Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Marti
Two days in a row? What was he trying to do to me?
Did he want to see me decapitate myself on the counter?
I had never heard of someone drowning themselves in sweet tea, but I was carrying a pretty big cup, and I had definitely gotten close to dumping the entire thing in my own face when he’d sauntered into the diner after less than twenty-four hours.
Thankfully, I’d managed to bobble it all with minimal spillage and got the drinks safely to the table.
Though I wasn’t sure how I felt about the smirk on Miss Brenda’s face when I caught her eye.
He was wearing a henley, the collar obscenely open, if you wanted my opinion.
The poured-on dark gray shirt seemed to make his eyes even more fluorescent than normal, and as I stumbled my way through a welcome that ended with me saying, “this way, please,” like I was leading him through a grand ballroom instead of the tiny diner, I paid a very obvious amount of attention to the sparse hair showing through the V-neck.
Thankfully, someone walked in at that moment, and the obnoxious bell on the door snapped me out of it, because things were definitely getting awkward, seeing as how I’d completely forgotten to breathe for a moment there.
He did follow me. Right to the seat he always sat in.
Heck of a time to remember that this place where I worked was and had always been a seat-yourself establishment.
At least his companion seemed to be amused by the whole thing.
They seriously had to think I was an idiot.
And they sure wouldn’t be getting any arguments from me.
“Thanks, Mar,” Wellston said, his voice vibrating with humor. He was a friendly guy. Funny and easy going.
I got the impression they worked together.
Every once in a while I would catch a snippet of shop talk, but to be honest I was too easily hypnotized by Sutton’s handsome face and the way he moved when he was gesturing to pay attention to what they were saying, so I still hadn’t pieced together what exactly they did.
I gave Wellston a tight, self-deprecating smile and a nod, rushing away as fast as I could without being too obvious... or tripping on the grout line in the floor and faceplanting. My nose was still in the process of recovering.
I slipped out back with little drama, needing just a moment to collect myself.
I didn't have much time. I had three tables going at once, so I'd have to work fast, but it was necessary if I didn’t want to accidentally fall through the giant window at the front after doing something absolutely unhinged like slipping on a piece of discarded French Toast or something equally ridiculous.
Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that not only was I not in the running for Mrs. Walsh, I also wasn't in the position in my life to be looking for my Mr. Anything.
The back of the diner butted up to a park. I’d spent most of my breaks out there watching families. It was a foreign concept to me. Not necessarily families, just functional ones. The only person I ever missed from my family was my mom and she'd been gone for six years.
The new line of thinking definitely took my mind off of Mr. Gorgeous, but I could feel the tightness of dread in my stomach as my mind wandered to my family.
And maybe it was that knot of dread in my stomach that had me thinking for a brief moment that I saw a Plaid shirt and the choppy sandy blonde locks of a terrible haircut.
Someone sitting on a bench on the other side of two Moms who looked deep in conversation.
I jolted, easing away from the wall I'd been leaning against and taking a few steps up the tiny slope of a hill to get a better view. The Moms were really involved, their movements big and exaggerated. It was a very animated conversation, and I was struggling to see around them.
They were sitting under a tree, mostly in shade with only pinpricks of light shining through.
Had it been a Plaid shirt and a bad haircut?
Or was it just the light playing tricks on me?
How many times in the last six months had I thought I'd seen that same thing, only to realize my imagination was getting the best of me?
That didn't stop my heart from racing.
Nor did it keep me from jumping nearly a foot in the air when the door to the diner behind me banged open.
I spun quickly, crouching slightly. Definitely fight or flight mode, though it would most likely have turned into flight had I not turned to find my best friend watching me with raised eyebrows and a smirk on her pretty mouth.
“Whatcha doin’? Hidin’?”
I gave her a dry look, flattening my lips and rolling my eyes. “Just out here breathing the fresh air and trying to get the smell of burnt bacon out of my nose,” I said, glancing over my shoulder toward the bench in the park.
One of the Moms had stood, leaning forward with her hands on her hips as she clearly yelled at her child, and I could finally see around her.
There was no one there. On the other side of a bench, there was a red water fountain, and I frowned, wondering if that had been what I'd seen.
Had I conjured the image because of where my thoughts had gone?
“I burned that bacon two hours ago. How can it still smell that bad in there?”
“You burned the first batch two hours ago. You've since burned about three other batches.” I turned back toward her, forcefully swallowing down the anxiety. “Not sure why Livy put you on the grill anyway. She knows you're a terrible cook.”
It wasn't him. He had no idea where I was. As usual, it was just my imagination getting the better of me.
“Because she wanted to watch you Domino the barstools again. And I'm not a terrible cook. I just get distracted easily.”
I paused at the door, turning to frown at my friend. “You think getting distracted and burning everything doesn't make you a terrible cook? What exactly would make you a terrible cook? Blowing up the kitchen?”
“No. Like, adding sugar instead of salt. Or paprika instead of cinnamon. Or like, not cooking the pancakes all the way through.”
“You've done all of those things.”
“That doesn't make me a terrible cook,” she said, passing through the door with her nose in the air.
“Oh wow. What on earth is that smell?” I demanded, slapping a hand against my face to protect my nostrils. I probably gave myself another bloody nose, but it was worth it.
Livy gave us a dark look over her shoulder as we walked in, clearly working hard to scrape something off the grill.
“Darling daughter, you are aware you're supposed to take the wax paper between cheese slices off, correct?
Please, please, please tell me you haven't been serving my patrons wax paper.”
“Uh, I got distracted.”
“Right,” Livy said dryly. “Okay, Rendi you’re now on busing and dish duty, I'll take over the grill. Mar, you’re going to have to take all the tables now. Try not to kill anybody.”