Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“I’m getting too old for this crap.” Holly leaned back, stretching. At least she’d been able to get some dry toast down this morning. Her weight was holding steady, too.
Maybe she wasn’t going to be called to the big rodeo in the sky just yet.
“I hear that.” Barb cracked her gum, grabbed another saltshaker.
Thin fall sunlight streamed through the window, liquid gold showing every crack and chip in the tables.
The street steamed, and everyone was either irritated by the sudden glare or doped up on bright yellow light.
Sunshine drove everyone crazy. “Any word on Angie?”
“Ginny’s going by today to check on her.”
Barb snorted. “Well, that’s no help.”
“She’s just young.” And stupid. We were all that way once.
Growing out of foolishness was painful; sometimes it took a hard jolt to kick-start the process.
Sometimes it took a double punch, one-two, like coming home from a doctor’s office and hearing your husband say I want a divorce as though he was telling you what was for dinner.
“So are you.” Barb filled the shaker, screwed the cap back on with a savage twist and cracked it down like a shot glass.
“Ha. I feel pretty damn creaky.” Holly’s hands moved on their own, wrapping silverware. Fork, knife, spoon, crease the napkin, the gummed band nice and tight.
“You’re just a baby. What about Mystery Man?” With a bright avid smile, Barb picked up another saltshaker. Her fingers lingered.
“Haven’t seen him.” Not since Friday, at least. Stop asking.
“Shame. I could use one of those tips.”
“We all could.” Fork, knife, spoon. A roll, a tap, the gummed band.
“What did you say his name was?”
Reese. “Can’t remember.”
Barb’s expression suggested she might not believe that assertion. “You think he’ll be back?”
“Probably not.” Hope not. Did she?
That was the trouble. Life was uncertainty. She should have gone back to the doctor once or twice at least, to get some sort of idea exactly how long she had, but what was the point?
Better just to vanish.
“Shame.” Barb shook her head, pursed her lips.
“If he does, you can pour him coffee and make awkward conversation.” Another band, smoothed down just like a pillowcase.
Right after the divorce she’d done housekeeping in the Five Seasons downtown; it was a relief not to think.
To move so steadily you didn’t have to brood about anything.
All during her father’s final illness she’d perfected that skill to a fine art.
By now she was probably at Olympic level in that sport.
One day at a time, and all that. She’d read a “Surviving Cancer” book from the library once, and it was full of similar little gems. Dad had refused to even glance at any of the literature they gave him.
He’d retreated into himself like a snail into a shell, and the military hadn’t done a damn thing to help.
All those years he gave to his country, and they threw him out like trash.
Don’t think about that. He did what he had to do.
“Deal.” Barb grinned, arranging the shakers on a tray, and hefted the whole thing with a single, oddly graceful movement. The bell at the front door tinkled, and Holly suppressed a sigh. Someone would show up right in the middle of prep time.
Barb laughed, swinging away. “Speak of the devil.”
Holly’s head snapped up, the glare of the sun on wet pavement and crawling-past cars turning to shutterclicks as she blinked.
Reese stood in the flood of light, raindrops caught in his dark hair.
His broad shoulders were tight, his face shadowed, and his jeans were wet to the knee, as if he’d run through puddles or had a losing battle with a streetcorner–surfing cab.
Another sigh worked its way up, got caught in her chest, and she looked down at the silverware tub again.
“Well, hello again, stranger.” Barb took over, familiar patter tripping off her tongue. The saltshakers were perilously close to sliding from the tray, she was in such a hurry. “Your usual?”
“That’s okay.” Nice, polite. “I’ll sit up there. Hi, Holly.”
She glanced up, and it was no use. He was heading right for her.
Suddenly clumsy, it took her twice as long to get the next set of silverware wrapped up. She stared down into the grey plastic tub as if it held gold dust. She had to dredge up a smile and be pleasant, and somehow palm him off onto Barb.
The very thought made her tired all over again. “Hi, Reese. Coffee?”
“Sure.” Did he have to sound so pleased? He moved almost as if he were military, but the hair was wrong. Civilian hair, Dad would’ve said. “I always wondered how that happened.”
Holly finished another set. She was thinking about her father more and more these days. “What?”
“The little paper things. I wondered how they got around the silverware.”
So did I, until I found out. Now I’ve done a million of them. “Me, too.” Why did she want to smile? When she stole a glance, he’d settled on the stool to her left, not too close. Not too far away, either. “You left in a hurry the other night.”
“You didn’t put the tip behind the register, did you?”
A laugh surprised her, and she dropped the last set into the box of finished settings. “No. Brenda was really happy with it. Thank you.”
“Good.” He turned the coffee cup at his place over, set it precisely on its paper coaster. “Sorry for leaving so fast. I realized what time it was, had to catch the train.”
Well, that made sense. She waved the apology away and picked up the box, bracing it on her hip. “It was pretty late. Hey, Barb will take care of you—”
“I’m just here for coffee. And I wanted to ask you something.”
“Again?”
He paused for the barest second, studying her expression.
An answering smile tilted up the corners of his mouth, and she caught a breath of cologne.
Had he dressed up? No, it was just the same as usual—navy-blue T-shirt and jeans, that dark nondescript canvas jacket with a high collar.
The same watch, and his bare, ringless fingers.
Not even a betraying divot on the left third that would shout on the prowl.
I’m not looking, she told herself. I don’t care.
“Yeah, again. Unless you’re busy.”
“You can see they’re beating down the doors here.
” She let her gaze swing critically over empty tables.
Traffic whispered and rumbled outside. A hiss of steam from the kitchen and Doug turned the radio up, some country song about a woman in need wailing its reedy guitar over the static.
Was there anything she could say that was polite yet brisk, or even just neutral?
Barb swung by and set the coffeepot down with a splash. “I’m going on my break,” she announced and—of all things—actually winked at Reese, fluttering heavily mascara’d lashes. “Be good, kiddos.”
Oh, for God’s sake. There was absolutely no way around it, so Holly set the box back down and poured him a cup of coffee. Barb’s giggle as she popped through the swinging door was a masterpiece of mischief, broken only by a crack of her gum.
He curled his hands around the thick ceramic mug, shifted a little on the stool, shot a glance over his shoulder.
The light brought out shadows on his cheeks—he would rough up well before five o’clock—and bright threads in his irises, matching the highlights in his hair.
Little bits of gold. He’d probably tan easily and deep.
Holly took a deep breath. Be kind. It costs you nothing, Dad always said. “So what’s your question?”
“Got a million of them, actually. I wonder about a lot of things. Occupational hazard.” He blew across the top of his cup, steam gilded for a brief second before the air dispersed it. “I could keep you here until doomsday asking things.”
What on earth did that mean? She waited, holding the coffeepot, wondering what the hell she was supposed to say.
“But really,” he continued, “it would just add up to me wanting to talk to you. So I’ll settle for a cliché, I guess. Would you... I mean, do you think you could have a cup of coffee with me?”
Oh, Lord. “Um.”
“I kept trying to figure out how to ask you.” Was he nervous? Reese shifted a little, shot another glance at the front window. “Then I thought, well, just come right out and say it, and... because, well, hanging out here and just staring is sort of... creepy.”
It is. “Um.” I’ve gone preverbal. Great. She licked her lips, wished she hadn’t, because he kept looking at her mouth. “It’s not exactly...” Professional? I’m a waitress, not a therapist. “I guess. I mean, sure. Okay.”
Wait. What did I just say?
For a second she was sure he would laugh, that it was a joke. Instead, he rocked back on the stool a fraction. He even looked surprised.
Well, that made two of them. The thudding in her ears and throat was her heart. Outside, a semi shifted and nosed past, rattling the window.
“Really?” As if he didn’t believe her.
Last chance to back out, Holly. Don’t do this. You don’t have time for it. “Really. But not here.”
“Where, then? And when?”
“I work. You do, too. So—”
“I’ll make time.”
Well, maybe I can’t just duck out whenever I feel like it. “It’s just coffee.”
“I know.” He ducked his head, just like a teenager. “Look, I’m rusty. I haven’t asked a girl out in years.”
“I’m not a girl.”
A quick lift of one eyebrow, and his expression plainly shouted he was very aware she wasn’t a girl. “So tell me when and where.”
Am I blushing? Either that or her cheeks had just acquired a sunburn from nowhere. “Give me a minute to think, all right?” How long had it been since someone had looked at her like this? It was awkward as hell, sure, and maybe he could still turn out to be a creeper.
Or maybe he wouldn’t. And having coffee wasn’t a proposal or anything. She could see what it felt like again. One last time around the block, so to speak, before she took matters into her own hands.
Is that what I’ve decided to do? Some things you couldn’t think about straight on—they crept up on you until you knew, all at once, that you’d decided.
A cup of coffee with a guy who somehow found her mildly attractive would relieve some of the crushing loneliness, and it didn’t have to go anywhere, right?
“Are you going to change your mind?” Quick downward tilt to his mouth, rueful and oddly vulnerable.
I guess a nice tip or two gets you the benefit of the doubt. “No.” Was that a big stupid grin on her face?
It was. That was probably all right, though, because he was wearing one, too. It did great things for those velvet-dark eyes, wrinkles fanning at the corners telling her he was maybe too old for this crap too. Maybe old enough to have a little sense.
Not that it mattered. She tried to shove that thought away. Even though something in her cringed at knowing another person here in this city, she still... well, she wanted. There was no harm in it, was there? One coffee date, then she’d make her arrangements.
He’d never see her again afterward.
“Good.” He set the mug back down, and she remembered she had a job to do. The entire place was deserted, though. Barbara was due back any minute from her break, unable to keep her nose out of whatever was going on.
Still, just this once, maybe Holly could steal a minute or two. One of the benefits of finally making a big decision, maybe. Funny how knowing something so final made it feel as if she had all the time in the world.
So Holly pushed the coffeepot aside and leaned against the counter. “So. Reese. We’ll do coffee. You got a last name?”