Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
The Diner
“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here,” the man greeted as Brooks and I approached his table.
“Poet, this is my brother, Archer. Archer, be on your best behavior.”
“No promises,” Archer said with a grin. “Poet, nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
“You here by yourself?” Brooks asked.
“Yeah. I was with Josiah and Henry. They left already, but I wasn’t done. Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the other side of the booth.
“Thanks,” I said, sliding in first, and then Brooks took the spot next to me, sitting close enough that his leg pressed against mine.
Archer watched me with an amused smile. “So . . . he found you in a ditch, huh?”
“You make it sound like I’m a long-lost puppy,” I said. “How did you know he found me in a ditch?”
“He called me last night and told me. So, are you?” Archer asked.
“Am I what?”
“A long-lost puppy.”
“Poet, ignore him.”
“Kinda hard to do that.” I reached for the menus and handed one to Brooks and then looked back at Archer. “Let me guess. You’re younger.”
“Correct,” Archer said, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. “What gave it away?”
“The way you rib him,” I explained. “Very younger-sibling of you.”
“Someone has to do it. Otherwise, he might never laugh.”
“He laughs.” I perused the menu, and it took me a moment to realize the two men at the table were silent. I glanced up. “What?”
“Laughs?” Archer frowned. “He barely even smiles.”
I looked at Brooks. “Should I call you Jekyll or Hyde? Because everyone else seems to have a different read on you.”
“What are you going to order?” Brooks asked instead of answering me.
“Oh, deflecting. Good job,” Archer said.
Brooks sighed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Nope. This is fun.”
“How much younger are you?” I asked Archer.
“Two years. I’m thirty. And how old are you, sweetheart?”
Brooks glared at his brother. “Don’t.”
Archer cocked a brow. “Interesting.”
“I’m twenty-three,” I replied.
“Oh, brother, you’re robbing the cradle!” Archer said with a laugh, causing other people to turn and look at us.
“I will end your life,” Brooks said, but it was without heat. “Or you can finish your coffee and get out of here.”
“Only if you promise to pick up the breakfast tab,” Archer said.
“Anything if it means getting you the hell out of here.”
“Well, because you asked so nicely . . .” He slid out of the worn booth. “Poet, it was a pleasure. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
He punched Brooks’ shoulder on his way out. Brooks let out a low grunt but otherwise didn’t react.
The middle-aged waitress with a pencil stuck through her messy bun came by and asked if we were ready to order.
“Two poached eggs, extra crispy hashbrowns, sausage links and bacon, please,” I said with a smile.
“Any coffee? Or are you good?” she asked.
I picked up the Sweet Teeth to-go cup. “I’m good for now. Thanks.”
She smiled down at Brooks. “And you, honey? What can I get you?”
“Same thing as her,” he said. “Sounds good.”
“You got it.”
Once she left, I said, “You can move to the other side of the table.”
“I like it here just fine.”
“It’s hard to talk to you like this.”
With a sigh, he grudgingly relocated.
“Better,” I said with a smile. “So that was Archer.”
“That was Archer.”
“He’s not the only one who thinks you don’t smile or laugh a lot.”
“That’s because I don’t.”
“You do around me.”
“Can’t help but smile around you, Freckles,” he admitted as he pushed Archer’s mug to the end of the table.
I didn’t know what to say to that. I liked that I made him smile. But it made my heart ping in sadness for him, too.
The waitress came by with clean silverware and two waters. She took the dirty dishes and disappeared again.
“So, what were you doing in New York? For your job, I mean?” he asked.
“I worked in publishing. It sucks.”
“Publishing sucks?”
I shook my head. “No. Publishing was fine. The job was perfect for me. Lifelong bookworm. It was everything else that came with it, though. The office politics. The coworkers. My boss.”
“When you go back to New York, will you look for something else in the same industry?”
“Don’t know. Can we not talk about it?” I asked with a sense of desperation. “Today I woke up feeling pretty good. I don’t want to get dragged down again.”
“Actually you woke up with your hand touching my—”
“For the love of everything holy,” my cheeks blazed, “please wipe that from your memory.”
“Can’t.” His tone was low, raspy.
And it made desire coil deep inside me.
Our eyes met and we fell silent.
I shivered at the heat in his gaze. My throat went dry at the promise I read on his lips.
“So, what’s your story?” I asked, clearing my throat. “What were you doing before you came to work at Elk Ridge?”
He inclined his head in tacit agreement to change the conversation.
“Archer and I were working on the rodeo circuit. We both wanted a change of scenery. So when Cas called and asked if we’d be interested in working on his fiancée’s father’s ranch, we said yes.
We talked to Mrs. Powell and here we are. ”
My gaze narrowed.
“What?” he asked.
“That’s the story? The whole story?”
His mouth quirked up into a half smile. “For now.”
Our food came and the waitress set down the steaming hot plates.
Halfway through breakfast, my phone pinged with a text.
Wyn
Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on?
Me
I’m still kind of in the middle of something
Wyn
The middle of something The middle of what? A date?
Me
I think. I’m not really sure what to call it. You can help me decipher it when I call you later.
Wyn
And when might that be?
Me
No idea
Wyn
Damn. I really need to get my own life, don’t I?
I let out a laugh.
“What’s funny?” Brooks asked.
“My friend back in New York. She’s ragging on me about not keeping her in the loop. She’s just wondering what’s going on with me, and I haven’t had time to tell her.”
“You haven’t talked to her since you’ve been in town?”
“Not really. I mean, I texted her that I’d gotten safely to Spokane and rented a car, but not so much about the moose, the ditch, etcetera.”
“Am I part of that etcetera?”
“Maybe.”
“Would that include me waking up in your bed this morning?”
“Moving on,” I said flatly.
He grinned. “Speaking of cars, you said something that I haven’t been able to forget.”
“What’s that?”
“You said you’ve only had your license for three weeks.”
“When did I say that?”
“It was part of your babble last night when I rescued you,” he explained. “How’s that possible?”
“I grew up in New York, and there you have this thing called a subway. And I’m quite fond of walking, and you can take the subway wherever you want to go and then walk the rest of the way. That’s how I’ve gotten around for the last twenty-three years of my life.”
“So why did you finally get your license? If you were so content with the way things were?”
“Wyn and I came out here for Hadley’s wedding in June.”
“And Wyn is the one you’re texting?”
I nodded. “Anyway, I had to be the passenger princess, and I realized I didn’t like having to rely on her to take care of me. So, when we got back to the city, I had my grandfather give me driving lessons out on Long Island where there was less chance of me panicking or hitting a fire hydrant.”
“Wait—your grandfather? What about your parents?”
“My parents don’t live in the country,” I said, my tone clipped. “And before you ask anything else, I was basically raised by my grandparents. And then it was just my grandfather and me after my grandma died. They taught me everything useful about life.”
“I see.”
What was left of my hunger vanished, along with my good mood.
I set my crumbled paper napkin on the table. “Do you mind if we get out of here?”
“You haven’t finished your breakfast.”
“I’m full.”
“Yeah. We can go. We’ve got some time to kill though. Your car’s not ready.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Milton hasn’t called me.”
“Why would he call you?”
“Because I told him to.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I answered your phone when you were in the bathroom, remember?”
“Yes.”
“And I told him to take care of your car.”
“Yes.”
“I also told him to call me with news about the diagnostics.”
“Okay, but shouldn’t he call me? It’s my responsibility.”
“You have a lot on your mind. I was trying to make it easier for you.”
A sigh of annoyance escaped my mouth. “That’s not your job. You’re not my—I can handle it, Brooks.”
“I know you can handle it. I just thought—”
“Well, don’t.”
I reached into my purse for my wallet.
“What are you doing?” he said.
I pulled out a couple of bills. Unfortunately, I only had six dollars, and that wasn't going to cover breakfast.
“I’m leaving the tip.” I haughtily notched my chin. “I’ll meet you outside.”
I grabbed my purse and phone and swept from the diner, keeping my head aloft.
Unfortunately, my nose was so high in the air that I didn’t see a waiter coming out of the kitchen.
I knocked into him; his two plates of biscuits and gravy went everywhere.
Including all over me.