Chapter 33
TJ
Kissing Lucy brought me back to life.
All I can think about is seeing her and kissing her again. It’s early on Monday morning, the day after Christmas. I have the day off, and Lucy agreed to let me take her out to breakfast. I assured her it was an out-of-the-way spot and we wouldn’t be discovered.
I pull up outside of Daisy’s Inn and take the steps two at a time. A family is walking out the front door, so I grab the handle and hold the door open for them, mindful to keep my head lowered. Flying under the radar is going to take some getting used to, but for Lucy, I gladly will.
I slip inside and shoot off a text to let Lucy know I’m downstairs. She appears at the top of the steps a few seconds later, and I can’t stop smiling up at her like a happy puppy.
“Morning,” she says shyly as she jogs down the stairs.
In response, I grab for her hands and pull her to the entryway to the hearth room.
“What are you doing?”
I glance up to where the mistletoe is still hanging overhead, and I grin down at her before lowering my mouth to hers and kissing her a proper good morning.
“Wow,” she says, looking slightly dazed when I pull back. “That’ll give a girl some energy.”
I study her and frown. “You didn’t sleep well?”
She shakes her head. “I slept great, just not for very long. I was wired when I got home, because”—her cheeks flush—“of the hot tub.”
I am inordinately proud of that. I wag my brows at her, and she shoves me playfully. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“Can’t help it. I’ve made it my mission to kiss you to the point where you’re losing sleep.”
Her eyes widen, and her blush deepens. “Well, you accomplished that yesterday,” she says with a smirk.
“I started tinkering with my manuscript and ended up writing almost ten thousand words last night.” At my puzzled expression, she adds, “That’s usually how many words I write in a week— a good week. ”
I let out a surprised expletive. “I mean dang, Lu. That’s wild. All that writing and you must be hungry.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Starving, actually.”
The woman winks. She actually winks at me.
I cannot be held responsible for the growl that comes out of my mouth.
I reach for her to pull her in for another kiss, but she side-steps me and laughs, taking off for the door.
“Come on, TJ. I need sustenance.” She glances at me over her shoulder and shoots me a wolfish grin. “For writing and more kissing.”
The drive to the diner takes about twenty minutes.
It’s a hole-in-the-wall spot at the end of a strip mall on the outskirts of Green Bay.
The parking lot is deserted when we arrive.
It’s early, and it’s the day after Christmas, so I can’t imagine we’re going to have to fight too many people for a seat.
Lucy looks around at the vacant, poorly paved lot, and I have a moment of panic. Is this type of place not up to her standards? She’s so normal and unassuming that I sometimes forget she’s used to the finer things.
But then she takes one more look around, unlatches her seatbelt, and shocks me when she climbs over the console of my truck and sits in my lap.
“Hi.” She smiles up at me and loops her arms around my neck. “Is this okay?”
“You don’t even need to ask.” I lower my mouth to hers and let myself get lost in her again. I love that she’s comfortable enough with me to take initiative, to tell me what she likes and what she wants.
I’m quickly realizing Anton is right. There’s nothing else I’d rather do than spend time with Lucy, doing what she wants to do, and making her feel like she’s the most important thing in the world to me.
After a couple minutes and a few stops and starts, wherein Lucy was half out the door but I pulled her back to kiss her some more, we manage to leave the seclusion of my truck and get seated in a corner booth at the diner. I’m pleased to see the waitress standing behind the counter.
“That’s Betsy,” I tell Lucy, tipping my head toward her. She’s a single mom in her early forties, and she looks tired this morning. I make a mental note to check in about her boys. “I’ve been coming here since I got drafted to the River Foxes, and she’s never once blown my cover.”
“I’m so hungry right now, I think I’d be okay being found out if it meant I got French toast.”
I hand her a laminated menu. I don’t need one, since I always get the same thing. “You’re a French toast person, huh?”
“It’s the superior breakfast.”
“A whole platter of pancakes would beg to differ.”
Lucy’s brow puckers as she meets my gaze. “Pancakes don’t hold a candle to French toast. Sourdough bread, built-in eggs, and fresh fruit toppings. Come on. No contest.”
“I had no idea you were so passionate about this topic. Should I be concerned?”
“As long as you don’t get in the way of me and my French toast, you’ll be fine.”
“Fair enough. Me and my measly pancakes will stay sequestered over here on this side of the booth. You can look down your nose at us.”
Lucy snorts. “If you want to argue the pancake’s case, be my guest. I mean, you’ll lose the argument, but you can absolutely try.” She bats her eyelashes.
I laugh outright. “You’re feisty in the morning, Lu. I like that.”
Betsy swings by the table. “Morning, Teej. Hiya, doll,” she says in Lucy’s direction.
Lucy offers her a tentative smile. “Hey.”
“You know whatcha want?”
“The usual for me,” I say.
Betsy nods and scribbles on her pad of paper. “Tall stack of pancakes, extra butter, extra syrup. Coffee and cream. And for you?” She flicks her gaze to Lucy, and then back down to her pad.
“Coffee for me as well, please. But with sugar. And I’ll do the French toast.”
Betsy scribbles some more. “Whipped cream on top for ya?”
“No thanks. Just the strawberries.”
“Coming right up.” Betsy pockets her notepad and is about to leave our table when she meets my eye. “A whole bunch of River Foxes merch showed up at our house on Christmas Eve. Know anything about that?”
I lift my shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “Were the sizes okay?”
Betsy’s mouth lifts into a smile. “Perfect. Thank you, TJ. If it was just me, I’d yell at you for your charity, but for the kids’ sake, I’ll allow it.”
I nod at her, aware that she doesn’t want to belabor the point. She nods back and bustles off.
Lucy watches her before turning back to me, raising her brows. “Sounds to me like you’re a real-life prince charming. Or at least a knight in shining armor.”
I shake my head. “It’s not a big deal. It’s the least I can do. They’re good kids. Ten and twelve. Their dad got into some trouble and has been in jail since they were little.”
Lucy’s face falls and she flicks her gaze toward where Betsy disappeared into the kitchen. “That must be so hard. For all of them.”
“Betsy is great. She’s held it together, but I know it wears on her. I try to be her friend.”
“You’re a good friend.”
I shrug. “So is she. Her discretion with me is worth more than twenty River Foxes jerseys.” I reach across the table, holding out my hand, and she slips her fingers into it. “You good? Comfortable here?”
She stares at me with a soft smile on her lips before shaking her head slightly, allowing the change in conversation. “Yeah. This is great.”
“No whipped cream?” I bring us back to our breakfast conversation as I flip her palm over and start tracing the lines on her skin.
“No way,” she says staunchly. “You can’t mess with perfection like that. French toast can stand on its own. It doesn’t need any frills.”
“You’ve obviously thought this through.”
“Like I said, I take my breakfasts very seriously.” She winks at me again, and I love it.
“You come here a lot, so the food must be good.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I nod. “Donald—the chef. He’s awesome.”
She tips her head to the side. “Not a name you hear often.”
“I guess not.”
“Sorry. My brain is in writer mode. I love that sort of thing. A unique name. A funny backstory. This whole place is screaming to be written into a story.”
I look around and try to see the diner through Lucy’s eyes.
It doesn’t look very special to me, but now that I’m looking for it, there are sweet details all around.
Paper snowflakes dangle from the ceiling.
Fresh holly and berries drape over the lip of a mason jar by the front register.
The booths are lined with cracked leather, but the Formica table tops shine. It’s worn, but well-loved.
“I don’t mean to bore you,” she adds, sounding embarrassed.
“You’re not.” I squeeze her hand. “I was marveling. You notice things that I would skim right over. Don’t apologize for how your mind works, Lu. I happen to like it.”
“Thanks.” She smiles.
“How’s the progress on your book coming?”
She blows out a long breath. “After the absurd number of words I wrote last night, I might just hit my deadline.”
“How long do you have?”
“Till the end of January.” Lucy cringes. “It’s going to be close.”
“You’ll do it.”
Betsy swings back and sets two mugs of coffee in front of us, along with cream and sugar. “Donny’ll have your platters right out.”
We thank her, and as soon as she’s out of earshot, I lean toward Lucy. “By the way, I have a hunch that you know Philomena Grace.”
Lucy focuses on her coffee, shaking a packet of sugar into the brown liquid and stirring it carefully. “What makes you say that?”
“Because I have a feeling that you coordinated getting her connected to Rose at Mood Reader. I’d even go out on a limb and say I could guess your pen name is”—I drop my voice—“Ava Reese.”