Chapter 19
J ericho
The morning is crisp with fall’s bite, turning my breath to fog as I stride toward Moons’ Diner.
I’m late to breakfast by most standards—it’s nearly ten—but after that encounter with Nora at dawn, I didn’t bother going back to sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flash of her bare legs, felt the ghost of her lips against mine from the night before.
I spent the entire morning distracting myself with projects around the house—permits or not—until the growl of my stomach urged me out the door and on my way to Moons’.
I push open the diner door, the bell announcing my arrival with a cheerful jingle that feels at odds with my mood. The place is half full. The morning rush has thinned out, leaving scattered locals nursing coffee cups and picking at late breakfasts.
The majority of their eyes turn my way when I come in—looks like I’m still a novelty around here—while my eyes immediately find her behind the counter, her red hair swept up in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face.
She hasn’t seen me yet, focused on refilling someone’s coffee.
I watch the easy way she smiles at the customers, the light that comes into her eyes when she laughs at something they say.
She looks different here than in our shadowy dawn encounters—like a queen in her territory.
More grounded, more certain of herself. This is her place, and I like seeing her here just as much as I like the flirty Nora who comes out under the cover of night.
She pats an old woman’s shoulder and waltzes toward the side door where she disappears, unknowingly giving me time to collect myself—looks like she’s not the only one who feels braver in the darkness.
I slide onto a stool at the far end of the counter, trying to ignore the throbbing in my injured finger. It’s swollen worse than yesterday, a deep purple blooming beneath the nail. Moon’s ‘nice fella’ comment about Dick—or was it Jake—had cost me.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” a gruff voice says beside me.
I turn to find a heavyset man with a salt-and-pepper beard watching me over the rim of his coffee mug across the counter. His eyes are narrowed in assessment, but there’s no real hostility there.
“Roman,” he says, extending a flour-dusted hand. “The cook. You’re the new neighbor who put Dick in his place.”
I shake his hand, carefully avoiding using my injured finger. “Jericho.”
When I saw him the other day in the kitchen, I suspected he might have been the Roman who nearly cost me another finger, and I see now what Moon was talking about—he does give off a fatherly energy.
Like he’s ready to feed and protect the whole place.
And he sure looks the part—big and burly. I instantly like him .
“I know who you are.” He chuckles, his gaze flickering around the diner, then back to me. “Everyone does by now.”
Hope they don’t.
“Coffee?” Roman asks, already reaching for a mug.
“Thanks.”
He gets a thermos from under the table and fills a mug to the brim with something that smells strong enough to strip paint.
“On the house,” he says with a wink. “For services rendered to the community.”
Before I can respond, Nora returns from the back and spots me, and for a heartbeat, she freezes. A blush creeps up her neck, and I know she’s remembering the same things I couldn’t forget all night.
She approaches slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’re back,” she says, her voice carefully neutral, though her eyes give her away.
I grunt in response, taking a sip of Roman’s coffee and nearly spitting it right back out. It’s like drinking liquid fire.
“Don’t embarrass me, boy. Maybe you need some water?” Roman cackles.
Nora rolls her eyes and shifts her weight, leaning casually on one hip. “I’ll get you some. I don’t know why you agreed to drink his poison.”
She slides a water glass toward me with a deliberate slowness, sending Roman an exaggerated evil eye on the way, as if to say, ‘Can you believe this guy?’
“Here. It will help with whatever mud he’s cooked in there.” Her words are full of mock concern, but there’s a warmth beneath them that isn’t lost on me. Chugging it down with one go doesn’t remove the awful taste from my mouth.
Roman’s mud coffee is not the topic I’d choose this morning, but we hadn’t exactly planned on seeing each other so soon after our last encounter, and it feels like she’s trying to find safe ground for the both of us .
Roman doesn’t let up. “That’s a man’s brew.”
He salutes his cup in a comical display of macho solidarity, clearly inviting me to join in. I give a halfhearted lift of my own mug, taking a lighthearted dig at myself.
“Don’t tell me you drink that latte stuff,” the cook challenges, acting like he’ll be personally offended if I do.
“Roman,” Nora interrupts with a teasing sigh, grabbing my glass to refill it.
Her eyes linger on my injured finger, and she pauses, almost like she wants to say something comforting or worrying or both.
Instead, she flicks her gaze back to Roman.
“It’s not even human’s brew. I don’t know how anyone can drink it. ”
“It’s much lighter than your witch’s brew if you insist,” he throws back, meeting her challenge with a grin.
“It is not.”
“It is,” he reasserts, stubborn as ever.
I listen to them banter like it’s a familiar song.
They go back and forth a few more times, and it’s clear they’ve been at this for years.
It’s a dance I haven’t seen since getting to Big Love, and the easy, bickering rhythm draws me in despite myself.
There’s a feeling of belonging in their exchange, a well-established coziness.
It reminds me of being part of something I haven’t had in a long time.
Nora’s eyes catch mine as she tops off the water, and her expression shifts for a brief moment. Almost wistful. Like maybe she’s wondering the same things I am about what this is, or could be, before shaking her head with a grin and focusing back on her argument with Roman.
I take a gulp of water, buying myself a few seconds to decode all the unsaid words between us. I’m not going to spill this feelings nonsense under Roman’s watchful eyes.
“A latte doesn’t taste as strong as your black coffee but has much more caffeine. Science, Roman,” she says, making her voice sound exasperated. But there’s no mistaking the affection she holds for him .
“Science my ass,” he huffs, slapping an order slip on the kitchen window. “It’s a fancy way to drink sugar milk.”
I finally manage to get a word in. “Is there any actual food here or just mud and sugar milk?”
“Want Nora to cook you something?” Roman teases, glancing back toward the kitchen like he’s expecting an offended squawk to echo from the walls. “Or do you want the real deal?” He hooks his thumb at himself.
“I might not survive that one,” I deadpan, getting more comfortable around here.
Nora shoots me a look, her eyes sparkling. “You have to survive,” she retorts with a mock serious look on her face. “I can’t fight the rooster alone.”
“Can’t let that happen.” My voice comes out more earnest than I intended, but I don’t care. Not anymore.
“Then you’re getting pancakes. You know, to fuel you up for battle,” she declares with a final nod, probably intending for it to sound like a threat. But to me, it’s not. It’s a promise of something good to come. Then she turns toward Roman and shoos him with a towel. “Go make the man some food.”
“Only if he finishes my coffee,” Roman croaks.
“I need the man alive.”
Roman narrows his eyes at her. “Do you?”
“For hunting companionship!” Nora cries out, her cheeks instantly pinkening.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Roman chuckles as he ducks into the kitchen. “He needs some meat then. For the hunt, I mean,” he adds with something that may have been intended as a wink but comes out as a grimace.
Nora sticks her tongue out at his back, and I catch a glimpse of the playful kid she must have once been before her face softens with something deeper.
When Roman completely diverts his attention to the kitchen, she says, rubbing a hand across her arm, “Anyway. I’m glad you’re here. ”
“Me too,” I reply, and it’s truer than I expected it to be.
She lingers next to me for just a moment longer, and the air is thick with everything we want to say but aren’t quite ready to.
Then the kitchen door swings open, and Roman hollers something about the rooster on the loose again.
I expect Nora to jump to help, but she surprises me by holding her position beside me.
“Your target,” Roman yells from the kitchen.
“What about it?”
He cackles. “Looks like he’s the one hunting you now.”
“Wait, what?” Nora’s voice rises.
“He’s over there.” Roman points his spatula behind his back.
“The rooster is here? At the diner?”
Roman gestures wildly toward the front window. “There!”
“Where?” We both turn to where he’s pointing.
“He’s gone now,” Roman declares, turning back to my pancakes.
“Or maybe you’re as crazy as we are,” Nora snickers.
Roman shrugs. “There’s a high chance of that.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, earning a glare from Nora.
“It’s not funny,” she hisses, but her lips twitch with barely contained amusement. “That bird exists, and he is the bane of my existence.”
“Our,” I correct her. “The bane of our existence.”
Her eyes meet mine, and something passes between us—a shared understanding, a connection that feels dangerously close to an intimacy neither of us are ready for.
“Fine,” she concedes. “ Our feathery nemesis. Now, are you going to help me catch him or just sit there drinking that sludge Roman calls coffee?”
“Can I choose coffee in good company?” I reply with a cheeky smile, making her eyes widen.
“Yes, you can. ”
And I do just that. I enjoy my breakfast, watching the whole staff quip and bicker with each other as they share local gossip which is not about me. This is probably the first moment in the past month that I don’t feel like an outsider here.