by Sasha Leone
Busy people brush by me on the sidewalk. Everybody has their coats pulled up and their heads down. If it was warmer, it’d be a perfect day, but there’s a winter chill in the air that isn’t promising to let up anytime soon.
Finn’s been doing some detective work of his own. We have a picture of Santino now, and Finn’s been asking civilians if they’ve seen him around. I’d do the same, if any normal person would talk to me. I’m well aware of how intimidating I am; it’s mostly by design—and it’s what made Nia standing up to me last night so impressive—but it’s not helping me gather much intel right now.
She still holds the biggest piece of property in my mind as I walk to the corner of Baker street. I gaze eastward. In the distance, I can see a customer walking out of Chelly’s diner.
I feel like an addict. Every inch of my body is pulling me back to that diner, but my mind is screaming no. Even my aching arm, which has nearly numbed in the cool temperature, seems to be throbbing towards Nia.
I must be going insane. I just need to catch Santino, then everything else will come together. It’s all I can tell myself to keep my head from imploding.
“Lunch?” Finn’s voice comes over my earpiece.
My stomach growls in response. I’ve barely had a full meal since the whole mess in front of Chelly’s diner two nights ago. Maybe I just need to eat something to get my mind straight... I can’t keep withholding essentials until things just magically start to work out. I need to be at the top of my game, and a full belly feeds a hungry mind.
Still, “We can’t be seen together,” I remind the brash young cop.
“I’m not asking you out on a date,” he laughs. “Just for a break.”
I shake my head and look up at the cold blue sky. Yeah, I need a break too. It might actually do me some good. “Go on, then, get some lunch. I’ll grab something around here and circle back in about an hour.”
“Got ya,” Finn hangs up and I chew on my tongue. There are a hundred places to eat around here, but I can only think of going to one.
Chelly’s.
I wonder if Nia’s working again today. She must be. A young woman like that with med school debt? She’ll need every penny she can scrape together just to get by.
Maybe I’ll give her a generous tip.
Before I can even fully realize what I’m doing, my hand is pulling open the front door to the understated diner.
Someone’s already repaired the saran-wrap window I ripped into last night, but I notice it’s not as warm inside as it was then.
It doesn’t take me long to spot the curvy backside of the woman I came here for. Her black crochet braids bounce along her shoulders as she serves a customer. I don’t wait to be seated. There’s an empty corner booth on the other side of the floor. I go as far away from everyone else as I can get, and then I get comfy.
I watch as Nia turns and scans the diner. There’s a bell chime on the front door, so she knows a new customer has entered the building. I can’t imagine she was ever expecting it to be me.
It’s a good thing she’d already dropped off her plate of food on her customer’s table, because otherwise, she might have dropped it to the floor. Her eyes go as wide as twin moons when she spots me. Her limbs go as stiff as a statue.
I put my good arm up on top of the red-couch cushion of my booth and smile.
She doesn’t smile back. Instead, she makes a beeline for the kitchen. I watch the familiar door flap back and forth as she disappears behind it. Flames skip up from the kitchen window. I try to spot her. No luck yet. All I can make out is a chubby dark-skinned cook with short, platinum blonde hair. I grab a menu.
The food doesn’t look half bad here. Sure, my seat is a little dusty, and there’s a stain or two on the chipped table, but there’s also stomach-rumbling smell wafting in the air. This is the kind of place I’d have eaten at when I first starting working for the Baron family. Cheap, but tasty.
I look back towards the kitchen and catch Nia’s gaze poking through the pass-through. When she sees me looking, she immediately jumps back out of sight. It’s almost cute. I can’t help but let an amused little chuckle escape my lips. If I hadn’t felt some semblance of a connection between us last night, I might be worried she was calling the cops right now, but I know she isn’t. I don’t know for sure how I know she isn’t, but the feeling is confident and reassuring. She wants me around just as much as I want to be around her. I swear, I can see it in her eyes.
It doesn’t take long for the kitchen door to squeak back open. Nia steps out like an angel in a dirty apron. She pats herself down and looks every which way but mine. No one else is looking for her services right now, though. I raise my hand and gesture for some attention. Her eyes roll so mightily I worry the whole world might tip over. My heart skips a beat when she finally starts walking towards my table.
“What are you doing here!?” she whispers at me, her voice filled with venom. Her jittery eyes dart back and forth between me and the floor. She takes out her notepad and pretends like she’s about to ask my order. I can smell her cocoa butter scent even through the overbearing odor of the diner food, and it threatens to lift me off of my seat.
I pat on my belly and give her my best attempt at a warm grin. I worry that my smile might still come across as a tad too shady, though, because she flinches at my attempt to ease her.
“I’m here for lunch,” I tell her, dropping my relaxed facade. I put my elbows on the table and lean into them without letting my gaze wander from hers.
“We don’t serve lunch here,” she spits.
I can’t help but let out a hardy laugh. I peer behind her and grin. There are about four other customers in the diner. They’re all eating what looks like lunch to me.
“Maybe just an early dinner, then,” I smile, looking back into Nia’s rousing brown eyes. My chest thumps, but I try to play it cool.
“Don’t serve dinner either,” she says, but her voice is filled with less venom now than it was just before.
“How about a late breakfast, then?”
“You should leave.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“I’ll call the cops.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out her phone, placing in on the table, just out of her reach. “With what?” I tease.
“We have a landline here, you know” she bluffs.
“Why didn’t you use it last night?” I call her on it.
She doesn’t respond. The air swirls and swells between us until she finally breaks the silence. “What do you want?” she asks.
I look down at my menu. “How’s the steak sandwich?”
She rolls her eyes again and my heart does a backflip. Fuck me, she’s perfect.
“With me,” she enunciates.
I bite the inside of my lip. A glint of recognition flashes in her beautiful eyes. I can see her fighting an internal war. I don’t wait for the dust to settle before I reach across the table with an open hand. “I’m Ronan, by the way.”
She leaves me hanging. “You don’t look Japanese,” she answers, her venom slowly turning into a more playful sass.
I’m not thrown by the unexpected response. I chuckle, keeping my hand extended. I’ve had to deal with this kind of misunderstanding before, especially ever since that movie came out. I know exactly what she’s getting at. “You’re thinking of ‘Ronin’—like from that Keanu Reeves movie, ‘47 Ronin’, right? Ronan is Irish.”
“... You’re Irish?” she asks, with a hint of innocent curiosity in her voice.
I nod, pointing to my dark auburn locks and hoping that the news of my ancestry might ease her concerns about me a little. Even the most ignorant civilians around here know that the Irish mafia has been extinct in this town for decades now, long run out of town by the Italians, the Russians and the Chinese.
“What are you?” I ask.
“American,” she answers, flat-toned.
I can’t help but smile. “And your ancestors?”
Nia looks down
to the floor and shrugs.
I sigh and sit back in my booth, giving up on the attempted introduction. When our gazes meet again, though, it’s Nia who reaches her hand out to me.
“I’m Nia,” she offers.
I take her hand and shake it as gently as I can manage, a far cry from the force I’d used against her last night. Her long elegant fingers are soft and creamy, her palm is as warm as a summer sun. I don’t let her go so quickly, but when the time comes, I let my fingers brush down hers just so that I can experience her touch for a few more moments.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I say, after our little handshake. My heart is nearly beating out of my chest. I try my hardest not to show that I feel almost out of breath. “... and about the night before that, too.”
A soft smile comes over Nia’s beautifully full lips. “... Hey, at least it was kind of exciting,” she shrugs.
“Well, if there’s one thing I can offer you,” I smile back. “It’s excitement.”
10
Nia
He slides my phone across the table towards me.
I hesitate in taking it. Despite the deep connection I just felt spark between us, I’ve been burned so many times before that a part of me thinks that Ronan might just be fucking with me.
Slowly, though, I reach out and take my phone; it’s in no worse shape than it was when I parted ways with it.
“Thanks,” I whisper, shoving the phone into my apron. “Are you actually hungry?”
“Am I ever,” Ronan smiles, without taking his eyes off of me. His full lips stretch across his handsome face and I swear I can see some dimples under his scruff. My heart kicks inside my chest; there’s a cocoon in my belly getting ready to sprout wings.
“What’ll it be, then?” I ask, getting ready to scribble down his order on my notepad. The world feels strange, like I’m half in a dream. Out in the daylight, Ronan doesn’t seem like the same menace who’s shattered the glass walls of my life for the past two nights. In the dark, he looked almost like a nightmare, but now, in the sunlight, I’d be damned if he doesn’t smile like an angel.
Still, there’s a splash of darkness and danger to him that not even his dimples can hide.
Maybe he’s more like a fallen angel...
“What’s good here?” he asks, throwing his menu down on the table.
Me, I think with naughty intentions, before thinking better of it. “The steak and eggs are pretty good...” I shrug. “But if you want to make me happy, then get something like the breakfast platter and make sure there are plenty of leftovers.”
Ronan’s eyes draw in concern. He seems to immediately understand. “You eat your customers scraps?”
I hate feeling like I’m being judged, but that’s exactly how I feel at his comment, whether he means it or not. If this guy actually likes me, he’s not doing a great job of being consistent about it. A little wave of shame washes over me as I react to his reaction and remember his little ‘waitress’ comment from last night. “A girl’s got to eat,” I tell him.
He considers my answer thoughtfully, before offering a response of his own. “What time do you get off work tonight?”
“After your bedtime,” I immediately snap.
Ronan smiles—my heart struggles against my brain.
“I don’t have a bedtime,” he says.
My toes curl in my shoes. “Good for you.”
“Let me take you out.”
I don’t know if I was fully expecting him to say that. Sure, we’d been playing figurative footsie just now, but this dude has been a menace to me for the past two nights, two of the most harrowing nights in my life, and now he’s asking me out on a date? He must be crazy. Still...
My skin tingles with excitement at the thought of all the fun I could have with him. A hunky Irish bad boy with a dark side? If I was smart, I’d run in the opposite direction right now, but I’m not feeling smart, I’m feeling hot and heavy. There’s a connection between us that I can’t deny, and it’s pulling on me like a bungee cord. I imagine he’s feeling the same way, why else would he risk coming back here so soon after he’d been involved in two crimes at this very spot?
Maybe he is crazy...
... But maybe I’m crazy, too.
Maybe we’re just going crazy for each other.
“No,” my brain blurts out, before my heart can have a say in the matter. I’m flustered beyond recognition, but I immediately regret my rejection. I do want more excitement in my life. I need more excitement. I need him. I mentally cross my fingers and hope that Ronan’s not the type of guy who takes no for an answer.
The hunky Irishman eyes me with curiosity. He doesn’t seem disheartened by the rejection, more intrigued. “How about I just walk you home tonight, then. There’s a lot of bad guys out there, you know.”
I try to stifle my smile. “There’s a bad guy in here.”
Ronan doesn’t hold back his own smile. “But this bad guy’s on your side.”
I can’t argue with him there, or, rather, I could, but I don’t want to. Besides, he has a point. Carlos has already told me he’s taking the Blue Line home again tonight, so I’d be on my own again. There’s no way I’m staying at Chelly’s for another terrifying night. I’ve already had two close calls here in a row, and I’m not trying to find out what a third one might have in store for me.
“... Fine,” I surrender to him. “But I’m getting you the steak and eggs and the breakfast platter right now. So, I hope you can afford it. Don’t matter that it’s after noon. I want my scraps.”
“You’re the boss,” Ronan replies, sinking into the cushions of his booth’s couch.
“Who was that,” Carlos asks, the next time I’m in the kitchen.
The nosy minx.
“Nobody,” I lie.
Ronan has already eaten his food and left his scraps, as well as two crisp hundred-dollar bills, and gone back out into the world. I told him to meet me back here at 11pm and he agreed. I didn’t tell him that it meant I’d be closing Chelly’s earlier than usual, and that I’d be giving up a few hours of overtime pay. He doesn’t need to know that I’m already willing to do that for him—plus, the little tip he left already more than makes up for the hours I’ll lose.
... He was unexpectedly sweet for such a big brute. And, as Carlos clearly noticed, he’s also fine as hell.
“Didn’t look like nobody to me,” Carlos teases. “Even from behind my flames, I saw sparks between the two of you.”
“Jealous much?” I tease back.
“Yes!” he laughs.
“I thought you were seeing someone?”
Carlos bites his lip. “Yeah. I’m doing alright, I guess... What’s his name?” he asks, nodding towards the now empty booth where Ronan had been sitting.
“Ronan,” I whisper.
“Oh, what? Is he, like half-Japanese or something?”
I snort with laughter. “Ronan,” I enunciate. “Not Ronin. You’re thinking of that Keanu Reeves movie, silly.”
“Damn, girl. I don’t care what he is, as long as he’s looking like that.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. I don’t need Carlos’s reassurance to know that Ronan’s hot, I can see it clear as day myself, but it’s also nice to know that I’m not entirely crazy. Ronan is absurdly handsome—I’m not just being some hurricane-chaser, falling head over heels for the biggest, most dangerous threat I can find.
“We’re closing up early tonight,” I mention, as I pick at some home fries from our big plate of leftovers.
“You won’t hear me complaining.”
“You don’t need the money?” I ask, confused. Carlos might not have as much debt as I do, but I know full well he’s got bills to pay. I thought he might at least put up a small fight.
“Of course I need the money,” he says. “But I also need a break. Everyone does once in a while. You go have some fun with that divine beast tonight, you hear? That’s an order!”
I hug Carlos from behind and
rub my face into his sweaty shoulder blade. We’re nearly the same height, so I have to bend down to get there, but it’s worth it. It’s so nice to have such a good and wise friend. “Yes, sir,” I accept, slipping his share of Ronan’s tip into his apron.
My eyes dart back and forth between the analogue clock over the kitchen-window and the last two customers at Chelly’s. It’s almost 11pm now and I want to get the hell out of here. I haven’t been outside since my break a few hours ago, but if the quiet saran-wrap window is any indication to go by, it might actually be a decent night out there. No harsh winds make for a better walk home than anyone in this city has had the right to ask for over the past few months—it won’t hurt that I’ll have a handsome hunk walking beside me for cover.
I try to telepathically will the remaining customers from their tables. It’s a practice I’m all too accustomed to, but I’d be a liar if I told you I was any good at it. In fact, it seems like my quiet ribbing has only made these two want to settle in more.
I do have enough experience as a waitress, though, to anticipate what might come next. A coffee order. I try to nip that in the bud as quickly as possible. I slyly tamper with the machine until I’m sure an untrained eye would think it just as un-operational as I want it to be. Then, I impatiently wait for something to happen.
This is the height of excitement in my professional life and as I realize just how antsy I’m getting for someone to order coffee already, I thank the heavens that I was stupid enough earlier to agree to let Ronan walk me home.
He’s actually interesting, and even if we don’t get into any more trouble together, I’m at least dying to find out more about him—like, what does he do for a living? And why did it lead him to a shootout on my front steps?
Finally, I see a hand rise up from one of the occupied tables. “Coffee,” asks the predictable fool.
“Sorry, the machine’s currently broken,” I say as sweet as sugar, cackling inside and praising my own diabolical plan. I might as well be an evil mastermind. Will Ronan even be able to keep up?
