order .
“Just coffee,” he replies gruffly. His eyes are locked on me, sending a shudder cascading through me. When I walk up to the station to get his coffee, he’s staring intensely at me, and when I sit it down in front of him, I notice he is still staring. I’m not sure what I’ve done to this guy, but I get the sense he doesn’t like me. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him, so I don’t know what I could have done.
As soon as the sheriff is done eating, I return to the table to check if there is anything else they require and hand him the bill.
“Call me Mason, sugar.”
A growl comes from the other side of the table.
“She has a nametag on, Mase. Use her name,” the guy in flannel demands.
“Is there a reason you are hiding from me?” Mason says looking for my name tag and when he sees it, he adds, “Savannah.”
“Of course not.” As soon as Mason grabs my wrist, I instinctively try to scurry away, my heart pounding in my chest. In response to his tightening grip, I let out a yelp and flinch. My entire body trembles as I brace myself for any punches he intends to land.
Mason is looking at me, more confused than before.
“Get your hand off her, Mason,” the big guy growls, his deep voice resonating with a hint of menace. The sound reverberates through the tense air, causing a shiver to run down my spine. Literally growling at his friend, his expression contorts into a fierce glare.
“I just want to ask the girl why she’s so afraid of me, Declan,” the sheriff—Mason— retorts, his eyes locked onto me. His gaze feels heavy, like a weight pressing on my chest, as if he’s dissecting my every move.
Flannel guy grunts again, the sound carrying a mix of frustration and curiosity.
“Take your hands off the woman and don’t fucking touch her again,” he asserts, his words slicing through the tension with a sharp edge. The threat hangs in the air, thick and palpable, causing a blaze of adrenaline to surge through my veins. There is no mistaking his intent; he means every word.
The sheriff’s firm grip on my wrist loosens, and he turns his attention to Declan. I notice the faint scent of his cologne, a mix of musk and leather, lingering in the air. “I was just trying to see why she’s so scared of me. The poor girl is absolutely terrified. She flinched when I touched her,” the sheriff explains. He then looks back at me, concern etched on his face. The sound of his gravelly voice reaches my ears as he asks, “Are you alright, darlin’?”
Another growl erupts from the guy in flannel as he glares at the other man.
Struggling to compose myself, I muster a weak smile and stutter out, “I’m fine. Thank you both. Have a great day.” My heart pounds in my chest like a drumbeat, drowning out the sounds of clinking cutlery and murmured conversations. Desperate for solace, I hastily retreat from the table, my footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, intermingling with the faint aroma of pancakes and syrup. Just as I’m about to escape, a low growl comes from Declan’s lips, his voice filled with defiance as he boldly declares, “She’s not your darlin’.”
What the hell? Why does he care if the other guy, with his smug grin, constantly calls me nicknames? He acts like he hates my very presence; his icy stare pierces through me as I’m just trying to do my job. What a grumpy asshole. I also need the sheriff to quit questioning me, his authoritative tone echoes in my ears. He noticed my little freak out when he touched me, the sensation of his rough hand sending shivers down my spine, and that brought unwanted attention to me. The plan was to fly below the radar, but the people in this town are so nosey, their prying eyes following my every move, making it impossible to go unnoticed.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment that the two men saw me like that. Terrified and vulnerable. Things like that can’t happen again because it makes people ask questions. Questions I can’t answer.