“Sure you do. Coffee? Orange juice?”
And I reddened even further because I thought he meant meeting me for a drink, date-style. “Orange juice is great.”
“Tom?” he called. “Can you get Lia here a glass of orange juice on me when it’s convenient?”
“Don’t hurt yourself, big spender,” Tom grumbled, but that only made Aidan laugh again.
And somehow a tradition had been born—whichever one of us made the other one laugh first when Aidan came in got treated to a glass of OJ.
“Speaking of chicken-fried steak,” Tom said, tapping the bell and derailing my memory train. The bell was supposed to let the servers know a meal was done. He never actually used it for that. It was more like a punctuation mark. Ding, ding, ding, ding. “Get that joker’s order, and maybe I can cook him something that’ll keep him too busy eating to talk.”
“You’re a genius, Tom,” I said. He waved a spatula and bent over the grill again. I whipped out my notepad and gave Aidan an expectant look. “What can I get for you?”
“Your last name.”
“You’re like a bad movie. I already told you—I’m not on the menu.”
“What did I get last time?”
“You think I remember that kind of thing? That I’m sitting around memorizing what you get every time you come in here?” Even though I had my eyes narrowed at him, I had to fight a smile at the easy way we fell into this routine. Not having to wait until Saturday for this felt like eating dessert first.
“You don’t remember?” he asked, faking a hurt face.
“Yes. But you shouldn’t assume it.”
“Oh, come on. Tell me I’m special, that you only remember for me.”
I gave him the look my sister Dani used to give me when we were kids and I said something she thought was stupid. I pointed to Mr. Benny. “Two cups of coffee, fifteen minutes apart, with a plate of scrambled eggs and a side of hash browns in between. Red Hat over there? Short stack with a side of bacon and two glasses of OJ. Guy coming in from the parking lot? Three eggs over easy, hash browns, and two cups of coffee, black.” I tapped my pencil on the order pad. “This is a prop so I don’t intimidate the rest of you with my gigantic brain. Also, you’re not special.”
His grin broke out. “Why ask me when you know what I’m getting?”
“I like to give you the illusion of choice. You’re on number eleven, chicken-fried steak. It’s not too late to back out.”
“Should I?”
“Have you regretted anything yet?” Tom asked from the pass-through.
“No,” Aidan admitted. “But I’m worried that at some point you’ll make me pay for mouthing off.”
Tom snatched the next ticket down from the window. “I might spit in it, but I won’t screw it up. You gotta—”
“Respect the grill,” I finished. “You’ve mentioned that a time or two.”
“You’re worse than him,” Tom said, slapping a piece of steak into the flour and dredging it like he was trying to kill the beef again.
Aidan winced. “You should take that personally, Lia. Very personally. Worse than me is pretty bad.”
“You win,” I said, losing the fight against a laugh. “You are bad. Orange juice is on me today.”
Aidan pumped his fist in victory. “That’s ten to seven. I’m pulling ahead.”
“Don’t be so impressed with yourself.” I lowered my voice. “Mr. Benny makes me laugh first every single day.”
“But is it on purpose?”
I grinned. “No. And today I get the last laugh on you because next time you come in, it’s the number twelve.” Number twelve was liver.
Aidan sighed.
“No one’s making you do it. You can skip to thirteen.”
“No, I can’t, and it’s your fault. When I came in that first day and asked you what the best thing on the menu was, you should have told me. Then I wouldn’t have to try it all myself.”
“I did tell you.”
“You said it’s all good. Twenty-five things can’t all be the best thing.”
“Why not?” Tom interrupted. “You think I haven’t figured out a thing or two after owning this grill for nine years?”
“Don’t worry, boss. Aidan only means about half of what he says. I’ll buy your orange juice today too if it makes you feel better.”
Tom snorted. “Why would it make me feel better to have you buy me something I have to make if I want to drink it? And don’t you have other tables to serve?”
I rolled my eyes at Aidan, making him laugh, and made my way over to the guy at table three and poured his coffee without even asking. “Three eggs over easy with a side of hash browns?”
He nodded, bleary-eyed.
I turned to Aidan and stuck my tongue out.
He shook his head and turned his attention to his iPad. Must be something good. I’d sneak a peek when I dropped his chicken-fried steak off.
The next table was a new face. Dirt-crusted boots and a tan face this early in May meant he was probably one of the construction guys working on the new ski resort. “What can I get for you?” I asked.
“Hey, beautiful. Straight to business with no foreplay? I like it.”
I heard someone snort into their coffee cup. It sounded suspiciously like Mr. Benny. I didn’t look around to check. I could handle stuff like this only if I convinced myself that no one was watching. I drew out my order pad and lifted my eyebrows slightly without acknowledging the guy’s come on. “Would you like to hear the specials?”
His eyes brightened like I’d issued a challenge, and I struggled to keep my face blank. Great. The challenge guys were the worst. I’d gotten used to customers who ranged from teen snow junkies to old men flirting with me, even though, at first, I couldn’t figure out why they did it. I wasn’t a knockout. When my life-drawing instructor had assigned us to do self-portraits in art school, I’d titled mine The Median.
Medium brown hair, longish. Medium height. Brown eyes. Not pasty white skin, not tan. Kind of scrawny. Nice mouth, maybe, but lips always chapped from biting them. I was nothing to object to. I also wasn’t anything to stop and take notice of. I was the middle, which is why I figured out pretty fast that the reason customers flirted with me was that I was here. They flirted with all the waitresses, even Dot, who was older than my grandma.
Most of them backed off after I ignored their passes a time or two, but not the challenge guys. They made it some kind of personal mission to get an acknowledgment of their pickup skills. It was weird. They didn’t even want a date out of it. They wanted to force you into playing along or snapping at them.
They hated when I ignored them, which left me one option: run away.
“Why would I want to hear the specials when I already see something special?” he said in a silky voice that I wanted to believe, for the sake of self-respecting women everywhere, had never worked on any woman, ever.
“The corned-beef-hash plate? Yeah, it’s great. I’ll bring it to you with a side of home potatoes.”
I tore off his order sheet and fled to the kitchen.
“That’s not what I want,” he called after me.
“Son, it’s what you’re getting,” Mr. Benny said. “You’d best eat it.”
“But—”
Aidan cleared his throat, and I glanced out at him through the pass-through window in time to see him cross his arms over his chest. The construction guy’s eyes widened, and he started to say something, but Aidan nodded once, and just like that, the guy shut up and fiddled with some sweetener packets instead.
What in the world? Were crossed arms some kind of bro code I didn’t know about? Either way, I was glad New Guy was done with his challenge. I poured some fresh orange juice and swung by Aidan’s table to deliver it.
“I could have handled it, but thank you,” I said, setting the glass down in front of him.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Accept the gratitude.”
“I’ll take
whatever you’re willing to give me,” he said in resignation.
I fought a grin. I had shut him down about a billion times already, but he’d been a good sport about it.
He lifted the glass like he was toasting me and took a swallow. I watched his neck muscles for about two seconds before I realized how weird it was to stare at his throat and find his juice drinking sexy.
That’s why Aidan was harder to put the brakes on, because he had an elusive, dangerous charm. He’d taken my rejections as a challenge too, but each time I shut him down, he sat back with a smile on his face, as if he were looking forward to seeing what I would come up with next, not trying to wear me down into submission. It was the same mixture of humor and confidence my ex-husband, Donovan, had charmed me with. Unfortunately, Donovan’s charm had hidden dark, spiny secrets.
I turned on my heel and fetched the coffeepot so I could busy myself at other tables, topping off drinks and checking on customers so I wouldn’t get drawn into any more schoolgirl staring at Aidan. I knew exactly what to expect each of them to tip, and even with Mr. Benny’s miserly dollar, I was happy with the total. If tomorrow was about the same, I could trade away my Friday shift.
“Order up,” Tom said.
I scooped up the chicken-fried steak and set it in front of Aidan. “What are you going to do when you’ve tried everything on the menu?” I asked. Move on? I’d miss . . . Chief.
Aidan leaned back in the booth. “If you’re worried I’ll quit coming around, you can say so. Try, ‘Aidan, I’d love to see you sometime, not at the diner.’”
I stuck a hand on my hip, and he nodded like it was the reaction he’d expected. “Aidan, I’d love for you to not come to the diner.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what I meant. Eat your steak, and go away.”
“I don’t want you to miss me. Come on, Lia. I’m not cold enough to leave you hanging like that, wishing for me to show up.”
“Not wishing for you. For him.” I pointed at Chief.
Aidan reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Chief might be the only reason I ever even get dates. Do you get tired of women using you to get to me, boy?”
“I’m going to refill your coffee now, but you should know it’s the second time today I’ve considered serving a drink over someone’s head.”
“Sounds like you could use a break. How about you take one with me, like later today over dinner?”
“Do you ever give up?”
“Nope. I’m kind of relentless in a nonstalker way.”
“If by relentless you mean annoying, I guess I can’t argue.” I rested my hand on his table and leaned toward him, lowering my voice in my best guess of what sultry-voice was supposed to sound like. His eyes darkened, and I smirked. “I’ll tell you what. I won’t give you a date, but I’ll give you something even better.” I turned. “Tom?”
“Yeah?”
I straightened. “Get Aidan an extra side of bacon, please.” I patted the table as Aidan laughed. “Don’t you feel better already?”
“You seem to. Better than last week, anyway. What’s the secret?”
You showing up when it’s not Saturday. But I wasn’t going to say that, so I gave him another true answer. “Daffodils.”
“Your secret is daffodils?”
I nodded at the window, where the bright-yellow heads of daffodils peered over the ledge from the window boxes Ramona insisted on keeping there. Ours at home had bloomed two days before, and Chloe and I had spotted them in several neighbors’ yards on our walk yesterday evening. “Haven’t you been seeing them everywhere you go?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen them, but they’re not mood altering.”
“Then you’re broken.”
“No, I depend on a different substance: bacon. Didn’t you promise me some?”
“Don’t get all demanding about free bacon,” Tom warned from the grill. “Order’s up.”
I deposited it in front of Aidan. “I’m going to ignore you for the rest of your breakfast. I have work to do.”
He tapped his iPad. Yep, he was reading the Times. “I’ll entertain myself.”
I made the next circuit of tables on autopilot, more interested in the daffodils than the customers. The flowers were beautiful, especially against the weathered wood of the window boxes Tom refused to repaint. The urge to capture the blossoms, pushy upstarts glowing against their banged-up backdrop, squeezed me like an ache, and I caught my breath as the painting formed in my mind. It was a quiet picture, unlike any
of the work the New York galleries had flipped out over when I’d been married to Donovan Beckman, the artsy novelty in my in-laws’ circle of socialites and power brokers.
The feeling pushed against my stomach like hunger in the morning and out to my fingers and toes like a good stretch after a run. Muscle memory made my right hand twitch in anticipation of touching my brushes.
Except I had none. I’d sold or donated every last bit of my supplies when I’d run away from New York. And suddenly that was Shakespeare-level tragic.
So now what?
Always Will Page 24