by Freya Barker
Robin
I was here at seven thirty this morning and have been chopping and peeling ever since. It’s still an hour before the diner opens and already my feet are sore.
“Take a break,” Jason says, noticing my wince. “Kay and I can handle the kitchen.”
Two giant turkeys are cooking in the large oven and an industrial-sized pot is boiling on the large burner with potatoes. Jason puts on a traditional Christmas with all the trimmings. He baked a bunch of pies yesterday already. It’s going to be an elaborate spread.
I wasn’t supposed to come in until ten or so, but after I got out of the shower this morning, the house felt too empty so I came in early. It’s been a crazy week leading up to today, with Jess still off. I’d taken the bulk of her shifts since I was the only one without family around for Christmas. The day before yesterday, Becca had gone to spend time with her family for the holidays. That was a relief.
Working alongside her proved to be stressful. She wasn’t overtly hostile toward me—not in public anyway—but she was far from friendly and refrained from talking to me at all when no one else was around. Of course it didn’t help that the two times Gray could get away from work for a few minutes, it was during her shifts. I don’t think it went over well he blatantly ignored her and even leaned over the counter to kiss me the day before yesterday.
Those are the only times we’ve seen each other. We’ve had snow almost every day this week, and it’s kept him busy. Ironic, because I can’t remember a single white Christmas since I moved here, and the one year I’m working it snows. Figures.
I’m just finished putting on a fresh pot of coffee when Debra, our other part-time girl walks in.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you, honey.” I fold her in a quick hug.
Debra is a high school friend of Paige. She went to community college in Midland and chose to live at home. She’s worked weekend shifts at the diner since she was eighteen.
“What do you want me to do?” she asks, hanging up her coat and tying her apron.
I duck into the small office and pull out a few bags of decorations I brought from home. We’d put up Christmas lights in the diner the weekend after Thanksgiving, but it still looks a little sparse.
“I thought we could spruce up the place a little.”
“Awesome!” With a big grin on her face, she starts digging through the bags right away.
When we open the door at noon, the diner looks festive and the smells emanating from the kitchen are divine.
Most of the early customers stop in on their way home from church and are just looking for a coffee and a piece of pie. Then around three Mrs. Chapman shows up, a little branch of holly pinned to the lapel of her coat and a jaunty knit Christmas hat covering her hair.
Debra greets her and takes her coat, revealing the sweet lady is dressed up to the nines. A shimmering red blouse, matching the color of her painted lips, over a flared black skirt.
“You look lovely, Mrs. Chapman. Merry Christmas.”
I swear the woman blushes with my compliment. I seat her in her favorite booth and offer to get her something to drink, but before I can get her the tea she ordered, the door opens again to let Eddie and Enzo in. Their buddy, John, and his wife, Marie, are probably visiting with their daughter’s family for the holidays. Enzo is a widower, and from what I understand Eddie has been single his whole life.
The men kiss my cheek and wish me Merry Christmas before walking over to Mrs. Chapman, who seems to be blushing under their attention. It’s like she was the Pied Piper leading everyone here, because over the next twenty minutes more people filter in. Some group together, and a couple choose to sit by themselves.
The last to walk in is Gray, and my heart does a little hop when I see he’s dressed up. Well, the most ‘dressed up’ I’m likely to see him. He seems no different than I am with respect to clothes, but those dark jeans and white dress shirt he wore on our date last week look fantastic on him.
He walks right up to me behind the counter, hooks an arm around my waist, and plants a solid kiss on my mouth.
“Merry Christmas, Sunshine,” he mumbles, rubbing his nose along mine.
“Merry Christmas, honey.”
The endearment slips from my lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and it is. It doesn’t go unnoticed as Gray’s light-blue eyes flare before they crinkle with a smile.
“Barring any emergencies, I’m hanging around until you’re done and then I’m taking you home.”
Now I’m smiling too, forgetting where I am as I lift up on my toes and press my lips to his. The promise in his words making my skin tingle.
“You’ll get bored,” I warn him, but he shakes his head.
“Not a chance. I’ll be watching you.”
“First order coming up!” Jason calls out, and slides a plate on the pass-through from the kitchen.
“You better take a seat,” I tell Gray. “I’ve got dinner to put on the table.”
I grab the plate Jason left and walk to Mrs. Chapman’s table, watching from the corner of my eye as Enzo calls Gray over to their table.
“Here you go, Mrs. Chapman. Bon appétit.”
“Thank you, dear.” She smiles up at me and covers her lap with the paper napkin like it’s the finest linen.
The service bell rings and another couple of plates appear on the ledge.
“Add one more full order, Jason. Gray just walked in.”
“Sure thing.”
I grab the plates and turn to serve Eddie and Enzo when I notice Gray is not sitting with them, like I expected, but is sliding into the booth across from Mrs. Chapman. The glow on her face is unmistakable.
As if I needed another reason to fall for the man.
Gray
“About time you come to see me, Gray Bennet.”
She says it in the stern voice I remember so well.
Mrs. Chapman, my high school English teacher. It was well over thirty years ago, yet I still remember the first time I walked into class. The short, middle-aged woman had looked like a sure pushover for the cocky, rebellious little shit I was back then. Boy, did I get it wrong. She ruled that classroom with an iron fist and actually got me reading my first book.
1984 by George Orwell.
I’ll never forget my surprise when I finished the novel in one weekend. I devoured it. When I brought it back to her on that Monday, she just smiled knowingly and told me I shouldn’t hide my light under a bushel. I had no fucking idea what she meant until much later.
I started reading everything I could get my hands on in high school. Thrived, got great marks, made it on the honor roll in my final year and was accepted to the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. It was supposed to be my way out, but my father soon put a stop to that.
Things had been shit at home for years. Mom tried, but there was little she could do to please my father, especially when he’d been drinking. She’d been so happy for me when I got my acceptance letter, but my father thought it was a waste of time. It was the first of many on that subject. Mom wasn’t one to provoke his anger but she went to bat for me on that. Until one day I came home to him beating her, and I had to drag him off her.
She wouldn’t think of leaving, though, so needless to say I didn’t go to college.
“Lost your tongue?”
Her voice snaps me out of my head and into the present.
“Sorry, Mrs. Chapman.”
“As you should be,” she says, but she does it smiling. “How have you been? Since coming back to town, I mean.”
“Adjusting.”
“I noticed,” she says with a meaningful look at Robin.
“Your dinner’s getting cold.”
My attempt to distract her is futile. The woman may look meek, but she’s sharp as a knife.
“It’s not polite to eat until everyone’s been served,” she reminds me, just as Robin walks over.
She slides a steaming plate it in front of me a
nd gives my shoulder a little squeeze before she moves to the next table.
“Now we can eat. Merry Christmas, young Mr. Bennet.”
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Chapman,” I rumble, returning her smile.
We eat in silence, aside from a few comments about the amazing meal. I’m done first and let my gaze drift over the diner. Someone made an effort to make it look homey, with a candle in a small centerpiece on each of the tables, garland with clusters of balls along the edge of the counter, and soft Christmas music playing in the background.
I catch the eye of Enzo, sitting two tables over, who nods when he sees me. When I came in he invited me to sit with them, but then I saw Mrs. Chapman sitting alone and decided to sit with her. Robin crosses my line of vision, and I can’t help but watch her make her way from table to table, the soft sway of her hips like a magnet.
“She was watching you earlier.”
I snap my head back to my old teacher, who places her cutlery neatly side by side across her empty plate.
“That so?”
“You’re both smitten,” she concludes.
“So it would seem.”
She tilts her head to the side and scrutinizes me.
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
“For?”
“That woman deserves it all, Gray, are you ready to give her that? Because I know that’s what she’ll give you.” When I open my mouth to answer she lifts a hand to stop me. “You don’t owe me an answer. I just wanted to you to think about it.”
“I don’t have to,” I grumble, but that only makes her smile. She’s still not impressed by my attitude.
“Now,” she suddenly changes the subject. “Read anything good lately?”
We spend a few minutes discussing books when the younger waitress comes by to clear our plates.
“Would you care for some pie? Coffee?”
“Just coffee for me,” my dinner companion orders.
“What kind’a pie?”
The girl smiles at me. “Apple, banana cream, pecan, and pumpkin.”
“Pumpkin with whipped cream if you have it.”
“Sure thing. Coffee with that?”
“Please.”
“Be right back.”
I watch her move to the coffee station when the front door swings open and a man comes stumbling in.
I can’t hear what he’s saying to the girl, but I can see her taking a step back.
“That’s trouble,” Mrs. Chapman mutters under her breath, and immediately my hackles go up.
I’m already pushing out of my seat when I see Robin come flying out of the hallway leading to the washrooms and pull the young waitress behind her.
“…come in here and cause a disturbance…” I catch only snippets of what she’s saying, but it’s enough to have me double-time it to her side. “You need to leave right now, Mike,” Robin says, reaching for his arm but he swats at her hand.
“Touch her and we’ve got issues,” I growl, stepping in front of her.
“Where’s my wife?” he yells, spittle flying.
“She’s not here, Mike.” Robin tries to nudge me out of the way and finally resorts to peeking her head around my elbow. “You need to leave or I have no choice but to call the police.”
“Already done,” I hear from behind me.
Jason, the diner’s cook, steps around me and faces off with the irate man in the doorway.
“Enough, Mike. Go home.”
“Do you know what she did?”
“Mike…come on, let’s go.”
Jason firmly grabs him by the arm and tries to spin him around, but the guy struggles against his hold. Ready for this scene to be over, I grab his other arm, twist it up behind his back and shove him unceremoniously out the door, Jason on his other side.
A police cruiser is just pulling up and an officer steps out.
“What’ve we got here?” the cop asks, over the loud protests of the idiot we’re holding on to.
“He’s drunk and making a nuisance of himself,” Jason answers calmly. He doesn’t seem fazed by the struggling man’s swearing and cursing.
The cop’s eyes come to me and his scrutiny makes me itchy.
“You’re Bennet.”
“I am.” I lift my chin in a silent challenge.
It shouldn’t surprise me local law enforcement is aware of my presence here and I’ve seen a couple around, but this is the first time someone’s calling me out. It makes me uneasy.
The cop finally slides his eyes to the man still pulling against our hold.
“You causing trouble again, Mike? Told you two nights ago, when you were causing a ruckus outside your neighbor’s place, I didn’t want to get another call about you, didn’t I?” He fishes a pair of handcuffs clipped to his belt. “Park him up against the cruiser, boys. He’s gonna be sleeping this one off at the police station.”
“This is a public place, you can’t arrest me!”
“Be quiet already, Mike,” the officer says, as he steps up and makes quick work of cuffing him.
He pats the man down for anything that can be used as a weapon and coming up empty, shoves him in the back of the cruiser, and slams the door.
“Derek Francisi,” he says, reaching out his hand.
It takes me a moment to react but I eventually take his hand.
“Gray Bennet.”
“I hear you own the Dirty Dog now?”
“I do.”
“Mind if I pop in at some point to talk about sponsoring the law enforcement baseball team this upcoming season? The Dirty Dog has for the past seven years, but we don’t wanna assume you plan to continue.”
“Fair enough,” I mumble, taken aback. This was the last thing I expected.
Banging draws our attention to the man in the back of the cruiser, who is slamming his head against the window.
“Oh fuck, I better get going before he smashes his head open. I just had my cruiser detailed. Want him trespassed?”
“Probably best,” Jason agrees.
“Consider it done.” The officer tips his hat and slides behind the wheel. When he rolls past us he lowers his window. “Bennet!”
Instantly my spine straightens.
“Yeah?”
“See you at the Dog.”
Chapter Nineteen
Robin
I watch through the window as Jason and Gray stalk back to the diner, when the cruiser takes off with Mike inside.
“Coffee and pie on the house,” Jason calls out when he enters.
Most of the guests who had been on their feet, checking out the goings-on in the parking lot, promptly take their seats.
To me he says, “Put on an extra pot.”
“I’ll help,” Gray announces.
It’s eight o’clock when I lock the door behind Debra, carrying half an apple pie to take to her family. Gray is wiping off tables and Jason is packing up the remainders in the kitchen. His wife, Kay, went home much earlier. We haven’t had a quiet moment since the disturbance Mike caused. I suspect word must’ve traveled something was up at the diner, because people kept ‘dropping in’ for coffee and asking questions.
It’s hard to keep anything here in Beaverton under wraps, and I think most people are aware of what happened between Shirley and Mike, but apparently that only made folks more curious about this latest incident. Most of the time I enjoy the close community, but in this case I find it a bit oppressive.
“You guys wanna take some of this home?” Jason calls from the kitchen.
I stick my head around the door.
“I wouldn’t mind. Are you sure?”
“Plenty left.” He indicates the overflowing containers.
“In that case, yes please.” Saves me cooking tomorrow when I have the day off.
A few minutes later, we’re saying goodbye in the parking lot when Gray throws an arm around my shoulders and guides me to my SUV. I’ll admit I’m a little disappointed, I’d hoped he’d be taking me home, but then he g
rabs the keys I have in my hands.
“I’ll drive.”
“What about your truck?” I look around the parking lot but don’t see it.
“I walked over.”
He opens the passenger door and rounds the front of the SUV, getting in beside me.
“How will you get—” I start asking when the words dry up in my mouth at the look he shoots me.
He’s not planning on going anywhere tonight.
A warm, electric sensation spreads out from deep in my belly down between my legs. My breathing is instantly shallow and his eyes are drawn to the base of my neck, where my rapid heartbeat is visible. A muscle in his jaw ticks, as he swallows hard before he turns the key in the ignition and forces his eyes front and forward.
Much like the last time he drove me home, the air charged with sexual tension, he opens the front door with my keys and pulls me inside. His mouth is on mine even as he’s backing me up against the door. I drop the bag with the containers of leftovers on the floor and my hands find purchase in his hair.
Holy fuck, the man can kiss.
He pulls back when we run out of air, his eyes white-hot on mine as we both pant open-mouthed, catching our breath. But when I lift up to resume the kiss, he places two firm hands on my shoulders and takes a step back.
“Slow down.”
“Why?” My voice comes out breathlessly.
He bends down, picks the plastic bag off the floor and carries it through to the kitchen. I follow behind and watch as he shrugs out of his coat before taking a couple of plates down from the cupboard.
“You haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’m not that hungry,” I protest, hanging my coat on a kitchen chair. That’s not entirely true, but I have more pressing matters on my mind right this minute. Distractedly I stroke the cat, who is curled up on the seat.
“Robin, I don’t want to rush,” he says, bracing his hands on the counter, eyeing me from under his eyebrows. “We don’t need to rush, we have all the time, and I don’t want to risk missing a single treasured moment. We’ve missed enough already.”
“Okay,” I respond immediately, moved by his words.
He’s right. Time has moved along for both of us, but we had our eyes closed. I want to have them wide open from here on out.