Chapter 5
LAINE
"I know, right? It's perfect." He's practically bouncing on his heels. "Wait until you try the pancakes. Life-changing. I'm talking spiritual experience. You're going to want to hug the cook."
The Sunrise Diner is exactly what you'd expect from a place called the Sunrise Diner.
Red vinyl booths, black and white checkered floors, and a waitress who looks like she's taken absolutely no crap from anyone since the Reagan administration.
The whole place smells like bacon grease and maple syrup and something fried that I can't identify but already want.
I love it immediately.
"Honey, you two want a booth or counter?" the waitress calls from behind the coffee station.
"Booth, please," Reid says.
She leads us to a corner booth, drops two menus on the table, and fills our coffee cups without asking. No pleasantries, no chitchat, just caffeine delivered with military efficiency. "I'll give you a minute."
Reid slides into the booth across from me, immediately grabbing the little container of creamers and stacking them into a pyramid.
His leg is already bouncing under the table — I can feel the vibration through the floor.
Does this man ever stop moving? Even sitting down he's got the energy of someone who's late for something.
I catch a blurry reflection of myself in the window and wince. My hair clip gave up hours ago. What's left is a dark blonde, wavy explosion around my face. Mascara? Migrated. Not full raccoon, but close enough to be concerning.
I shift in the seat, wiggling to get comfortable, and feel suddenly very soft and rumpled next to his sharp, buzzing energy.
You look like you lost a fight with your own shift. He looks like a recruitment poster. This is fine.
Not ideal for a first date. But the man watched me deal with fourteen hallucinating festival casualties and still came back to ask me out. So I'm going to do what I do best and pretend I'm not thinking about it.
I take a sip of coffee. It's strong enough to wake the dead, which is exactly what I need.
My body is convinced it should be horizontal.
My brain won't stop buzzing. And my stomach keeps doing this stupid fluttering thing every time Reid looks at me.
Which is often. Because apparently he's really into eye contact.
And every time he does it, my cheeks get hot. Like a middle schooler. Like someone who has never been looked at by a man before. Very cool, Laine.
"So," I say, "do you bring all your first dates to places that smell like bacon grease and existential crisis?"
He grins, knocking over his creamer pyramid with his elbow. Doesn't even glance at it. "Only the special ones. Also, I'm starving. Like, genuinely concerned for my survival. If the pancakes don't come soon, you might have to perform CPR."
"Not a chance. I'm not filling out the paperwork for that."
"Cold. But I'd still trust you with my life." He says it lightly, but his eyes hold mine for a beat too long.
This man is dangerous. "Good to know I'm special."
"You are." Simple. Matter-of-fact. Like he's reporting the news. The sky is blue. You are special. More coffee?
I know it's dangerous. We've known each other one night. I'm not going to buy into the charm. I'm not. I swear. But is it so wrong to just want to enjoy it for a while?
"How long have you been a paramedic?" I ask, because if I don't change the subject I'm going to do something embarrassing like blush.
"'Bout five years. Took me a bit after I left the Marines to figure my shit out."
"That's why you handled alien guy so easily.
" How did I not pick up on that right away?
I've worked with military medics in disaster zones — after the earthquake in the Philippines, after the flooding in Honduras.
They move a certain way. Controlled and calm and deliberate, like their body already knows the plan before their brain catches up.
Reid had that exact energy when Jake lunged at me.
Must have something to do with his beautiful hazel eyes that I was too busy staring into.
"Yeah. The skills come in handy sometimes." Reid takes a sip of his coffee. There's a scar across two of his knuckles. Faded. Old. How did he get that? I want to ask about it, but what if the story behind it is bad? I don't really want to step on any landmines this morning.
Easy breezy is the goal for this morning.
"What about you? How long have you been nursing?"
"Ten years. But this is my first permanent job in..." I trail off. Do the math, Laine. "Well, ever."
His brows wing up. "Ever?"
"I was a travel nurse before this. Never stayed anywhere longer than six months."
"What made you stop traveling?"
Good question. The kind I've fielded a dozen times — from Bethany, from my parents, from Joyce during my interview — and I always trot out some neat little answer. Wrapped up with a bow. Palatable.
But it's 7:30 AM. I've been awake for fourteen hours. And something about this guy makes me want to skip the packaging.
"I got tired of being a ghost," I say.
Reid tilts his head, hands finally still.
"Not literally. I mean — everywhere I went, I was great at my job.
Good evaluations, patients liked me, coworkers liked me.
But I was always passing through. I'd learn someone's name and their coffee order and what their kids looked like, and then three months later they'd replaced me with the next travel nurse and it was like I'd never been there.
" I wrap my hands around my coffee mug. "I started wondering if I was actually building a life or just visiting a bunch of them. "
"That sounds lonely."
"It was, sometimes. But it was also exciting. New place every few months, new challenges, new people." I take a sip. "I've seen some pretty incredible places."
"Any favorites?"
"Montana was incredible. This tiny hospital in the middle of nowhere that was always running out of, like, gauze. Basic stuff." I smile. Can't help it. "But on clear nights you could see more stars than you knew existed."
I turn my glass a little. Watch the light catch it.
"And there was this assignment in North Carolina, right on the coast. I'd walk on the beach every morning before my shift.
Found a sand dollar on my third day and kept it on my nightstand the whole time I was there.
" I shrug. "Left it behind when I moved.
Didn't even think about it until weeks later, and then I was just..
. devastated. Over a sand dollar. Like, genuinely grieving a piece of dead sea creature I'd known for two months. Very normal behavior."
The corner of his lip turns up. "What'd it tell you?"
"That I was tired of leaving things behind." I set down my mug. "So I applied for a permanent position. First time ever. Picked Oregon because I'd never been here and it felt like starting fresh."
"Brave."
"Or stupid. The jury's out." If I get more mornings like this? Even if it's not with this sunshiney guy, it's a pretty enticing reason to stay. "What about you? Are you from here originally?"
"Born and raised about twenty minutes outside of town. Never really wanted to leave."
"Never? Not even when you were eighteen and thought the world was waiting for you?" Yeah, I'm planning to stay now, but at that age, all I could think about was leaving.
"I did my traveling in the Marines. Saw enough of the world to know I liked it better here." Reid's expression shifts — a shadow crossing his face, there and gone. "A lot of dust, and too much death. I didn't have any of the fun postings."
He's seen too much dark. I get that better than most people would.
Not from the military — but from the hospitals.
The rooms where the worst things that can happen to people are happening right in front of you, and your job is to hold their hand through it.
Then go home. Act normal. Like your whole world didn't just crack down the middle.
"So you came back and became a Paramedic?"
He shrugs, fingers drumming on the table. "My brother suggested it, actually. Said I'd be good at helping people in crisis situations." Something shifts in his face when he says brother. Not the shadow. It sits heavier than that. "He was right."
"Is he in medicine too?"
"No, he..." Reid pauses. Picks up his coffee. Puts it down. "He died seven years ago. Military."
My chest tightens. I've seen what losing someone in the military does to families — the chaplain at the door, the folded flag, the way grief rewrites everything that came before. I can't even imagine. "Oh god, Reid. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Well, no, it's not okay, but... you know what I mean."
I do. Some losses never stop hurting. You just get used to the weight of them.
"So you became a Paramedic because of him?"
"Partly. I was a combat medic over there, and I liked that part of my job. Also, because after I was discharged, I needed to do something that mattered, you know? After everything that happened over there, I needed to come home and help people instead of..."
He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to.
I get it. The scales thing. Needing them to balance. It's the whole reason I became a nurse — years of watching my parents hammer nails into churches for strangers, and somewhere in there I decided I wanted to help people too. Just not with a nail gun and a hymn.
The waitress materializes with a coffee pot. "You two ready to order, or are you just here for the ambiance?" There's snark in her voice, but the good kind. The kind that says I like you enough to give you a hard time.
"The ambiance is pretty great." I don't even glance at the menu. "But I'm about twenty minutes from a medical emergency. Pancakes, please. And more coffee."
"Pancakes for me too. And bacon. Extra bacon. Actually —" Reid holds up a finger. "Is there a limit on bacon? Because I don't want to be that guy, but I will absolutely be that guy."
The waitress snorts. "Honey, I've seen you eat. I'll bring the whole pig."