This side of Reed was even more charming to me than the polished gentleman I was used to. I touched his shoulder lightly.
“Thanks for standing up for me. I have to get back to work.”
“If you have any more problems with him, let me know. Can I give you my number so I know you can reach me if you need to?”
I nodded and he pulled a business card from his pocket, writing on the back of it.
“My cell number.” He handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I stuck the card in a pocket on my apron.
The excitement in the diner died down and I got back to work. Several customers gave me encouraging smiles to let me know they were on my side. I was more than ready to head home at the end of my shift, but I felt good about standing up for myself with Tom Marsh, and I couldn’t help but think about the way Reed and Margie had come to my rescue. I was reminded, again, about how lucky I was to have settled in Lovely.
PROMPTLY AT SEVEN FORTY-FIVE the next morning, Walter slid onto his stool, wearing a scowl. I was there within thirty seconds, knowing how much waiting aggravated him.
“Morning, Walter. What can I get you?”
He eyed me silently. “I’ve been wondering something. How did a bright young woman like you end up waitressing?”
“So I could get to know charming customers such as yourself.”
“I’m serious, Ivy.”
“Well, it’s seriously none of your business how I came to have this job. Now what’ll it be?”
“Don’t be so defensive. I see something unfulfilled in you.”
I put a hand on my hip and leaned to one side. “Why the sudden interest in me?”
“It’s not sudden. I’ve been coming here every weekday for five months now.”
A customer at one of my other tables met my eyes, sending me a signal for a coffee refill.
“I work here to support my son,” I said to Walter. “Now what can I get you?”
“What was your favorite subject in high school?”
“That was forever ago.”
“Just humor me, girl. I may be a grouchy old man, but I’m very perceptive. I know you like reading, but when you aren’t flipping burgers or changing diapers, what else do you enjoy?”
I laughed humorlessly. Noah and my job were my life. “Uh . . . I don’t know.”
“Ah.” Walter pointed a finger at me. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You’re red as a ripe tomato. So tell me.”
“No. Just order your eggs and toast, please. I have other customers.”
He sighed. “Maybe there’s nothing there after all.”
“Or maybe I don’t want to listen to your critical opinions,” I snapped.
“So it is writing.” His smirk was satisfied. “And you’re worried the famous author will judge you.”
“Well, there certainly aren’t any modest authors in the room, so I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m too old to pussy foot around. So what do you write, girl?”
“These days, just orders in this pad right here.” I tapped my pen on it for emphasis. “So, what’ll it be?”
“Write something and bring it to me. I’ll read it and tell you what I think.”
I burst out laughing. “No, thanks.”
“Opportunity may never knock again.” Walter peered at me over the rim of his glasses. “And don’t write about the beauty of a flower, or the magic of first love. Write about something that matters. Something that’s hard to say. Show me something buried inside you.” He scanned the menu, his moment of humanity passing. “Two eggs, over medium. Wheat toast with real butter. Small dish of plain oatmeal.”
I took the menu he held out and hustled to grab a fresh pot of coffee. Walter had to be experiencing a moment of temporary insanity. He couldn’t possibly see something unfulfilled in the waitress who delivered his coffee and eggs every morning, and collected his fifteen percent tip.
I’d loved writing in high school, but I wouldn’t be sharing that information with a rich, famous author who was so critical he could bring down your mood with just a glance. Walter would have to settle for judging my waitressing skills rather than my writing ability.
For the rest of my shift I tried to keep my mind on taking orders, delivering food and maximizing my tips with fast service. But my thoughts kept wandering back to Walter’s offer, and his comment about seeing something unfulfilled in me.
Why had I given up writing? My high school ACT test scores had been very good, but not exceptional. I knew in my heart that it was the essay I’d written about my mother’s death that had won me the Stanford scholarship. I could hide my truths from others, and even from myself, by pushing aside painful memories. But there was something about writing that forced me to pour out my raw feelings.
Maybe that was why it was hard to think about picking up a pen again. I still wasn’t ready to confront the darkness that had changed the course of my life.
When my shift ended, I was drawn to stop by the library and email April. Lillian wasn’t at the desk so I sat down, opened my email and started typing.
Dear April,
I wish you weren’t so far away. It would be good to talk to you about something in person, but e-mail will have to do.
There’s an author here in Lovely who is one of my customers at the diner. He’s kind of an old grouch, but I can’t help liking him. He said he sees something unfulfilled in me and somehow got me to admit I used to like writing. Then he said I should write something and he’ll judge it for me.
The thought of writing again is so scary to me. Not because I have nothing to say, but because I do. Does that make sense at all?
Also, a guy asked me out. Not just any guy, either. He’s tall, dark and way beyond handsome. He’s the one who caught me that day when I slipped and fell. His name is Reed, and he’s everything I’m not. He’s an attorney who grew up in Lovely and he has a perfect, huge, close-knit family. He’s straightforward and sweet. Also, he smells amazing. That’s an insignificant detail, but I thought you should know.
Sounds great, right? So of course I said no. I don’t know how to go on a date with a man like him. And what if he found out about my past?
I just looked at the time and I have to go. Hopefully all this will pass and I can get back to my quiet, peaceful life. But, having said that, I would sure love to get your take on things.
Miss you,
xo Ivy
THE NEXT DAY I was leaving work an hour early to volunteer at craft time in Noah’s daycare class when Margie stopped me.
“Something came in the mail for you,” she said, handing me an envelope, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “Michigan postmark.”
My heart thumped hard in my chest as I took the letter and put it in my purse. “Thanks, Margie. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you in the morning.” I dashed out of the diner before Margie had a chance to ask the questions I knew were forming in her mind.
I rushed to my car and tore into the envelope, praying he’d sent the information I’d asked for. There was a hand-written letter and attached to it were two fully completed medical forms.
Closing my eyes, I sighed with relief. Part of me wanted to shred the letter without even reading it, but curiosity got the better of me.
Dear Ivy,
After more than three years, you send nothing but a request for medical information? I think you owe me more than that. I’ve never even met my grandson.
I wish you wouldn’t have left without talking to me, but I’m not mad anymore. All I want is to put the past behind us and find a way to get to know each other again.
You know how to reach me. Better yet, come home for a visit. It would be great to see you.
Love,
Dad
I slammed my hand on the steering wheel of my car, angry tears welling over. My disgust and anger toward him had reached a new level.
I owed him? He wasn’t mad anymore? Come home for a visit?
Gripping the steering wheel with al
l my strength, I rested my head on it and tried to force away the rage that was consuming me. I had to pull myself together. I was expected at Noah’s school in fifteen minutes and I couldn’t show up there upset and crying.
With a deep breath, I put the papers back in the envelope and buried it in my purse. Later I’d find a cathartic way to destroy his letter. Maybe I’d cut it into pieces and burn them individually.
He wasn’t even sorry. I knew deep down that if he was, he’d have found a way to contact me and say it. But even when opportunity was staring him in the face, he’d tried to make it out like we were estranged over some insignificant teenage hissy fit.
Damn him. Not just for what he did, but for how he could still make me feel. I started the car, forcing away thoughts of him. That was my only way forward—bury the past and take on the future, one step at a time.
I WALKED INTO MY office and flipped on the lights. I’d been composing an email to another attorney in my head and I wanted to get it typed and sent immediately. But the email was forgotten when I saw the stack of dark brown boxes in the corner of my office.
“What in the . . . ?” I stuck my head through the open doorway and called down the hallway. “Lena, what’s all this?”
“Bart Daniels had them dropped off. They’re the files for some cases he said you’d be helping with as assistant public defender.”
I stared at the five foot tall stack of boxes. When I’d agreed to be assigned assistant public defender, I’d figured it would be a few overflow cases, and anything Bart was unable to take on due to a conflict of interest.
Maybe the boxes weren’t full. Well, other than the two on bottom, which had files bulging out the sides. I walked over to the boxes and pulled the lid from the one on top.
Shit. The box was stuffed full.
With a deep sigh, I took my jacket off and rolled up my shirt sleeves. I’d fire off that email and then I’d sort through the files and see how many cases I had to get up to speed on. There would be a hell of a lot of cases, I already knew that. Good thing I was still young and eager.
MY CELL PHONE BUZZED from the pocket of my apron. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. A voicemail from April. She must have read my e-mail and decided to call instead of emailing. I’d have to call her back this evening when I was off work.
I stuck the phone back in my pocket and returned to work. A few minutes later I saw a tall man walk into the diner, just catching his frame out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t help looking up—it was Reed. He gave me a grin that made me smile so wide I bit my lip in an effort to contain it.
Forcing myself to focus on my customers, I finished taking their order. Reed was sitting in my section, so I walked over to his table.
“Hi there,” I said. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Hey,” he said softly. “Can I just tell you that I spent the whole morning going through files? Hundreds of ’em. My office looks like a paper factory exploded in it.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I said, laughing.
“It’s not. But you know why I was in a good mood the whole time I sorted through that mess of paperwork?”
The gleam in his eye made me warm inside. “I can’t imagine.”
“Because I knew I was gonna come here for lunch and see you. And, even better, ask you a certain question again.” He put his arm around the vacant chair next to his and sprawled out comfortably.
“You’re asking me out again?”
“I like you too much not to. And if you turn me down, I’ll just ask again.”
“Reed . . .”
“What do I need to do to convince you to give me a chance?”
“I don’t—”
“You want me to serenade you in front of this entire diner full of people?” He stood up and grinned at me. “Because I will.”
I bit my lip to avoid laughing at the image. “No, that won’t be—”
He got down on one knee in front of me and I gave him a puzzled look.
“Why do you build me up?” he belted out. “Buttercup—”
“No! Reed, get up.” My face warmed with nervous embarrassment.
Customers were giving us looks of amusement.
“She won’t go out with me,” Reed explained to the couple at a nearby table.
“Reed Lockhart, you’re out of your mind,” I murmured.
“Tell me what I have to do. There has to be a way I can convince you. One date, Ivy, that’s all I ask.”
I scanned the diner, trying to think of an answer. My gaze landed on my most crotchety customer, who was here for a rare lunch.
“You have to convince Walter,” I said.
“What?”
I smiled as the idea took root in my head. “Convince Walter to tell me to go out with you, and I will.”
Reed rolled his eyes and blew out a breath. “I don’t think I could convince him to piss on me if I was on fire.”
“You’re a lawyer. Isn’t convincing your thing?”
His lips turned up in a smile. “It’s one of my things, Miss Gleason. So if I can persuade Walter, you’ll let me take you out?”
“Yes. I might even consider wearing something nicer than these old jeans. That is, if you can convince him.”
“You make those jeans look good.” He considered for a second. “Okay. I accept this challenge.”
I nodded and tried to look nonchalant, though my heart was pounding. “I have to get back to work.”
“Keep Friday night open.” He gave me one more smile before turning toward Walter.
I wanted to eavesdrop, but I had tables on the other side of the diner. As I walked over there, I found myself actually hoping Walter was in a good mood today.
WALTER GRIEVES GLARED AT me over the top of his glasses.
“Mr. Grieves,” I said, extending a hand. “Reed Lockhart.”
“What do you want, Mr. Lockhart?” He ignored my hand and I dropped it.
“Well, I want to take Ivy Gleason out on a date.”
“And that has what to do with me? Talk quickly, my soup’s getting cold.”
I gave him my best disarming smile. “She must think a lot of you, sir, because she turned me down the first time I asked, but the second time she told me that if I can convince you to tell her she should go out with me, then she will.”
His eyes sparkled with amusement, but his scowl remained in place. “Is that right? Well, unfortunately for you, I think a lot of her as well. And you look like a man who’s thinking with the wrong head for me to even consider endorsing the idea of a date with her.”
“How do you figure that?” I gave him a skeptical look. “I’m respectable and I’m wearing a suit.”
Walter turned to me, the lines of his scowl deepening. “It’s not your clothes. It’s the way you stare at her like you’re starving and she’s dinner.”
Defensiveness kicked in. “I don’t stare at her like that. I really like Ivy. I’m not after what you think I am.”
He grunted dismissively. “No. She’s a nice girl and I don’t want her getting hurt.”
“I won’t hurt her.”
“My soup is probably icy cold now, because you won’t accept the answer I’m giving.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Let’s see . . . expensive suit, sense of entitlement and a recalcitrant attitude. You must be an attorney.”
I scoffed and blew out a breath, unsure how to respond.
“That’s right, young man. And don’t try to evade the question. Are you an attorney?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, meeting his eyes as my chances of a date with Ivy this weekend sailed out the window.
“Then not only no, but hell no. Now, please leave me to my lunch.”
Walter turned around and I headed back for my table, stealing a glance at Ivy who was delivering food to a table. Damn. It would take a miracle to change his mind. But I wasn’t giving up. I needed to think about things before approaching him again.
I STILL FELT A warm glow from seeing
Reed at lunch. Margie had delivered his food before I had a chance to grab it, so I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to him again. But from what I’d seen of the conversation between him and Walter, it hadn’t gone well.
Just knowing he was interested in me was enough. It made me feel pretty in a way I’d never felt before and not like a piece of ass. Reed was handsome and smart and sweet, and when he looked at me, I felt . . . worthy.
The end of my shift was just a few minutes away and I was cleaning behind the front counter when Larry Waters, the Lovely Police Chief, approached and waved me over.
“You want a carryout order, Chief?” I asked, pulling out my order pad.
“No.” He glanced from side to side before continuing. “I’m here to say I’m real sorry about what happened with Sergeant Marsh. I talked to several witnesses and he’s been suspended pending a review of his employment by the Police Commission.”
“He might get fired?” I shook my head. “If he doesn’t come in here anymore, that’s enough for me. I don’t expect him to get in trouble at work.”
“Is it true that he’s touched you inappropriately?”
I looked off to the side and sighed. “Inappropriate means different things to different people.”
“In any way that was unwanted by you. That would be inappropriate.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like he’s the only one. It kind of goes with the territory of being a waitress.”
“It sure as hell doesn’t have to. If this happens with any customer—anyone at all—you tell him no, and if it happens again, you call me.”
I nodded silently.
“Police officers have to conform to a higher standard, Ivy,” he continued. “We’re in a position of trust. Would it be okay for me to interview you down at the station about how Sergeant Marsh has touched you and any unwelcome comments he’s made?”
“I don’t know. I try to keep a very low profile, and the last thing I need is a police officer mad at me.”
“You let me worry about that. This behavior is often a pattern. You might be protecting another woman from unwanted advances or something even worse.”
[Lockhart Brothers 01.0] Deep Down Page 10