Chapter 10 Landon #2
After I left Chicago, I told myself I was starting over. A new city at eighteen felt like a clean slate at first. But I had lost more than just a hometown when I moved. I lost Dad. I lost Kira. I lost the diner and the version of myself who still believed in second chances.
Atlanta didn’t make me better. It made me numb.
The first year was a blur of double shifts and takeout containers. I worked like hell to avoid feeling anything at all. And when that didn’t work, I did what the internet told me to: joined a gym, went to happy hours, tried to meet new people.
But eventually, the noise faded and I slipped into a routine. Not because I liked it, but because it was predictable. Safe. And safe was better than sinking.
Still, seeing Kira now—her fire, her determination—it made something flicker in me I thought I’d buried. Maybe I could learn from her.
We shook on it.
“What about you?” she asked, leaning back in the booth and drawing her straw between her fingers.
“What about me?”
“I feel like we’ve talked so much about me,” Kira said, offering a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She toyed with the napkin in her lap, folding and unfolding it like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “What have you been up to these recent years? Saving more diners?”
“Ha. Definitely not.” How could I even sum up the last seven years in a few words? It happened. “I spent most of my time working for my uncle’s restaurant and sent extra money back whenever I could. In whatever free time I had, I coached a youth kickball league.”
“No way.” Kira’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the table. “Coach Cole, huh? No wonder you’re so good with kids.”
I shrugged, chuckling. “Teaching kids how to paint something pretty is miles different than telling them to run laps, but I guess the same concept applies—patience, snacks, and hiding your stress from them.”
“Did you live alone in Atlanta?” she asked.
“Yeah. Big fan of peace and quiet.”
“Bachelor pad and all?” Her tone was light, but I caught the flicker of something more in her expression. Curiosity? Nerves?
I grinned. “I suppose.”
Then she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the straw. “And did you, uh…” Her voice dropped slightly, more cautious now. “Live a bachelor life?”
“There were a few flings along the way,” I admitted, holding her gaze, “but nothing serious. No one I brought home to meet Mom. No one I kept thinking about the way I thought about you.”
A faint flush bloomed across her cheeks. I couldn’t tell if it was from the heat of the diner, the weight of what I’d said, or some emotion she didn’t want me to see.
“You thought of me?”
“All the time.”
A deep and familiar voice joined. “Well, well, if it isn’t my two favorite students!”
Both our heads snapped to the side, where our old high school art teacher was standing. His salt-and-pepper hair had thinned since we’d last seen him, but the mischievous glint in his eyes was exactly the same.
“Mr. Pollard?” Kira said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing!” he replied, grinning. “This is my local haunt. They have the best pancakes in the city.”
There was absolutely no way that was true—especially with my family’s diner reopening—but I didn’t bother disagreeing. As I’d learned in his class, my judgment on what was good was often wrong.
“What have you two been up to? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all my riveting lessons about chiaroscuro and negative space.”
Kira laughed. “Of course not. I think about contrast every time I pick an outfit.”
“I think of negative space every time I attempt to draw literally anything,” I added dryly.
Pollard chuckled, his eyes darting between us. “You two still the dynamic duo, huh? It’s nice to see. I can’t believe you’ve been together since high school. How long ago was that—six years?”
I froze. Kira’s smile stiffened, her eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second.
“Oh, uh,” Kira began awkwardly, “we’re not—”
“Seven years,” I interrupted smoothly.
Kira shot me a look that I ignored.
Pollard grinned, satisfied. “I knew it. You two were always glued at the hip in school. You’ve got that rare kind of connection. Don’t let it go.”
The waitress returned with our salads and pie, sparing us from having to respond. Pollard glanced at his watch.
“Well, I won’t keep you from your date. I just wanted to say hi. Great seeing you both! Don’t be strangers.”
“Bye, Mr. Pollard,” I said as he waved and strolled off to another booth.
Once he was out of earshot, Kira turned to me, incredulous. “Seven years?”
I took a bite of pie, unfazed. Dessert first was my mantra. “What? It’s technically true. We graduated seven years ago.”
“You let him think we’ve been dating since then!”
“Look how happy it made him. Besides, you didn’t correct him either.”
Kira groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Unbelievable.”
I chuckled, pushing my plate toward her. “Here, eat some pie. You’ll feel better.”
She peeked out from behind her fingers, fighting a smile. “You’re the worst.”
“Maybe”—I lifted my fork in a mock toast—“but at least I don’t hate blueberries anymore.”
We finished the pie in record time but took our time with the salads, talking about nothing. It was almost like things were back to normal. It gave me hope that things could be okay again.
After we paid and left the diner, Kira tucked her hands into her jacket pockets and said, “Thanks for buying me lunch.”
“Anytime. C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”
Our pace slowed as we approached my car, a black sedan that looked cleaner now that the storm had passed. Kira lingered a few steps behind, looking up at the sun that poked through the gray clouds.
“You don’t have to. I could take the bus.”
I shook my head. “Let this be the thing that scares you today.”
She opened the door. “I’m not scared of you.”
“That’s funny”—I ignored her questioning glance as I turned the car on—“because I’m pretty scared of you.”