The Reason I Stay

by Patty Maximini

  “And what is Lexie thinking about?”

  She fidgets. “Wondering why—other than seeing the light of your life, Judith—you came back here.”

  Shit! Is the first and only thing in my mind. I have no idea what to reply.

  I can’t say the real reason I’m here. That would be too much information, even if she hadn’t admitted to disliking me a little less. But I also don’t want to say something stupid and give her the impression that she has nothing to do with me being here.

  “I was honestly hungry and I can’t stand to eat cup noodles anymore. Also, I don’t know any other places to eat here in Jolene.” There. It’s true and noncommittal.

  And judging by the crease forming in her brow, not the right answer at all. Shit!

  “Okay. But why are you still here? In Jolene? I thought that after our talk yesterday, you’d be long gone, running like the wind toward anywhere else.”

  I swallow the dry lump that formed in my throat. Despite the slight frown on her face, there’s no animosity in that question. Quite the opposite, actually—her tone was flirty and friendly, which confuses and thrills me.

  “So did I.” And that’s the most honest to God reply I can give her.

  She taps her nail. I tuck my hair behind my ear.

  “So you’re staying?”

  “Guess I am.” I don’t elaborate that I’ll stay until Dennis allows me back home. She doesn’t need to know that. Besides, that information could take away the smile that just formed on her lips, and that’s something I strongly don’t want to happen.

  “Why?”

  “Reasons.” Which I’m not sharing with you for all the fire in hell.

  She narrows her eyes. “Would you like to share them?”

  I take a swig of my beer to hide my smile, but I don’t reply.

  “Fine. Enjoy your food.”

  “Thanks, Lexie.”

  She turns around and walks away. With my heart pounding, I dig into my twenty-five minute fried fish—which is crispy and totally worth the wait. I look a lot less at her while I eat, but I notice that her eyes keep trailing back to me, and whenever our gazes meet we both try to hide our smiles.

  Once I’m done, she takes my plate, and asks if that’s all. I say yes, and minutes later she comes back with my check and a smug smirk on her lips. She doesn’t say anything, just places the bill on the table and walks away.

  I look down at the white strip of paper, and the first thing I see are words scribbled in red marker.

  I can’t help but to laugh. Without a pen on me, I turn around and ask the old lady sitting behind me if she has one. Luckily, she does. I calculate how much I should allocate from my previous tip to this bill, and scribble my reply on the bottom of the ticket.

  I place the payment on top of the paper, return the pen to the old lady and make my way to the jukebox.

  I browse through the selection until I find a song called “Find Yourself” by Brad Paisley. It’s not a song I had ever heard until today, but the lyrics seem very appropriate, considering our earlier conversation.

  With the quarter in, I push the buttons and walk away. When I reach the door, I see her collecting my payment, singing and smiling. And though devoid of all logic, the decision to stay in this forsaken piece of coast becomes the best decision I’ve ever made.

  My days in Jolene follow a pattern. I wake up, have breakfast at the Inn, exercise, and take a shower. Then, at around three p.m., I head over to The Jukebox for a late lunch.

  Lexie greets me at the door, and leads the way to my usual booth. We take advantage of the emptiness of the diner to talk and tease each other during my entire meal. She taps her finger and smiles, and I tuck my hair and wink. She scribbles warnings against me leaving tips, and I scribble see you tomorrow and how much she should deduct from my tips balance. Then I walk to the jukebox and pick a song for her. It’s my favorite part of the day.

  The afternoon activities are varied, and not important. They are just time fillers that keep me from going back to The Jukebox and setting up camp.

  It’s a nice little routine that keeps all thoughts of home away from my mind, and despite how new it is, I’m completely addicted to it.

  It’s exactly eight past three p.m. when I walk through the doors of The Jukebox on Thursday. Like she’s done all week, Lexie welcomes me at the door, a crooked smile and a smart-ass greeting on her lips. But that’s where the similarities to the other days end.

  Instead of having her hair up in a knot, it falls down her shoulders and back in golden waves. Her lips are glossed with a red tint that makes every soft curve that much more perfect and tempting to my eager lips. Every day she’s beautiful, but today in particular she’s breathtaking.

  “Quit looking at me like that.”

  Am I gawking? I think I am. Oh fuck . . . What’s this girl doing to me?

  I rake a hand through my hair and shrug. “Can’t. You look really good today.”

  Those red lips dance on her face, forcing me to stick both hands in my pockets in order to one, keep from touching her; and two, hide the very inconvenient action happening inside my shorts. I’ve honestly fallen to a new low if a smile can get me all riled up like this.

  She raises a brow and walks backwards, looking at me while she leads the way to my booth. “Did I look bad the other days?”

  A part of me hates that she’s being smoother than me, but another loves that she’s flirting.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Then why the surprise?”

  We stop beside my table. She places the menu over the surface, and leans against the edge of the wood. Instead of taking my seat, I stand right in front of her.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  She blushes and stares at me, eyes wide and unblinking, as if she’s expecting me to say something else. She looks even prettier that way, and my hands can no longer remain in my pockets. They need to touch her.

  I bring my right hand up to her silky hair, and tuck a lock that is at the side of her face behind her ear. She’s wearing a silver earring with a teardrop-shaped turquoise; it makes her eyes look greener than usual. I gently touch the cold rock with my fingers before sliding them through her soft hair. After last Saturday, I half expect her to recoil, but she doesn’t. She stands almost motionless, the rising and falling of her chest the only movement noticeable. My eyes never drift directly to her chest, but it’s not without conscious effort. Especially seeing how much my touch is affecting her. It appears as though the action of breathing is no longer automatic to her, but forced and clipped, heavy and exaggerated with no real pattern. The corner of my lips curls in a suppressed smile.

  Suddenly, Lexie peels her eyes from mine, and steals a look over her shoulder at the empty restaurant. I follow her gaze, and see that the only people watching are a couple of waitresses standing by the corner of the diner. They are eyeing us funny, holding hands and whispering to each other.

  “Mathew.”

  I turn to look at her. There’s a weird mixture of emotions in her expression. Her lips are turned into a side smile while her brows are slightly frowned. “You should really go back to being a jerk, before I stop disliking you.”

  The words confuse me for a second. In the next it sinks in and . . . Hell NO!

  I cock a brow, and pull my lips in a smug smirk. “Are you sure about that? Liking me could be really good, Lexie.”

  “I doubt it. I’m sure it’d be all kinds of bad.”

  That reply makes me want to throw her over the table beside us, and kiss her until she’s begging me to take her home. Her stubbornness is almost as sexy as her red lips. Almost.

  “That’s usually better.” I add a wink to the end of the sentence to drive the point further.

  Blood fill her cheeks, and if she were any other girl there would be some eyelash batting and hair flipping happening. She’d stick out her tits, and bite her lips. But Lexie isn’t any girl. And I love it.

  She rolls her eyes, l
ike I’m being difficult and she’s done with it. “Will you just be a jerk?”

  I lift my shoulders. “Some would say I am being one.”

  “You’re being a cute jerk. Be a jerk jerk, like an asshole.” I smile at the word cute. It’s my least favorite compliment, but the only one I seem to get from her, which means it’s starting to grow on me.

  “You’re sure?” I ask, a laugh threatening to break free.

  She nods.

  I push away from the table, and turn around to take a seat. “Good. So now take your ass from my table. I plan to eat here as soon as you decide to stop this ridiculous flirting, which I no longer have any interest for, and start doing your job.”

  Compared to the things I said to her before, this is mild, but those words roll off of my lips with such ease and conviction that I could convince myself they are true. We stare in silence at each other long enough to make me regret saying them, and even coming here. For her sake, I keep my face expressionless.

  And then I see her lips twitch. She’s amused. Thank God!

  I fight a smirk as an idea pops into my mind. I pull my wallet from the side pocket of my cargo shorts, and reach inside the little pocket behind my credit cards.

  “Here.” I take a passport-sized photo that’s been in that compartiment for more than a year, and place it over the menu, right next to her fingers. “You can keep it, and gaze hopelessly at it for as long as you like, but get me some food. I’ll have the chicken with a salad, and sweet potatoes.”

  She looks down at the photo for a few seconds. Then, she looks back at me, and says, “You suck.”

  As she walks away, I see her hand moving to the pocket at the front of her apron. My brows pull together in confusion for a second, but then I see a menu in her other hand.

  I lower my eyes to the tabletop. A smile forms on my lips before the now empty spot where the menu and my photo used to be even comes into focus. I have never wanted to kiss anyone more than I want to kiss her in my life.

  For the rest of my meal we exchange flirty insults, I pretend not to give a shit about her, and she pretends not to like me. Neither of us is convincing.

  After paying for my check—just the meal, since I’m still twenty-three dollars away from having the no tips warning removed from my check—I walk to the jukebox, and browse through the selection I’m still getting acquainted with. My lack of knowledge in country music usually makes this decision very hard. Today, however, I know just the song. I flip through the selection until I find it, then I place my quarter in the slot and press B8.

  I walk toward the restaurant’s front door as the first chords of Blake Shelton’s “My Eyes” start to play. Before I reach it, I see Lexie looking at me. She’s got a smile that says we finally broke that disliking barrier. From that moment on, all I can think about is seeing her again.

  With a wink, I push the door and exit the diner.

  Being a good waitress is pretty simple. All you have to do is be quick on your feet, pay attention to orders, leave your personal life outside, and be friendly. I’m usually a great waitress, but today, I suck. Instead of being on the floor tending to my patrons, I’m locked in the bathroom for the hundredth time in the past four hours, typing a message to Tanie.

  Me: I think I’m going to call in sick tomorrow. I can’t see him anymore.

  I press send and lower the toilet cover so I can sit. I don’t close the stall door, though. I don’t want to have too much privacy, since stuffing my face inside the bowl and drowning seems too much like a good option right now.

  It honestly feels like my brain left this diner with Mathew. I’ve been trying really hard to keep my mind focused on work, but everything makes me think of him. The songs on the jukebox, the orders I write down, the menus I deliver . . . it’s like everything in this place is connected to a Mathew memory. It’s like I’m tied to him, and I don’t like it.

  I also hate that I like him so much. He’s arrogant, way too handsome, obviously rich, and has trouble blinking in shinny letters over his head, which is everything I despise in a man. But for some bizarre reason, I do like him. I really, truly do. I also know that whatever this is, it has heartbreak written all over it, which scares me beyond measure.

  Since last Sunday, I’ve been doing everything I can to reverse my feelings for him, but all my attempts have been useless, and today’s effort was the one that backfired the most. Every rude phrase that came from his mouth and was countered by the playful gleam in his eyes did more damage than the compliments he gave me when he arrived. And then he chose that song, a romantic and completely inappropriate song—my favorite song, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about since then. Well, that and the photo that’s been burning a hole in my apron since he gave it to me.

  I take the photo from my pocket and look at it. His hair is shorter in it, barely touching his jawline, but it’s tucked behind one of his ears, which makes me smile. I hate that I’m turning into this girl. The one who gets flustered and useless because of a man. That girl was my mother and, for the love of all that is holy, I don’t want to turn into her.

  My phone beeps, forcing my eyes away from the picture.

  Tanie: Stop being a cat. U like him, so what? Invite him to my party.

  I laugh at both the use of cat instead of pussy—a word Tanie hates so much she can’t even stand a similar-sounding substitute—and the fact that she actually believes I can just walk up and invite him to be my date at my best friend’s party.

  Me: U r a terrible bf.

  I’m waiting for Tanie’s reply when the door opens.

  Jen stands in the doorway, her brow angled in a very judgmental way. “Seriously? We have a full house, and you’re texting?”

  I stuff my phone and the picture in my pocket, and burry my face in my hands. “I know . . . I’m sorry. I’m just really stupid today.”

  “So the jury came to a verdict?”

  I sigh, and nod. “Yep, but they ruled wrong.”

  Jen laughs and turns to the mirror, a tube of lipstick in her hands. She glosses up her lips and turns to me. “Or they didn’t, and you’re just having a bad case of the shitters. ‘Cause he seems to like you as well.”

  She walks over, and points the lipstick at me.

  “You sound like Tanie.” I take the tube from her. “Is this mine?”

  Jen rolls her eyes, and nods. I have to start locking my locker.

  “That’s ‘cause we both love you, dork. And we also like him. Now put some of this on. A fresh coat will make you feel like you can take on the world, and let’s go to work. It’s mean to leave Anna alone with all the tables.”

  I look at her through narrowed eyes, wondering what the hell she is on, but make my way to the mirror and apply the lipstick to my lips nonetheless. We walk out of the bathroom, and make our way toward the front of the diner. I must have stayed in the bathroom for longer than I’d thought because it went from being relatively empty to being packed. This will be good. I’ll have lots to focus on and no time to think about Mathew.

  I scan my section, counting how many tables with patrons I have, and seeing who has food and who doesn’t. I have five tables and a single booth—booth nine. Frozen, I stare unblinking at that blond head seated there, and try to convince myself that it’s not Mathew. It can’t be him. He never comes in twice in the same day.

  But then Jen nudges her shoulder against mine, messing with the precarious balance my wobbly legs provide and almost causing me to face plant on the floor. “Oh yeah, forgot to tell ya, but Anna sat you a new a customer.”

  I look at her, and I swear to God that she bats her lashes as she stares at Mathew. It makes me laugh, and finally understand the lipstick thing.

  “If Jared could see you now, you’d be in deep shit.” I shake my head. Jen pokes her tongue out at me and, not-so-discreetly pushes me in the direction of the booth.

  With my insides fluttering with the most annoying butterflies, I walk to toward Mathew. As if he can sense me
, his eyes rise from where they’re focused on his phone, meeting mine the moment I come to a stop in front of him.

  Despite being completely flustered, I manage to hide it behind a cocked brow. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he greets me with a cheeky smile.

  “Hi.”

  He chuckles, and although it’s not a mocking chuckle, it still makes me feel silly for the millionth time today. My face heats up with an inevitable blush, which I’m sure he can see. I hate my pale skin for it. But then, his smile broadens, and he says, “Hi,” once again, and I smile because he’s being cute again.

  “You’re back?”

  He tilts his head. “And that’s good or bad?”

  It’s a good thing. A very good thing.

  “It depends on why you’re here.”

  Mathew’s lips pull sideways in a smirk, and I want to hate the smugness in it but I can’t. I also can’t help but curl my own lips in an idiotic smile. And then, with his eyes locked on mine, he says, “I’m actually here for a date.”

  What?! This doesn’t make any sense, not after this afternoon. I know that I asked him to be an asshole, but we both know I didn’t mean it. At least, I thought we did. Did I imagine the playfulness in his eyes, and he took my words literally? Did I imagine the cuteness in the “hi” thing just now, and he was in fact mocking me? Oh my God, did I get this whole thing wrong?

  The air around me ceases to exist. The air inside of me also ceases to exist. My eyes widen with shock and I can’t inhale, or move, or say anything. I’m stunned, and the worst part is that the stupid smirk on his lips doesn’t even falter.

  “Okay . . . well,” I start inarticulate and weak. I hate myself. “Let me know when your date arrives.”

  With those amazing eyes staring deep in mine, he brings a hand up to cup his clean-shaven chin, his index finger falling casually over the lips some bimbo will be kissing tonight. “Will do, Lexie.”