“The Greasy Spoon.”
I smile. “I’m guessing they don’t serve organic free range eggs on avocado toast?”
“Not quite.”
As we walk to the car I slide my phone from my pocket and quickly type in the location, dropping a beacon here and then there. Call me paranoid, but I’m once bitten twice shy and just getting in the car with a man right now is a little unsettling.
I hate to feel like one of those girls who runs around saying “any man can be a rapist” or something of that nature, but unfortunately there is a bit of truth to it. I wouldn’t use a blanket term like all, but l would say you never know and some people can really surprise you.
Deep down I’m proud of myself for still being precautious, but the emotion that’s really inside me right now is one of cautious optimism.
Jonah seems amazing, and I think my calendar idea can really help…not that I have any intention of anything more happening between us. No, definitely not that. If I keep saying it, keep trying to talk myself out of it, maybe I’ll start to believe it.
We walk to the lot and again Jonah gets the door for me, but this time to his Jeep. It fits him perfectly. Fireman. Jeep. He’s a no-nonsense kind of guy who sees the utility in things. At least that’s what I’d guess.
“Feel like getting some air?”
“Sure.”
We drive not more than a few miles with the top down and the radio on. There’s no real need to talk, which is actually good. I’m a bit shy and introverted by nature, and I’m beyond nervous, so this gives me a few minutes to regroup after the intense meeting in the station. At least our first official meeting.
We arrive at The Greasy Spoon and Jonah holds the door open for me. It feels natural, too good, and a relationship I could easily slide right into.
Not that I know a single thing about relationships.
“Hey, Jonah,” the waiter says. Jonah introduces us, but the waiter simply says a quick hello and then goes back to making eye contact with Jonah. It’s not the waiter’s quick hello to me, but more the way he said it and what he didn’t say.
There was a slight pulling back to his body, almost as if he didn’t want to get caught looking at “Jonah’s woman,” as ridiculous as that sounds. He sure did seem surprised to see him with a woman, like it’s not a usual occurrence.
And when Jonah introduced me he didn’t do so as someone from work, or someone I’m working on a project with, or so-and-so’s sister. It was simply as Daphne. I like that, and privacy is at the top of my priority list these days.
The smell of eggs frying, tomatoes being cooked, and even pancakes and waffles has me realizing just how hungry I am. It sure doesn’t hurt that there’s a big hunk of meat across from me, although Jonah is clearly no meathead.
Jonah orders for both of us, after asking me first, and then his eyes lock on mine.
I feel shy again as he says nothing, just looking at me like I’m some great treasure he found at the bottom of the sea after looking his whole life. It’s a feeling I’ve never felt before, yet oddly one I can put my finger on despite my lack of experience. Maybe it’s all the romance novellas I’ve read over the years. And maybe, just maybe, I’m finally going to get my happy ending.
Don’t hold your breath, Daphne.
“What did you have in mind with this calendar idea?”
I appreciate that he’s keeping to the topic at hand and not getting personal, although it seems like he almost forced himself into this line of conversation.
I explain my idea, but our food comes quickly and I find that Jonah doesn’t chew with his mouth open. Another huge plus compared to the guys who were assigned to my study groups back in college.
He’s older. He’s more mature, by a mile. And the best thing? He listens. Oh my god, I didn’t think guys who listened still existed.
Before our food arrived I spent the entire time talking. He listened intently, nodding his head when appropriate, and now I’m the one watching him devour more food than I thought humanly possible.
“Haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Sorry if I’m scaring you.”
“Not at all.”
Add observant to his list of qualities.
Now I want to know more, but I’m not about to pivot the conversation into a personal direction. Now I’m the one who’s forcing myself into a conversation that I wish would take a different turn.
We finish quickly and Jonah asks if I have to be somewhere.
“I actually left my car at the bar last night,” I let slip. I’m trying my best to remain discreet, and untracked, with my movements. I figured if anyone had eyes on my car, either at the bar or waiting for it back at the Airbnb, then I’d be able to slide out of the bar, or into my Airbnb, without tripping a visual alarm in the form of them spotting my vehicle. But then again telling him I left my car at the bar sounds responsible in one way, but gives off a potentially irresponsible impression of me in another. The perception that I might be a lush is one that I’m not after and certainly don’t want to propagate. I don’t want him to think I’m a drunk, because I’m anything but, and I also don’t want to lead on that I know it was him who called out to me last night.
“You don’t strike me as much of a drinker?”
“I’m not I just...wasn’t thinking. I was a bit distracted last night and took an Uber out of habit.” I conveniently leave out the part where I admit that my spacing out was because of him.
“I can take you there.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
We stand up to leave and I dig for some money but he insists otherwise. He doesn’t pay either, which is kind of strange. Our waiter waves as we leave so it’s pretty clear we’re not dining and dashing.
Does he keep a tab at a breakfast spot?
“They know the entire crew down at the station. We pay in advance each month and then settle up at the end.”
“You reading my mind?”
“I’m just guessing you never walked out of a restaurant with a guy who didn’t pay before.”
“Actually I never went…yeah, you’re right.”
He gets both doors again and we drive to The Ladder where he reunites me with my old clunker.
“So, we’ll need to stay in touch about the calendar.”
“Right.”
“Here,” he says, handing me his phone with a slight bit of nervousness to him. I like that he’s not experienced with this. It makes me feel more special and not like just another woman whose number he’s getting.
I type it in and then decide to go for it a bit. “You’re not gonna call me demanding to be Mr. July…are you?”
“How’d you know?”
I laugh, bringing my hand to my face to cover it.
“No, really. How’d you know my birth month?”
“You were born in July?”
His head turns and he squints with his eye closest to me. “You had a one in twelve chance and you guessed it right on the first try. Then again you didn’t even guess, it was more like you told me. Are you stalking me?”
I want to laugh, but that word triggers me and I freeze for a second before shaking my head.
“My turn now. Let me guess when you were born?”
I hand the phone back and start to panic. Don’t give out personal information, Daphne. Don’t. You promised yourself.
“Why not…I’ll go with July too.”
“I’m a summer kid. You got it.”
“So July? No way.”
“Summer. We’re both born in the summer,” I fumble. “Hey, sorry, but I have to run.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for having breakfast with me.”
“Thank you. And we’ll be in touch about the calendar.” It’s an odd thing for me to say considering he’s the one with my number and not the other way around. I didn’t give him my cell number either. I gave him my Google Voice number which rings to my cell, so technically he doesn’t have my actual number. I’m getting
better at this whole personal security thing.
I slide inside my car and he gets back into his Jeep, but he idles, apparently waiting for me to pull away safely.
Rats. I go ahead and pull forward, but go straight as he gets on the freeway ahead of me.
My stress level drops and I circle back around and do what I really need to accomplish right now.
Get a job. Get some money. Get outta here.
CHAPTER 7
Daphne
I’m lucky that the back door to the bar is open and someone is bringing in crates of beer bottles.
“Can I help you?” he asks, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. This guy looks like he just stepped out of a movie featuring World War II heroes.
“I saw the help wanted sign and wanted to apply.”
He sets the crate down, straightens his back and looks me up and down.
“I’m looking for a man to do the job.”
“Isn’t that a bit sexist?”
“It’s realistic, unless you want to pick up this crate and then the twenty-five more that are in the back of that van and carry them inside…in under five minutes.”
“If I do it I’ve got the job?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “What is this some kind of setup?”
“Nope. I just need money and I’m ready and willing to work.” My fingers form fists and I’m not sure if it’s that hearty breakfast, who I ate it with, or the dire straits of my financial situation but I’m feeling a real burst of confidence right about now. Fear truly is the greatest motivator and money is one of the biggest concerns, if not the biggest, for a lot of people. Right now that includes me.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Let’s see it,” he says, looking toward my waist. Is he talking about my…? What a disgusting— “Your driver’s license. Come on. I don’t have all day.”
I pull it out of my pocket, reminding myself I really have to start using my purse and ditch some of my tomboy habits.
I hand it over and he looks at it quickly. “Well, it’s not a fake. I’ve seen plenty of those over the years. But it says…today’s your birthday?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s your twenty-first birthday and you’re applying to become a bartender?”
“Bartender, waitress…whatever you’re looking to fill.”
“I don’t like the smell of this.”
“Five minutes to load those twenty-five crates and you’ll give me a shot?”
He looks at his watch. “One, two, three…”
I move to the van, grab the first crate and quickly move it the few steps inside to the back room, stacking it on top of the last one he just set inside.
I move quickly, realizing that I’m going to slide the last twelve or so out, which is going to require me to step one foot in the back of the van a little bit.
Good lord the guy has a rape van, I’m trying to lay low, thinking a bar isn’t going to ask for a ton of ID to work here, and now I’m slightly putting myself inside a van.
All against the countdown of a clock.
But my town is small and jobs aren’t always the easiest to come by. Plus the guy may be strong, but he is a bit older. I’m not fooling myself, but if he tried something I think I could hold my own.
My time with Jonah and the confidence he gave me by validating my idea has either made me foolish or brought out some intestinal fortitude I didn’t even know I had.
The man stands back, his arms crossed, as he watches me…while I keep an eye on him.
Not long after I slide out the last crate and stack it. He just looks at me and then at his watch.
“You got a boyfriend?”
“Why does that matter?” I say, struggling to catch my breath.
“I don’t want some jealous guy in here stalking you while you work. I’ve seen it before. Don’t need it again. Our bar is mostly fireman and police, but you know that because I saw you in here last night with your brother.”
“Who says he’s my brother?”
“You think I can own a bar all these years and not be able to understand the dynamics of human interaction in about one second flat?”
“Then how come you can’t tell if I have a boyfriend or not?”
“Well, you’re beautiful, but you don’t know it. More importantly you don’t show it. That’s good for me because you’ll be low maintenance and sell a load of drinks in the process. I also know boys your age go mostly for those girls who’ve got their asses hanging out of their shorts on the Internet.”
Yeah, this guy definitely is a throwback. Although he obviously didn’t fight in World War II, he is getting up there, but apparently he’s still up to date on what’s going on.
“I don’t think it matters whether I have a boyfriend or not, but I promise you nobody will be in here bothering you or your customers.”
“You, or any of your friends, come in here causing trouble, or anybody you know think they own the place because you’re working, well…that’s the end of your employment here. Got it.”
“Got it.”
“You ever serve drinks before?”
“I worked as a hostess.”
“This ain’t the Olive Garden. Be back at seven and I’ll show you what to do and where everything is at. You’ll be on the floor. No way I’m putting you behind the bar with no experience. Just take the orders, give them to the boys, and that will be that. They tip good, but you’ve gotta split half of everything with the bartender, who also splits half of what he gets with you.”
“Sounds fair to me.”
“Seven o’clock.”
He turns and walks around toward the front of the building. As I pull away I see him opening the glass case and removing the Help Wanted sign.
I feel ten pounds lighter, although I still haven’t made a dime yet.
But that’s all about to change, although one thing remains the same.
I can’t stop thinking about Jonah.
CHAPTER 8
Daphne
The next morning
I wake up to the sound of my phone vibrating and look at the number. It’s local, yet unknown. It can only be him.
I quickly clear my throat and fluff my hair, which is ridiculous considering I’m primping for a phone call.
“Hello.”
“Morning sunshine.” I could wake up happy every day the rest of my life hearing that smoky, deep timbre that sounds like the crackling of a fireplace in winter. It sends chills up my spine and I’m quick to sit straight up in bed.
I managed to sleep a good part of yesterday before my first shift. I hadn’t slept well my first night in the Airbnb…partially because of Geoff and partly because of Jonah. Two completely different reasons.
I conked out all afternoon and then rolled into my shift, which went smooth as silk. I pocketed nearly two hundred dollars in tips and not one person was rude or tried anything uncalled for.
I’m almost upset about that. I don’t want to get comfortable here. I need to leave and now with a job that pays well, although may not exactly lead anywhere long term, and a man I’m falling for super fast, I’m apt to get complacent and fall into a fairytale ending…or as close as I’ll ever get, not that Jonah would ever be considered settling. The man is the first I’ve ever wanted so badly. The only thing that wouldn’t be perfect is the waitressing in a small town, but then again it’s a bar with all my brother’s friends and Jonah’s friends too. Do you really need a college degree, and all the debt that goes with it these days, when you can make a thousand dollars a week working five nights a week?
Tough question.
And as I get better and faster at work I might make more. Not to mention I was told on two occasions last night that they were slow.
But I’m not running slow this morning, despite the hour.
Jonah has me wide awake and wishing I wasn’t lying on this saggy mattress alone.
“It is a good morning.”
>
“Even better now.”
What was that supposed to mean? Does it mean what I think it means?
“I wanted to call and check in about the calendar.”
“Yeah. Did you have time to run it by any of the guys?”
Brother's Fireman Friend (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 106) Page 4
