9. Ava
9
Ava
C lassic Elvis Presley played over the diner's speakers in a low tone, the infamous voice easy to decipher over the bustling conversation.
A red, black, and white theme spread across the inside of the diner. The seats were faux red leather while the floor gave a dizzying effect of black and white checkers like I'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.
Stools lined the old-fashioned serving bar with twin ketchup and mustard holders littering the surface from end to end.
I sat in the far corner, my back to the wall, nerves filling my belly as I stared at the cherry-red Gibson hanging on the wall, resembling the one my father played in the garage when I was six.
It hadn't lasted long when the neighbors complained about the unbearable racket, and my mother told him her ears were bleeding from the atrocious noise.
He'd never picked it up again.
Amazing how the human race can destroy someone's dream for their own selfish desires.
Darrel Lavoy, the co-owner of Deeno's Diner, stopped at my table with a mug and carafe in hand. "Anything I can start you off with besides coffee, Ava?" He placed the mug on the table and filled it a half inch from the rim, the steaming black coffee a welcomed sight.
"I'm currently waiting for someone, so I'll drink this while I wait."
"Alrighty." He turned with the coffee in hand, the white paper hat staying in place.
"How's your mom?" I swallowed hard. "I heard she had a fall a couple of weeks back. I've been meaning to ask."
He twisted back towards me. "She's doing better. She misses her long walks with her pooch, but other than that, she's surviving." He gave me a half-lipped smile.
My fidgeting fingers picked at the rounded edge of the bound utensils. "That's good." I wrapped my other hand around the coffee cup, allowing the heat of the ceramic to warm my palm. "Sorry, I haven't been around much."
"You have your own life now. We get it."
"It's not—"
"You don't have to explain, Ava. We haven't been together for years."
"But—"
"Hey, sorry I'm late." Nate dipped into the seat across from me and shucked off a leather jacket, placing it beside him in the booth. "The traffic was wild."
He shot me a smile, and my shoulders slackened, the tension wasting away. "No problem, I just got here."
"Oh, hey." Nate glanced up at Darrel. "Can I get a coffee, please? I had a terrible night's sleep."
"Sure thing. Let me get a mug."
Darrel turned and left, our conversation withering as though it had never occurred.
"So, bad night, huh?"
"The worst." His dimples deepened. "I kept thinking about this girl I met all night long. It had me tossing and turning. Yours?"
Heat coiled deep in my belly, spreading like embers in heavy winds. "Sounds like a problem."
Darrel stopped at the table and dropped two menus and a mug, then filled Nate's. "Let me know when you're ready to order." He gave Nate a once over, then left.
"Something going on between you two?" His brows pulled together as he followed Darrel's disappearing figure. "The tension is thick."
I huffed, waving him off. "We dated for a while, and the breakup wasn’t exactly mutual."
He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "Why didn't you say something? We can go someplace else?"
I frowned and shook my head. " Nah . It'll be fine."
"Say the word." He sipped his coffee and flinched. "Wow. That is…hot."
I let out a sarcastic breath and grabbed the menu. "It's straight off the pot."
"Yeah, but I figured with how long he'd been holding it here talking to you, it might have cooled down a bit."
My gaze fell down the menu, searching for something light but filling as I laughed. "We weren't talking very long."
"You never answered my question."
His question?
Ohhh.
I peeked over my menu as he picked his up. "My night was full of work. I stayed up far too late, and I wouldn't even say my research was a success."
"If only you would've let me help you." He chuckled, and the song turned to something from The Beach Boys.
"I'm kind of a solo gal."
He nodded. " Ah . I get it. You don't work well with others."
"It's not that—"
"No. No. I get it. I'm the same way. That's why I like the maintenance job. I choose my own hours for the most part, and the only person I have to dictate what I'm doing is me. Work orders go by the wayside if I'm not feeling it."
Closing the menu, I placed it on the edge of the table and sipped my coffee. "Have you always been a handyman?"
He let out a short, dry laugh as he folded his menu, placing it on top of mine. "No. I used to be in the Marine Corps, but I skipped out after eight years of their bureaucratic bullshit."
"The Marines, huh?" I glanced down at the tattoos littering his arms and pointed at a knife stabbing into a skull on his forearm. "Death Before Dishonor?"
He chortled and ran his hand over the aging tattoo. " Uh , yeah."
"That’s a military term, right?"
His shoulder lifted. "It's been around as far back as the Romans and Samurai. The Japanese Samurai had this tradition or belief called Seppuku ." His fingers traced over the banner clenched in the skull's teeth. "They'd literally fall on their sword and die rather than face dishonor."
"Wow. That seems a bit extreme."
"It's been a cross-cultural principle long before today's modern standards."
"Ready to order?" Darrel stopped with his hands in his pockets.
I shot a questioning look at Nate.
"Scrambled eggs, bacon, side of sourdough." Nate's broad shoulders leaned against the back of his booth.
"I'll have the same. Make mine sunny side up, please."
"On it." Darrel spun without writing a single thing down, his memory as impeccable today as it was three years ago.
"What about you?" Nate leaned in, his massive forearms creating a triangle with his body, his hands cupped together on the table.
"Me?"
"Yeah, have you always wanted to be a journalist?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, I did the high school paper, and I enjoyed it, but I wanted a little more adventure with it." I sucked in my cheek and released it, creating an audible click. "Writing about celebrities and their latest nose job or politics didn't interest me. I wanted to make a difference."
"And are you?"
"What? Making a difference?" I snorted. "I'd like to think so, but that might be wishful thinking."
"Do you have a special interest in crime?"
Oddly specific.
"You could say that."
Nate hummed in interest, his eyes locked with mine. "What are you working on now?"
"I'm fleshing out an idea. I don't know what's all there yet, but it's something I noticed going on around town."
"Sounds interesting." Nate sipped on his coffee, his brow creasing a little before relaxing the next second. "I guess if it doesn't pan out, there are other things you can write about."
"There's always something. It's a matter of sifting through the bullshit to get to the meat of it."
Darrel appeared at our table with his arms full of our plates in the signature waiter staff hold—how they balanced everything, I'd never know.
"Thanks, Darrel," we said in unison and picked up our forks.
"Let me know if I can get you anything else." His lips pressed together in a forced smile, then left, stopping at another table on the way to the back.
Nate stuck a piece of bacon in his mouth and sighed. "I knew this place would be good."
"You've never been here?"
He shook his head and dipped into his eggs as I grabbed my toast. "No. I moved into town a couple of weeks ago from Chicago."
"And you've already made quite the impression with all the women at the apartment complex." I devoured my toast, dipping it into my yolks, then finished the egg off on top.
"Have I? I guess I only had my eye on one."
Our gazes collided, stimulating parts of my body that had grown cobwebs over the years.
"Is that so?" My chewing slowed as I focused on drowning myself in my coffee.
"Of course. I mean, after you practically ran into me, I had to see you again, so I followed you back home and picked up the maintenance job so I could see you again." His dimples deepened as he stared at me, my cup clattering on the table.
"What?" The muscles in my neck strained, my breath locked in my lungs as I stared across the table at him.
"I'm kidding." He chuckled and sat back in his seat. "That was a bad joke, wasn't it?"
I released my held breath. "In this day and age, given my profession. Yeah. You could say so."
He reached across the table and caressed the fleshy bit between my thumb and forefinger. "I'm sorry. Those types of jokes are symptoms of the military, I'm afraid."
His hand warmed mine as his thumb moved across my sensitive flesh, sending sparks to my brain, erasing any stranger-danger alerts that may have come through.
"Let me make it up to you. There's a new festival coming. Let me take you there."
"That's pretty smooth, Nate."
He laughed. "I try. I do. So what do you say?"
"Oktoberfest?"
His hand slid away, and the drive to grab it had me forcing my hand into my lap, continuing where he'd left off.
He lifted his leather jacket and sifted through the pockets, then pulled out his black phone. " Um… " He flicked his thumb across the screen and turned it my way. "Yep, that’s the one."
"Oh."
Shit.
Liam just asked me out there.
"I'm not sure. I might be busy."
"There'll be beer…"
"You're speaking my language." My lips pulled up in a smirk, his earlier comment washing away.
"So, is that a yes?" He raised his brows.
"I mean, who can turn down beers, brats, and rides."
"There are rides?" He woke up his screen and scrolled on. "I didn't see that before."
"Yeah." I laughed. "It's being held at Crafton Park, which is somewhat of our amusement park." I picked up my bacon and ate the remaining slice. "It's more like a carnival setting than an actual amusement park."
"So…what you’re saying is, we'll have our first kiss on the Ferris wheel." His dimples deepened as he flashed me his white teeth.
" Uh, no. You'll have to find someone else to check mark that bucket list item. I don't do heights."
"At all?"
"Like, don't lift me too high off the ground. I might cry."
He chuckled. "I've never heard of such an extreme case."
I leaned back against the soft cushioned backing and glanced at my watch. "Obviously, there's some exaggeration in there, but I'm legit terrified of falling to my death."
"Maybe you haven't done it with the right person."
I moved my plate to the edge of the table, laid my forearms on the surface, and leaned forward with a growing smile. "Are you going to magically cure a decades-old fear?"
Nate cocked his head to the side, the space between us morphing with each topic rushing by. He lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles against my cheek in the softest of touches. "I'd be happy to try if you let me."
I leaned into his touch, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. "I—"
"Let me get this out of the way for you two." The dishes beside us clanged, and we pulled away, my back hitting the cushion with a slight bounce. "Here's the check. Pay when you're ready at the cashier."
Nate dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, his driver's license tucked into a clear case on the end.
Nate Reynolds…
Note to self.
He grabbed the check and his jacket, then stood, holding his hand out for mine. "I'll pick you up on Sunday at noon. How's that?"
I slipped my hand into his and stood, my body sliding against him, igniting every cell in my body. " Um…"
The back of his knuckles rubbed down my arm. Goosebumps flared a trailing path across my skin as he leaned in, his breath against my lips. "Don't refuse."
His intoxicating cologne washed over me, and I nodded. "Okay, you win this round."
"That's what I like to hear." He pulled me towards the register and paid for our breakfast, the butterflies in my stomach and my nerves running amuck.
What am I doing?
"Do you want a ride back to pick up your car?" He placed his hand on the small of my back and ushered me out the door towards a black sports bike with a mounted helmet to match.
"On that?" I shook my head. "No. I have important things to accomplish in life. I'd like to make sure I'm alive to finish them."
Laughter erupted beside me, his smooth, deep voice sending ripples of warmth through me.
I'm doomed.
"I'll treat your life with the utmost care."
"I'm good, really."
Those heartwarming butterflies turned to a churning hurricane in my belly, threatening to disrupt the tasty breakfast I'd consumed.
"Alright. But be prepared for me to pick you up on Sunday."
"On that?" I repeated the question, my hair falling into my face as I shook my head.
He tugged on his leather jacket. "Yes, there's nothing sexier than a woman on a bike behind her man."
"So you're my man now, are you?" A ridiculous smile spread across my face before I could suppress it.
"I thought I made that clear." He stepped into me, his fingers curling around the back of my neck, and tugged me closer. "I know what I want."
His lips came down on mine, and lightning bolts of desire coursed through me as though I'd sat on the electric chair in my final hour.
Nate pulled away, leaving me frozen as a human statue on the sidewalk. He swung his leg over his bike and secured his helmet. "Have a wonderful day, baby."
Baby?
My skin flushed as he started the bike with a romp. He disappeared down the road, and I turned to face his direction, pressing my fingers to my lips with a blushing smile.
How am I supposed to visit the prison now?