He approached the counter, and I could have sworn I’d met him in another part of my life. His eyes alone were as familiar as my own.
After an exaggerated and uncomfortable pause, I finally offered up an off-the-wall greeting, “Welcome to the Downtown Cafe. Home of fried pies, hand-patted patties, and the best milkshakes this side of the Rockies. How can I serve you?”
His smile started to take on the resemblance of real emotion, and when it hit his eyes, they had a brief flash of happiness, causing me to smile in response. Everything about him was confusing.
“Good morning,” he said. His voice was deep and commanding but there was still a touch of deep grief in it. I couldn’t fathom what kind of spell he had over me but he had taken root deep somewhere inside of me.
I hated the feelings I was having and wanted out of there and as far from him as I could get. Luckily, Bob must have sensed how uncomfortable I was because he came from the back and had stepped between the cash register and me.
“Wes, can I help you?”
Wes’s brows creased together as he tilted his head to look past Bob and at me. “I just needed … Never mind. I’ll take a strawberry milkshake.” He tapped his knuckles on the counter twice, totally out of nerves. “Remember how much she loved strawberries?" Wes asked Bob then looked directly at me. "Do you like strawberries?” He reached out his hand for me to shake. “You might know my son, Lucas Carter?”
No wonder Lucas was a little off. Wes Carter had gone way past odd into a territory all his own.
“Yes, sir.” I shook my head. “No, not really.” I took his hand. “Annie Pietro.”
“Annie, why don’t you make Mr. Carter’s milkshake?”
Wes scratched his head as if he was wondering what was happening. I raced to the back but kept my eyes on the front of the restaurant. Bob had his hand in his always-messy hair. He was agitated. I strained to hear what was being said between them. Every word was left unheard. However, their actions spoke loudly — Wes was an unwelcomed guest.
I raced to the counter and then offered Wes the cold cup. I almost jumped out of my skin when he took it and his fingers lingered over mine. It was clearly on purpose. “Nice meeting you, Annie.” He handed me a ten. “Keep the change.” He raised the cup up. “Bob, good running into you again.”
Bob slammed down the towel he was holding on the counter and stormed to the back without a word to either one of us.
What the hell happened? I guess I should’ve counted myself lucky Lucas dropped me like a bad disease.
I should’ve just stayed in bed with my sketch pad.
Chapter 4
Annie Prieto
I slammed an empty tray down on the kitchen counter and took several long, deep breaths. Twelve hour shifts were for the dogs. Never mind, dogs deserved better.
“What’s the matter, chickadee?” Will asked. “Is it that bad out there?”
The assignment board had dining room clearly marked in red by my name.
I managed a nod and pasted on a smile. Will was direct, and I thrived on direct; it took the guesswork out of the equation. Will walked up beside me and I placed my hand on his broad shoulder. Bad move. Will had been trying to get me to date him since I first started working. It wasn’t a great idea, though. It had nothing to do with his physical appearance. He passed as good-looking, with a mop of brown curls that fell softly over his shirt collar. His eyes were green, not any special green, but they always held an extra sparkle, kind of like he was hiding some magical secret. His body was fit, but nowhere near the build of Lucas Carter.
Oh, hell, how did his name come into the equation? I’m not about to start comparing every guy to Lucas.
The main reason I wouldn’t go there with Will was because he was Bob’s nephew, and Bob had been one of the few who had showed me any kindness since I move to Carterville.
Will blew his hair off his forehead and looked down at me, almost as if he was deciding if things were changing between us. I promptly moved my hand. A bad move.
“You know the old saying, ‘I used to like people but people ruined that for me’,” I said, trying to switch his train of thought.
Will placed two drinks on a tray and handed it to me. “Hope I’m not lumped in the ‘I hate people’ group.”
I lightly laughed. “You’re one of the very few I actually like,” I said, and balanced the tray on my shoulder. “Which table?”
“Table two,” he answered and slapped my behind with a dishcloth.
“Be careful. I can still put you in the ‘I hate people’ group.”
I backed up and pushed the kitchen's swinging door open with my backside. Waitress might have been a job I hated, but I still rocked it.
Faking the act of confidence had never been my issue; I was full of it as far as the world could see. That was, until I flipped around and saw them: Lucas Carter and Candice Armstrong sitting at table two. Seeing Lucas threw me for a loop. Not sure if it was the fact he was on a date, or the fact he was there at all.
I shook my head and started to his table, still not sure why I was upset over Lucas having a date. He let me know I was disposable. Another fact I learned all too well growing up in the foster system.
The conclusion I’d come to was Lucas would never be more than a fantasy to me … a nightly, very effective fantasy.
Speaking of fantasies — Candice Armstrong was the epitome of every man’s dream girl. She had to be close to six feet tall, and ninety percent of that was legs. A perfect complement to Lucas’s six-foot-and-a-few-inches’ frame. The fake platinum blonde wasn’t my thing, but then again, I was no man, either.
I didn’t realize my feet were frozen in place until Will rammed into my back. Luckily, I held tight to the tray. I would’ve hated for Lucas to wait a moment longer for his drink order.
“Seen a ghost, baby doll? You're paler than one,” Will whispered in my ear and nudged his elbow into my side.
“No, sitting at table two is the president of my ‘I hate people’ group.”
Will rolled his eyes. “You’re the first girl that has ever uttered those words. Lucas Carter is every girl in town’s dreamboat. If you don’t believe me, just ask him.” He nudged me again, and I put on a smile and headed to table two.
Candice turned her catlike blue eyes on me, and I think she instantly grew claws. What's her problem? She had no idea that I’d ever taken a ride on Lucas’s Harley, and that I would’ve gladly rode something else. For that, I was grateful and hoped that would stay a secret from the whole town.
I placed the glasses on the table but did not bother taking their order. Suddenly, I was making table two Will’s responsibility.
I spent the next thirty minutes working the room, trying my damnedest to ignore Lucas. The problem with that was his deep, lyrical voice was the only thing I heard. Two other couples had joined them shortly after Will tried taking their order, and Lucas had not stopped laughing since they showed up. He was happy. A switch from the last and first time I saw him. Why renting that house sit him off was beyond me — he acted like I stole it from him.
Lucas turned his head to look directly at me and shook his empty glass in the air, signaling he needed a refill. Crap, why is this hard? At that moment, I decided to charter a new goal in life: to build up an immunity to Mr. Carter. I started with serving him a drink.
“Tea?” I asked, barely over a whisper, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
“How do you know my dad?” His aquamarine-colored eyes met mine, and for the briefest of moments, I saw a flash of regret in them.
“Who?”
“Wes Carter?” He leaned back and put his arm behind the chair Candice was sitting on.
Other than our very odd encounter?
“I don’t. I mean he’s been in, but I really don’t know him.” My stomach twisted in knots, confused at why he would ask such a question.
Lucas looked away to continue his previous conversation with the guy on his left.
Candice laid her head on Lucas’s shoulder. They matched. The intimacy between them couldn’t be denied.
I quickly hurried to the safety of the kitchen where John handed me a tray overflowing with food.
“Baby doll, you seriously need a night off. You look exhausted.”
“Need the money more than I need the rest,” I said.
“Whatever,” he said and shoved the platter in my hands. “Sorry, but I have to mix up some chili, will you carry these to table two and the infamous Mr. Carter.”
“Gee, thanks.”
John winked and held the door opened while I carried the tray out.
I went to the far end of the table Lucas was sitting at. The farther I stayed away from him the better. I placed a salad in front of Candice. She picked up a piece of chopped cauliflower.
“What is this shit?” Candice asked and scrunched up her nose.
“Cauliflower. Don’t worry, it won’t go to your hips. It’s safe,” the Bubbly Ginger to the left said, and I fought back a smile.
The urge to smile suddenly vanished when I felt the heat of Lucas’s gaze on me. That stupid knot I had in my stomach all night grew tighter.
I had to lean over Lucas to place the Ginger’s plate in front of her. His shoulder rubbed up against my lower stomach. My ability to talk ceased to exist.
Why does Lucas make me nervous? Guys didn’t affect me that way. I felt nothing with them, not nerves.
"Thanks, Annie," Lucas said in the same tone he used with me when I hopped on that bike with him. “Care for a piece of cake?” There was a touch of regret in his voice somewhere hidden behind all the husky sultriness.
I scanned the table to see a small white cake with the words, “Happy Birthday, Lucas” on top.
Lucas was celebrating his birthday with the people he cared about. I would never be in that category.
I shook my head as the dream I had of us on the back of his motorcycle flashed in my head. Damn, of all places to think of that particular dream. Not only my face but also my whole body heated in response.
Tonight, that spot on his bike has been reserved for someone other than me.
The pain in my legs were strong but I reminded myself it was pain from living and nothing else. At my appointment that morning, I had a consultation with Dr. Gore. It was one of that no news was good news visits. I left with an appointment card to come back in three months to start some trial treatment, or sooner if any more problems arise.
Happy fucking Birthday to me.
I’d reached the point where I just wanted to live to the fullest.
But the fullest seemed futile with Candice on my arm and Annie doing everything in her power to ignore me. It was frustrating. Annie was not the girl I needed, but it didn’t stop me from closing my eyes when I was with Candice dreaming she was Annie. A low move, I know, another sin written in the book of Lucas, and Candice deserved more than to be a fill-in.
Annie deserved for me to leave her alone, but I’ve never done what I should.
It was easy to find Annie in the small room. The catching of her gaze was another story. When she finally looked my way, I shook my empty glass in the air, broadcasting my need for a refill. Annie didn’t even try to disguise her distaste at being near me.
“Tea?” she asked and drew her shoulders in, trying to hide in plain sight.
“How do you know my dad?” I caught her stare and my heart cracked at the lost expression in her eyes.
“Who?”
“Wes Carter?” I leaned back and put my arm behind the chair Candice was sitting on, proving to Annie what a son-of-a-bitch I truly was.
Precious, I don’t want Candice, but you’re too good for me. Precious, what the hell? No one was precious, but something told me Annie was.
“I don’t. I mean he’s been in, but I really don’t know him.”
I couldn’t take the sweet melancholy of her voice, knowing I’d hurt her. So, I looked away to pretend I cared what the guy on my left had to say.
Candice laid her head on my shoulder. I zoned out before I did something I would regret again.
Chapter 5
Annie Prieto
Once I had clocked out and left behind the misery of the night, there was only one place I wanted to go — to see my mom.
It was a fairly-long walk. Lanier Cemetery was at the edge of town, but over the past few weeks, it had become a familiar route.
I circled to the backside of the courthouse, passed by five churches, and cut a path through two cotton fields, then climbed up a small hilltop.
The cemetery was small and exceptionally maintained by a local farmer. I’d happened to meet him one day when I was out there visiting the only proof my mom even lived, a small marble headstone. It was in a back corner under a massive oak tree. The oddity of it all was that not one person claimed to know her yet someone purchased her a headstone, and the inscription on it let me know someone loved her.
I sat down and wiped my hand over the cold marble.
My Beloved
Not even a gravesite
Can dim the love
We share
Evie Prieto
3-2-75 – 7-23-95
She was the same age I presently found myself.
“Hey, Mom,” I whispered, and curled my legs under me. “I still haven’t learned anything about you. I wish I could’ve met you. But I know there is so much to your story and someone loved you, I’ll find your secrets. I’ll learn who you are, who I am.”
I always whispered when I was there. I knew I wouldn’t wake the dead, but I told my mom my deepest secrets, and the last thing I wanted was for them to land in the ears of some eavesdropper.
Yes, I’m an eavesdropper. Double standard? Of course.
I didn’t have a choice but to be nosey. It was the only way I survived my teen years. I just wanted to be close to someone. My mother would have sufficed. If only I could’ve known her.
I leaned back against the oak tree and sat there. The tears started easy enough, but it was the lump in my throat that caused the greatest pain. I just wanted someone to love me. I wanted to know who my dad was. Was he the man killed with my mom? Or a man that threw me away? Say something, Momma, find a way to tell me what to do.
My backpack slipped down my arm and plopped to the ground. I brushed the pink tie out of my hair, releasing my disheveled locks to fall over my shoulders, and took the art book from my backpack.
It was dark but the moon was full and cast down an almost eerie glow. The perfect light to draw by. For some reason, I felt more creative when I was near my mother’s grave. It sounded silly but I’d prayed she would send me a clue through my art.
Art was a passion of mine; drawing had been a way to get my feelings out in a more constructive way. I drew every moment I found myself alone, but I’d never shared my art with anyone.
An hour had passed and still, I was in no hurry to leave. The picture I was working on was starting to come together when I realized I was drawing Lucas and that damn Harley. I ripped the page out of my book and tossed it across the cemetery. There was no way my mom would be sending him to me. Okay, I wasn’t crazy, and fully aware that my mom couldn’t talk or send me anything. But I liked to think that a part of her still lived on in me and I could tap into that part when I was near her grave. Sometimes it seemed to work, sometimes it didn’t.
A burst of cold wind suddenly fanned over my face and ruffled my hair along my neckline, causing a rush of fear to rake down my spine. I jammed everything in my backpack and started to pick up my hair tie when I heard shuffling coming from the opposite side of the cemetery.
I paused as I stood and touched her stone one more time. “Bye, Momma. I’ll be back real soon.”
Silently, I started to walk down the hill toward town. The closer I got, the more uncomfortable I felt. I tried to ignore it — the tingling of my skin, the fine hair on my arms standing up, the awareness of being watched. Eyes seemed to be everywhere, following me. Someone seemed to
be moving amongst the trees.
I circled around and screamed, “Is anybody here? Anybody?”
A shadow flashed across the ground, and I took off running, through the cotton, past the churches, and didn’t slow down until I was standing in the middle of court square. I placed my hands on top of my head and took a deep accelerating breath.
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