Three days later, after a long shift, I walk into Auntie Oakley’s Roadside Diner for a quick hot meal and a piece of pie. This week has kicked my ass and I’ve been thinking about this pie all day.
I nod at Liza, the owner, and make my way to a booth and slide onto the bench seat. I’m perusing the plastic laminated menu when I feel the entire booth shift as someone sits across from me. I drop the menu and fuck me.
There he is again.
Damn, boy scout.
This time he’s in plainclothes, wearing a tight black t-shirt.
“Hey, Selina,” he says with a cocky grin.
I give him the squint eye. “Do I know you?” Then I snap my fingers like I’m trying to remember an unimportant detail. “Wait … is it Houston? Boston? Something like that?”
He chuckles. “Austin.”
“I don’t recall inviting you to sit with me.”
“Only because you didn’t see me when you walked in.” He grins and I swear I spontaneously ovulate.
How is he this attractive? It’s annoying. Stupid handsome smile and those lines that fan out from the corners of his eyes that tell me he’s got an easy and ready smile. He’s a friendly and happy guy, they say.
Well, fuck that! I’m grumpy and I like it.
“Hmm.” I make a noncommittal noise that I hope will scare him away, and pick up the menu again to block out his stupid pretty face.
“Hi Selina, I thought that was you.” The familiar voice makes me smile. I drop my menu to find the owner of the diner standing at our table.
“Ms. Liza,” I say. “How are you?”
“I’m good, darling. But I didn’t know you knew my son.”
“Oh, I don—”
My words are cut off when Austin stands and one-arm hugs the older woman and smacks a kiss on her cheek.
“Hey Mama,” he says. He slides back into the booth and gives me a wink.
Infuriating man! And now I find out he’s the son of one of my most favorite people that I’ve met since moving to Cherry Falls.
Liza looks at me with that sweet, genuine smile of hers and I realize that their eyes are similar. I fight the urge to roll my eyes while I curse my luck.
“What are you having tonight, darling?” she asks me.
I hold the menu out to her. “Grilled cheese on rye and fries. Extra pickles on the side, please.”
She nods, then looks at her son. “Your usual?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She knocks on the table, then walks away.
“Is that for real?” I ask.
“What?”
“That charming, good boy, manners thing you’ve got going on?”
His grin broadens. “You think I’m charming, sweet girl?”
“I think you’re annoying.”
“Nah, I think you enjoy my company.”
“And you’re clearly delusional.”
He laughs and the sound is so appealing that I lose track of the straw from my drink and nearly stick it right up my nose. Zero cool is my motto.
The truth is, the good ol’ manners are a little charming, but I could have over looked them. I know all too well that manners and actions are not the same thing.
His quick wit is another matter entirely. His ability to smile through my barbs and turn it into banter completely disarms me.
Or rather, it would disarm me if I let it.
Which I will not. I have more than enough on my plate without being distracted by a charming boy scout, thank you very much.
Thankfully his mother saves me when she sets our food down in front of us. The smell of my perfectly-grilled-with-too-much-butter-sandwich makes my mouth water. Should I eat a salad or at least something remotely healthy? Yes, probably. But my ass is already big so what’s one more serving of fries gonna hurt?
I pop a fry in my mouth, then eye the burger on Austin’s plate. At least he didn’t order a salad.
Liza steps away from the table without saying anything and suddenly this feels very intimate. Sharing a meal with someone is supposed to mean something. Isn’t it?
But this isn’t a date. Not that the big, beautiful man across from me would be interested in someone like me anyways. You know what? It doesn’t have to mean anything. He sat down at my table. So whatever.
“So what’s with the extra pickles?” he asks, nodding to my plate.
I shrug. “I like sour things.”
“Fair enough.”
We eat in silence for a while and it’s not nearly as awkward as I would have guessed it would be.
And when we’re done, I try to pay, but he’s already taken care of the bill. He walks me to my car and it’s all feeling very date-like again. Once I’m in the driver’s seat and buckled, he knocks his knuckles on the roof of my car.
“Night, Selina. I’ll be seeing you.”
I don’t respond and I spend the entire rest of the night ignoring all the annoyingly cliched butterflies in my stomach.
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