He offered a wink to Sarah, the new girl who wasn’t local, as she counted her tips in an empty booth. “You think she got a man?” Louie asked me as I picked up the empty plates from a seat at his right.
“I don’t know.” He watched me close, trying, I guessed, to see if I was going to lie to him. I threw him a bone. “Maybe she likes girls.”
“Darlin’ everybody likes girls. What’s not to like?” He laughed a little when that comment sent my eyes rolling.
The man’s white apron was a little dingy and there were spatters of flour and something that looked like brown gravy over the front of his white Tillie’s Diner tee. Anyone who didn’t know Louie would probably step around him if they passed him on the street. He was a big guy who told everyone he was pushing fifty, but had forgotten ten years somehow. Still, his shoulders were wide, and his chest was firm, as though he’d once been nothing but muscle before the years and laziness had taken his energy to care too much about hitting the weights.
“Come on now, tell me the truth.” He moved his chin up, encouraging me and I caught the coarse white hairs on his face and the small pink scar that broke away from all that beautiful dark skin.
“If I’m lying, I’m flying…”
“And you don’t have wings, darlin’.”
“Nope. I don’t.”
This time Louie’s laugh was loud, catching Sarah’s attention as she stuffed a wad of ones into her front pocket. “I’m out, guys,” she said, shaking her head at Louie’s stupid giggle. “See you tomorrow.”
“Need me to walk you to the bus stop?” Louie winked again at Sarah, this time earning a smile from her. She couldn’t be more than twenty, older than me, but not by much. She had long, blonde hair and eyes that were deep like coffee in bad need of creamer.
“Nah, my boyfriend is picking me up on the corner.” She said this with a tilt of her head, like she wanted Louie’s question answered. “And he’s a big fella.”
“The big one’s fall the hardest.”
“And they have the worst tempers.” She brushed his shoulder when she past him. “You keep out of trouble, old man.”
The dig didn’t bother Louie, had him chuckling a little longer as he watched Sarah leave out the door. “Ah, well, can’t fault me for trying.”
“That was you trying?” I said, pouring the cook another cup of coffee.
“Well…”
“How have you been married for thirty years if that’s your idea of trying?”
“My big, long…”
“That’s enough.” I waved my hand, stopping him before the old pervert could finish that sentence and nodded at our manager Carl when he hurried through the door.
“Guys, that new cook I hired took sick.” Carl was dumpy, not nearly clever enough to do the books right and was the kind of bald that looked more sickly than sad. He combed five small white locks across his spotted scalp and always patted them down, seeming not ready to admit defeat. “Lou, you think you can pull another shift?”
“Man,” Louie started, sitting back against the barstool to glare up at our boss, “I’ve been here since five a.m.”
“I’ll pay you double,” Carl said, brushing his fingernails over that barely-there hair.
“You will not, you big liar. Tillie would kill you.”
I returned to the kitchen, setting the dirty plates on the counter next to the sink while Carl continued to make promises to Louie that all of us knew he’d never keep. The diner was slow for a Tuesday night and other than Carl, Louie and the dishwasher, who I suspected didn’t speak English but always muttered “Okay, you betcha” every time someone asked him a question, the place was empty. The dishwasher was out on a smoke break—I heard the low yammering of Spanish as he spoke to someone on his cell and saw a thick plume of gray smoke as he paced—so I picked up the dirty plates and began to wash them.
This was all a distraction. Earlier, the dinner rush had been brutal, always was when Carl ran the Tuesday Two-Dollar Smothered Pork Chops special and so I had spent most of the afternoon and night too busy to wonder about Ransom and that unexpected kiss he’d planted on me a few days before.
But now, the place was dead with only Carl’s whine and Louie’s smug laughter to fill up the quiet. The sink water was warm and soothing but the monotony of scrubbing the debris from the white porcelain didn’t keep my mind unfocused like I wanted. Since that night at the studio, I’d had a hell of a time keeping myself distracted enough that I wouldn’t obsessively recall the way Ransom fiercely he held onto my body. How much I wanted him to do that again.
Monday at Keira and Kona’s I’d spent most of the day holding my breath, worried that Ransom would stop by for some reason or another, then disappointed when he didn’t. Now with the quiet and the lack of anything to do, those memories came back heavy and constant.
Not paying attention, I splashed water onto my apron, stepping back when it hit my shoes. “Modi.” That’s what I got for letting my mind wander. I knew better than to put any real thought into what had happened. No matter how many looks he’d given me, how close we’d come to kissing, to touching and despite that grope fest at the studio, I knew that Ransom wasn’t ready for what I wanted.
I’d heard the stories, those pathetic whispers the students made around the studio about Ransom. The news coverage about him as an angry kid was one thing. That had been a long time ago, but what had happened with his girlfriend out on the lake, that was something that wouldn’t be easily forgotten. He was still haunted, the rumors went. He hasn’t been the same since that summer. And worst of all, He’s broken.
I’d felt that. I’d remembered what I knew, the impact of her loss, and how it had changed Ransom from the sixteen year old who’d run around Leann’s smitten by first love, and then, to the silent, sulking seventeen-year old who wouldn’t speak to anyone but Leann or Tristian. Now he was friendlier, had gotten back some of the humor he’d had at sixteen, but it wasn’t the same. Loss had aged him, so had guilt. That’s why I hadn’t made an effort to run after him, before or now. No matter how beautiful he was or how heavy that torch was that I carried for him, I suspected he was still hurting and didn’t need me chasing after him because of one very intense, but still unexpected kiss.
Sopping up the hem of my wet shirt, I rubbed a hand towel over the gray material, patting it dry as the dishwasher returned from his break and glared at me when he spotted the small puddle I made on the floor. “I’ll get it,” I told him, reaching for the mop, when Carl poked his head through the service window between the dining area and kitchen.
“Aly, customer. Section one.”
“I got it. Just a sec.” I ignored the dishwasher when he mumbled under his breath and jerked the mop out of my hand.
My shirt was still wet, the apron hopeless and it was the business of tying on a clean one that distracted me from the customer sitting in the corner booth at the back of the diner. A double knot, a yank on my pad and pen and I stopped at the booth, my smile crumbling as my gaze ran over the florid face of the man sitting there.
“Poupou,” I muttered, but Ironside heard and the little oath had him grinning around his damn toothpick.
“And hello to you, Ms. King.” He slouched against the table, fingers twisting that small stick over his bottom teeth as he looked me over. “Gotta say, the corset suited you better than jeans and a Firefly t-shirt.”
“What can I get you, sir?” I asked, knowing Carl, the nosey bastard, was watching me from the cash register.
Ironside followed my quick glance at my manager, then looked over his shoulder at Carl. “Hey, man, I need to have a convo with your waitress here.” He nodded Carl over with a wave of his wallet, pulling out a small roll like he was some big shit and not a common thug. “Take this. Should cover the coffee I drink and the time I take.”