Chapter 14
fourteen
ROWAN
“Good morning, sunshine.”
I slide into the booth across from Ellie. Her head is down on the cool table, and she groans. She wasn’t fond of the idea of meeting me for breakfast, considering how late we stayed out last night and how many beers she decided to drink.
We decided on Daddio’s, one of Dove Points' well-loved diners. Stepping into the place is like stepping into a time capsule. Old Hollywood photos of celebrities spread along the walls in frames, some of them signed. Small jukeboxes sit at each table so the customers can choose the music that plays through the speakers.
Ellie rolls her forehead back and forth across the shiny table, her thick hair falling over her shoulders. She continues to roll her head along the table.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m cooling down my forehead,” Ellie complains.
“You had a lot to drink last night.”
“You don’t say,” she mumbles.
It’s impossible not to feel bad. I reach out and start massaging her head, running my fingers through her hair, not thinking anything of it other than trying to make her as comfortable as possible. I see her shoulders drop, and her head tilts to one side on the table.
The sound of a moan slips through her lips, and my hand stops. The desperation I feel running through my body, wanting to hear it again, is agonizing. I also can’t hear it again without reacting.
“Why did you stop?” she whines.
“Sorry.” And despite my better judgment, I start again.
“This feels incredible . Oh my god.” She moans again quietly.
Don't get a boner, don’t get a boner, do not get a boner.
My mind decides to be an asshole and comes up with images of what she would look like while she says those six words. In bed, on her knees, bent over a kitchen counter while my name slips out from her pretty mouth.
I shake my head, trying to wipe away all thoughts of Ellie in that way, but I can still feel my dick getting hard, and I’m not dealing with this right now. Quickly, I pull my hand off her head just in time for the server to come to our table and take our orders.
The server looks over to Ellie, who is still face down on the table, not even attempting to order her food or lift her head. I look back at the server with an apologetic smile and give her my order along with Ellie’s usual. She jots it down on their notepad and leave with a smile.
Ellie slowly picks up her head and keeps her eyes closed as she lays her head back on the headrest of the red booth.
“You remember my order?” Ellie's voice comes out raspy.
“El, you’ve ordered the same thing since we were kids. It’s your go-to breakfast order.”
I cross my arms and continue to look at her. She doesn’t have a lick of makeup on, so I can see the freckles that trail along her nose and some on her cheeks. Her pouty lips look so kissable that I need to withstand the urge to reach across the table, cup her face, and lay one on her.
“Did you know that Charlie doesn’t even know what my favorite breakfast is? I’ve told him a million times what I like, but he never remembered,” Ellie says gently. “One year of being friends, five years of being together, and he couldn’t remember. I chalked it up to a bad memory. He did forget a lot of things that didn’t even involve me.”
Her eyes are still closed while I look at her. I can feel my hands turn into fists while my arms are still folded across my chest. Just the sound of his name spikes my blood pressure.
He doesn’t know what tea she likes or her preferred breakfast dish? How can he not remember that when he’s been with her for five years? Then again, the dick decided to cheat on her when she was busy, drained and tired from work, and he couldn’t handle asking her if she was okay.
What did she see in him? Why would she rather be with him when she could be with someone like me? I know that it’s a two-way street and that I could have made the move, but I let my stupid fear of losing her all over again get to me.
“I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t with him anymore then, hm?” I managed to say, biting back the words that really wanted to come out of my mouth.
“He texted me last night.” She rubs her temples, eyes still closed, and her head still resting on the booth.
My body goes rigid while I hold my breath, wondering what he said and if she responded to him. I didn’t think he’d have the balls to reach out to her, considering she ended things with him. Unless she really is going to go back to him at the end of the summer. I never asked too much about their relationship. I couldn’t.
I swallow the lump in my throat and then clear it. “What did it say?” I mutter.
Ellie shrugs. “Just asking how I’m doing and that he misses me. You know, bullshit.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my lip, and I feel my hands relax and my shoulders drop. “Did you text him back?”
My finger taps on the table, a tic that Ellie knows all too well. I stop and resist the urge, moving my hand to my lap and out of sight.
“I didn’t. I opened it. Read it. And left the text on read.”
“Oof, the dreaded read text. That’s gotta hurt.”
“If it hurt just as much as when he told me he cheated on me, then fine. But I doubt it.”
My smile falls. I wish I could reach out and hold her hand. I wish I could move over to her side of the booth, wrap her in my arms, and tell her how I think about her every day. That I think about how if she were with me, I would remind her every day just how fucking crazy I am about her.
“Where’s our food?” she draws out.
I look over to the cooking station near the counter where people enjoy their breakfast. The server has a tray filled with our dishes. Balancing them perfectly.
“French toast and milk,” the server says, then places a plate in front of Ellie, “and the works.”
She gives us a smile, asking if we need anything else, and heads back to the kitchen.
Ellie opens her eyes and whips her head down to look at her plate, which is full and stacked high. The maple syrup drips off the edges of the bread that is fried to perfection. The chocolate chips start to slowly melt on top. Strawberries are scattered on the plate, along with powdered sugar and whipped cream.
She pulls a hair tie from her wrist and wraps her hair in a loose bun, not taking her eyes off her dish. She gets everything in order. The napkin goes on her legs. She pours more syrup on her plate, grabs her fork and knife, then starts to cut into the bread.
“Rowan,” she says without looking at me.
“Yeah?”
“Stop staring at me and eat your food.”