by Tia Lewis
I snuck a glance at Grayson, who seemed to be doing the same thing. We both quickly averted our eyes. Oh well, I thought. It didn’t matter if he wanted to pretend like we were something else. He had his reasons.
The street was busier than it had been the night before, so I didn’t try to step closer to him, even if my body trembled a little with the effort. I just wanted to feel the heat radiating off of his side, hear his breath. I only had six days left with him. I wanted each one to count.
My mind recoiled from the thought, glancing up at him. He turned at my scrutiny, offering me a half smile as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. His head was ducked low, avoiding contact with the people who passed him on the streets, as if each day he was closer to the deadline he was more likely to get recognized and ruin the little bubble that we lived in. I wasn’t sure if that was true, but I worried nevertheless. I knew that his worry was born of something genuine, even if I wasn’t sure where it came from.
I wondered if it had happened before. If he had gone somewhere and gotten close to someone else before the paparazzi ruined it. I wondered if it was his childhood or just his adult life as a movie star that had him worried so fiercely about his privacy. I guessed I could understand. I was only a diner owner, but I could barely talk to anymore without tripping over my feet. I couldn’t imagine what I would do if I knew that everyone was watching me while I tripped, hoping to catch me doing so.
We turned the corner, nearing the diner. I hoped it wasn’t too busy today. Grayson sometimes stayed if things were a little slow.
“What’s the meeting with Chris about?” I asked, pulling the keys out of my pocket.
He lifted a shoulder, shrugging. “It’s Chris. It could be anything from my mom sending an email, to the whole world knowing about you, to me being out of Hollywood so long my career is over.”
I froze, stuttering to a stop so suddenly that Grayson kept walking a good few feet before he noticed and turned around frowning. “Is that true?” I demanded. “Are you really at risk of losing your career?”
His shoulders straightened, his body stiffening. His face pinched for a moment before relaxing, a smile tugging at his lips as he schooled his expression to something placating. “Of course not,” he said. “It’s fine.”
My limbs felt heavy, but I forced myself to walk anyway. The cold air felt good on my suddenly burning face. “Are you sure?”
He nodded, starting to move again when I caught up with him. We were only a block away from the diner now.
“Positive,” he said, nudging me a bit with his shoulder. “I’ll worry about my manager, you worry about feeding me. I’m thinking scrambled eggs and those pancakes today.”
I couldn’t help myself, I smiled. “Okay.”
“With chocolate chips! And blueberries, I think.” He looked away, his expression dreamy as he considered his breakfast choices. “I love breakfast.”
I laughed, watching him lean against the door frame of Kyle’s, face still light. I unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for him to enter before me. “Help me get the chairs down, and I’ll get your breakfast to you even faster, Your Majesty.”
“Anything for you, diner girl.”
We worked in tandem, silently prepping the diner to open. I slipped in the back when the front was presentable, starting to mix the pancake batter. He fumbled with the old radio above the desk, bopping he’d head along to the tune he’d chosen. I smiled up at him, whipping the batter. I turned the grills on to heat, and he turned on all the lights, flipping the sign to open. I was pulling my first tray of bacon out of the oven when the bell rang, signaling the arrival of customers.
“I’m going to go steal my booth,” he said, snagging a piece of bacon from the tray, laughing when I swatted at him. “Can you make my food when Chris gets here? He’ll just have the same.”
I nodded absently, wrapping the batter up and putting it in the fridge. He placed a quick kiss on my cheek and bounded out of the back room, greeting the people who had seated themselves. I knew he was going to stake his claim on the corner booth with the messed up top. I considered telling him about my own feeling toward the booth, explaining the significance of both it and him being drawn to it. But instead, I shook the thought away and grabbed my order pad. I wasn’t going to bother him with stories about me from before. Besides, I kind of liked seeing him be drawn to the same things I was. It made this whole thing seem less impossible.
The diner was packed, and by the time Alana came in, I was nearly sweating from exertion. I’d made more food than I thought I ever had while by myself, and it didn’t help to see him staring at me from the corner, stretched back with his arms crossed and his legs kicked up on the seat opposite of him. I could feel his eyes trail me every step I took. Any look I tried to shoot him was met with an answering smirk that made me stumble. After spilling three cups of coffee, I tried very hard not to notice him anymore.
The bell rang, and both Alana and I tensed. We were nearly at capacity. I fantasized briefly about shutting the whole place down.
The man who entered was short and had a piercing stare, his gaze sweeping across the room in an accusatory fashion. I bristled from the sneer he wore. His eyes landed, his face softening a bit, and I followed his gaze to see Grayson grinning, waving at the man.
Oh. I nearly rolled her eyes at myself. Of course, this was Chris. I had already met the man, kind of. I decided if I was less busy today I would have recognized him instantly. I delivered the plates I had in my hands, refilling a few drinks before darting into the back to start Grayson’s order. I hoped that Chris actually didn’t mind having what Grayson was having; blueberry chocolate pancakes were a bit much, even if Grayson’s lips tasted extra nice afterward. But Grayson had said to do this, and I wasn’t about to interrupt a meeting with a guy who didn’t even want me to exist to confirm his breakfast order.
I added the chips and the berries, making four large circles on the griddle. I decided to add some sausage to the order, even though Grayson hadn’t asked for it. My sausage turned out really good today and would pair nicely with the eggs I was scrambling, in case Chris didn’t like the pancakes.
As I waited for them to brown and started on another order that Alana handed me, I couldn’t help but think back to all those weeks ago, when I stood nearly exactly here doing nearly the exact same thing.
I wouldn’t have believed that so much could change so quickly if it hadn’t happened to me.
I flipped the pancakes expertly and poured the eggs, adding salt and pepper before a dash of paprika, I slide them alongside the sausage before adding the pancakes.
It looked great. I was a little proud of herself.
“Want me to take those?” Alana asked distractedly, darting toward the sink to drop dishes off.
I waved her off. “They’re for Grayson.”
Alana rolled her eyes, letting out a short laugh, but she smiled as she plated the other order that was finished and took that out instead.
I took a deep breath. Chris hadn’t liked me, but I was determined to change his mind. We only had a few days left and whatever happened, happened. But I wasn’t going to let it be because some manager didn’t like me.
Besides, I thought, heading toward the table, no one can resist my breakfast food.
The two men had their heads ducked, whispering furiously. Grayson’s jaw was tightened, the muscles flexing, and I faltered when I reached their table, afraid to interrupt.
Grayson, though, sensed me coming and his head shot up, his face relaxing as he smiled softly.
“Thank God,” he teased. “I’m starving.”
Chris sat back, crossing his arms. I swallowed hard, bracing myself. Grayson sighed, and I thought I saw him kick Chris under the table.
“Jade,” Chris said through clenched teeth. He rolled his eyes. “I’m Chris. Grayson’s best friend and manager.”
He looked up at me. I quickly set the plates on the table in front of them, wiping my h
ands on the apron tied around my waist before offering it to Chris.
I cleared my throat. “It’s nice to formally meet you.”
Chris tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at me. I locked the muscles of my body, refusing to fidget as Chris appraised me.
I didn’t blame the manager, not really. He seemed to want what was best for Grayson. We just disagreed on what that was.
After a tense moment, Chris took my hand and shook it. I thought I heard Grayson sigh in relief.
“Well,” I said after dropping Chris’s hand. “Enjoy your food.”
“Can’t you stay?” Grayson asked, hand shooting out to wrap around my wrist. Both Chris and I tracked the movement. My skin burned from the touch, my heart fluttering.
“Sorry,” I murmured. “It’s busy right now.”
Grayson frowned but then seemed to perk up, shrugging. He dropped my hand and picked up his fork. “Later then.”
The breakfast rush eventually died down about an hour later, and Alana left to run errands before she was needed back. I fixed myself a quick coffee and grabbed a muffin, hesitating on my way to sit at an abandoned table near the window. Grayson and Chris were still in the corner booth.
Grayson seemed to sense my hesitation, and his head popped up, hand raising to wave me over. I grinned and went over.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Mind if I join you for a minute?”
Grayson shook his head quickly. “Please do.”
I sat, offering a quick smile to Chris. He returned it tightly. Great.
I took a sip of coffee, wincing a bit at how hot it was. “So,” I said, clearing my throat delicately and looking between them. “Did you figure out what you needed to?”
Grayson nodded. Chris raised an eyebrow. “Not quite,” he said dryly.
Grayson shot him a look and reached over, pinching a clump of sugar from the muffin and tasting it. “This is really good.”
“Alana,” I explained, taking a bite of the muffin. It was good.
Grayson laughed. “Of course.” He nudged me, silently asking me to get out of the booth. “I’ll be back in a minute. Play nice.”
Chris saluted. I laughed lightly, a little unsure. “Will do.”
I sat back down after Grayson headed off toward the bathroom, lifting my coffee mug to take a sip. Chris watched me with piercing eyes as he swallowed. I blinked, clearing my throat delicately, and starting to feel a bit uneasy from the attention.
Chris propped his chin on his hands, elbows on the table as he narrowed his gaze on me. I sighed and set the mug down.
“What?” And, okay, that wasn’t the politest thing I could say to his—whatever’s best friend. But Chris was just shy of shooting murderous glares at me, and it was my own booth in my diner. The guy could at least pretend when he was around.
Chris smirked. “Ooh, kitten’s got claws.”
I bristled. “I just don’t get what your problem is.”
“Easy,” he replied, sitting up. He put his arms on the back of the booth, stretching. “You are.”
“Me?” Well, I knew that. I didn’t have to sound so surprised. “What did I do?”
He glanced toward the bathrooms, where Grayson had gone to. He turned back to me, shaking his head dismissively. “It’s not about you. You’re just the problem.”
“Oh, so glad you cleared that up.” The sarcasm was a bit much but so was this guy. I could feel my old feisty self surfacing. I was trying, really trying, and I didn’t need some asshole talking riddles.
Chris’s smirk widened. “I like you.”
“Not what I hear.”
Chris tilted his head. “And what is it that you hear?”
He looked interested, genuinely, and I relaxed a bit in my seat, letting my fingers curl around the mug again. “That you wanted Grayson to break up with me.”
“Grayson,” he muttered under his breath. “Christ. Okay. Well, that’s true.”
My eyebrows shot up, jaw falling open a bit. “Oh. Well, yeah.” I hadn’t expected the guy to just come out and admit it.
“But it’s not about you. It’s about Grayson when you’re concerned.” Chris leaned forward, putting his arms on the table, folding his hands together as he spoke, quickly and quietly. “Grayson’s throwing a lot away to be here, you know.”
I frowned. “He has three months off.”
“Had.” Chris corrected.
My stomach flipped unhappily. “What do you mean?”
Chris didn’t reply. His eyes narrowed again, but this time the look was less aggressive and more contemplative. He was measuring me up, and I didn’t have to struggle to sit still. I didn’t know what was going on, not really, but I knew I deserved to know. Chris would see that, too.
And he did, after a moment. Chris nodded sharply, seeming to be satisfied with his evaluation. “Well, diner girl. I’m not supposed to say anything. Grayson,” he said looking at the ceiling briefly before catching my eyes again, “would be furious. But he won’t listen to me. Maybe you will.”
My mouth dried and I struggled to unclench the coffee mug in my hands. My fingers ached a little when I stretched them. I waited.
Chris didn’t need much prompting, it seemed after he made up his mind. “Grayson was supposed to come back a while ago when I first started calling. He had a press circuit that came out of left field for his newest flick, but he refused to come. So I came here to drag him back when the producers threatened to cut him from the sequel. He still didn’t come.”
“He lost a movie because of—” I cut myself off, unable to voice it. I gestured around helplessly.
Chris raised one eyebrow. “Not just that one.”
“What?”
“He’s been auditioning for this movie series for months. Like, literally months and he’d been drooling after the role way before that. It’s not his normal thing, you see,” the frustration in Chris’s voice was heavy and seemed to penetrate into me as well, “it would change everything. He wouldn’t just be some romantic love interest—he’d be the lead to a trilogy adaptation that could open a lot of doors for him.”
“That sounds incredible,” and it really did. I could see how excited Chris was by the premise and knew that Grayson would be, too. He was more than good enough to carry a series on his shoulders, more than ready for roles with bigger stories and better characters. This sounded like his shot at that.
“But he won’t take it,” Chris said bitterly, leaning back again, folding his arms across his chest. “He won’t leave.”
My stomach clenched, and I blinked at the sudden stinging in my eyes. “I—maybe I could talk to him.”
Chris brightened instantly. Apparently, the thought hadn’t occurred to him. His posture straightened and his face erupted in a smile so brilliant, he looked like the kid from Grayson’s stories, not the foe trying to separate us.
“You’ll talk to him?”
“Like hell, she will.”
Grayson stood at the end of the booth. He looked furious; his eyes narrowed on me as his mouth curled in a disgusted frown. “Like hell, you will.”
“Grayson,” My mouth was too dry to talk, my throat too thick to breathe. I stood up quickly, my knees slamming under the table as I scrambled to get out of the booth. I reached for Grayson’s hand, but he recoiled, pulling his arm away.
“Chris,” his voice was smooth, but the edges were sharpened with a greater anger than I had ever heard from him. “You’re going to want to leave now.”
Chris sighed, getting out of the booth slowly. He wasn’t quite amused, but he wasn’t anxious. “The girl has a right to know what you’re doing.”
“It’s my life,” he growled. “It’s my decision.”
“It’s your career,” Chris agreed. He grabbed his jacket and put it on, pulling out his wallet and depositing a few bills on the table. “But it’s her who will deal with your regret. And trust me, you will regret it.”
Gra
yson’s fists clenched at his sides. He took a step toward him, menacingly, but Chris merely side stepped him and headed toward the door. “I’ll call you later.”
He left, and the diner was quiet. I sank back into the booth, my hands trembling, feeling bewildered. I folded them on the table and stared at them, ignoring Grayson as he slid into the booth across from me, taking Chris’s discarded seat.
“I’m not sorry,” he said after a moment. I glanced up at him to see him watching me, too. His expression was tight.
“I’m not either.”
His lips quirked. “What would you have even been sorry about?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. That’s the point.”
He licked his lips, and I stared at my hands again. Eventually, he elaborated. “It was a good role. But I don’t want it.”
“Why not?”
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw ticking. “It’s—it’s a big commitment. Time wise. I don’t know that I want to go back there.”
“It’s your home,” I argued.
He shrugged it off. “Technically speaking.”
“It’s your job. You’ve worked your whole life for it.”
“And so I think I know better than you if it’s the right move for me.”
“You’re just scared.”
We both stopped short at my rebuttal. It was true, of course, for the both of us. I supposed that was why we clung so tightly to each other in the first place.
“Maybe.” He didn’t bother trying to convince me that he wasn’t. “But I still know that I don’t want to take that job.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“You’ll just—what? Stay here?” I shot back. “Live in a hotel and sneak around so we can hold hands in empty diners.”
“That’s not fair.” He placed his hand over my folded ones, his fingers squeezing tightly. “You know—there’s a reason. The paparazzi—”
“I know,” I relented. “It’s just. This isn’t a life for you. You don’t have a life here.”
He jutted his jaw out, eyes hardening. “I have you.”
