I’d be lying if I said that the idea of leaving Painted Rock, going to college, studying Psychology, and living a real life wasn’t attractive. But my life is so far away from that dream, it seems completely ridiculous to even think about it. Reality versus the dream—that seems to be the way to describe it. There’s only so far you can go down the road of the dream before you have to come to terms with the fact that it’s not something that’s likely to happen. So few people out there in the real world get to live their dream, let alone in Painted Rock, where dreams had become something that you can only have when you’re asleep.
I realize that my shift is just about to end and I need to start making tracks towards the studio to get ready for tonight. I find myself smiling as I think back to the conversation Jake and I had that morning. Despite the seriousness of our situation, tonight, we have decided to go on our first proper date.
“Aimee, I need to talk to you about something really important,” Jake said as he finished the first of what will be many cups of coffee.
“Okay, but make it quick—I need to leave in T minus 3 minutes,” I told him.
“3 minutes? Not 5 minutes but 3?” he asked, nonplussed.
“I know it’s hard for someone like you, who suffers from terminal lateness, to understand that some of us like to be at work on time. But that’s just how the cookie crumbles, my tardy friend,” I joked, nudging him gently as I walked past, pulling on my left shoe and looking around for the other. “So you now have—” I paused for dramatic effect as I looked at the alarm clock by the bed. “—2 minutes and counting. Tick-tock.”
“I am not terminally late,” Jake replied, sounding mildly offended. “Anyway.” He shook his head. “What I wanted to talk to you about,” he insisted, sounding like he was psyching himself up for something big.
“Go for it, Summers,” I said, lifting the cushions up from the sofa to try to find the missing shoe. “But if it’s so important, it might be better to wait until we’re both not about to be late for work?” I suggested.
“No Aimee, it really can’t wait,” he said solemnly.
The expression on his face made me feel more than a little nervous. “What is it, Jake?” I asked, convincing myself to keep calm.
“Aimee Winters—will you go out on a date with me?” Jake asked earnestly, holding my hand as if he was about to ask me a very different question.
“Aren’t we kind of past the whole ‘date’ thing?” I asked incredulously. Out of all the things I might have expected Jake to have said, that definitely wasn’t one of them.
“Past it?” Jake repeated, amusement dancing across his features. “We’ve been together for less than a month.”
“I know, I know,” I told him, resuming my search. If I didn’t get out of there soon, I was going to be late for my shift, so I wasn’t giving this conversation as much attention as I probably should have. “It’s just… we’ve known each other for such a long time. And, we’re not exactly in a normal relationship,” I said, lifting up the pillows from the bed and looking underneath as if my shoe was going to magically appear underneath it. “With the whole ticking clock thing,” I noted, more flippant than I should have been.
“Do we have to talk about this every day?” Jake asked, sitting down heavily on the bed, his eyes on me as I tore around the room. “Can’t we just have a day where we enjoy being together? A day that we’re not focusing on what’s going to happen at the end of the month? Don’t we deserve that?” he asked, raking his fingers through his hair.
I was on my knees, looking under the bed as Jake said the words and I stood up slowly, until we were facing each other. “You’re right,” I agreed, reaching out and caressing his cheek with my fingers. “I didn’t mean to be all grouchy. It’s just that a date seems like something that normal people do. People that don’t have the stuff to deal with like we do.” I shrugged, not knowing how else to put it into words. “Dinner and a movie at a time like this just seems a little...” I looked up to the ceiling, trying to think of the right adjective. “A little frivolous, I guess.” I kissed him quickly on the lips before I continued to search for my shoe.
“You’re right, normal people do go on dates,” Jake agreed, following me around the room as I scanned every possible surface for the missing pump. “Normal people do get to be a little ‘frivolous,’ if that’s what you want to call it. Well I don’t know about you, but I could use some normality, Aimee.” When I didn’t respond, he breathed out a sigh of frustration. “Could you just stand still for a minute so we can talk about this?” he asked.
“Jake, I’m going to be late for work and I can’t leave here wearing one shoe. So no, I can’t stand still,” I told him, cursing myself for not being more careful and the Angels for leaving me with only one goddam pair of pumps.
“Tell you what,” Jake replied, sounding unconcerned. “I’ll find your shoe for you if you agree to go out on a date with me tonight. Dinner and a movie—your standard dating fare. What do you say?” he asked, looking so hopeful it would have been impossible for me to say no.
“Alright, deal.” I laughed in spite of myself. “We get to be a normal couple for a night, doing things that normal couples do,” I agreed, smiling at how easy Jake makes it for me to feel like life can be good.
“Great,” he said, grabbing hold of my shoulders and pulling me close to him and kissing me hard on the lips. Automatically my hands reached up behind his head, knotting in his hair. His arms moved down to my waist and I lost myself in the kiss. I felt that familiar wetness start to bloom between my thighs and the ache of need developing in my abdomen. Suddenly, Jake pulled away and looked at me seriously, “Ground rules,” he said.
“Ground rules?” I repeated stupidly, my mind still on the kiss that had made my knees wobble. “We need ground rules for dinner and a movie?” I asked in disbelief.
“No mention of the words ‘Bleeding Angels,’ in that order or in any other,” Jake said, listing the rules off on his fingers as he went. “No talk of what happens at the end of the month.” He looked meaningfully at me. “No discussion over who pays the bill. I’m taking you out, I’m picking up the tab,” he said finally, smiling at me knowingly.
“Fine,” I agreed, laughing, “You’ve got a deal, Summers. Now will you help me find my other friggin’ shoe?” I asked, still casting around desperately for it.
“Sure,” he agreed, smiling ear to ear. “It’s in the refrigerator.”.
“My shoe… is in the refrigerator,” I repeated slowly, as if the speed at which I was saying the words was going to change the meaning. I give him a look before I opened the door of the miniature refrigerator and there, right next to the milk, was the missing black pump. I snatched it out of the cooler and put it on my foot hurriedly, as if afraid it was going to scamper away on its own if I didn’t put it on straight away. “You put my shoe in the refrigerator,” I raged accusatorially at Jake, who just stands there looking smug. “Who does that?” I asked, throwing my hands up.
“I needed to have a bargaining tool,” he admitted, shrugging.
“And you thought the refrigerator was an appropriate place to put my shoe?” I asked, huffily, snatching up my bag and cell as I started to head out the door.
“It’s not like there are a whole heap of hiding places here,” Jake pointed out.
“You’re impossible,” I said to him, but I was trying hard not to laugh at the situation. It was like a bad episode of I Love Lucy.
“I know, but you love me anyway,” he replied confidently. “Anyway, you better get going or you’ll be late for work,” he noted, managing to keep a straight face.
“If I weren’t in a rush, I would take my shoe off and throw it at you right now,” I informed him.
“Good thing for me you throw like a girl,” Jake pointed out, pulling on the overalls with the body shop logo sewn on. “I’ll pick you up at 7.”
“Pick me up?” I asked, halfway out the door. “You work downstairs,” I reminded hi
m. “And we’re living here… together.”
“Technicalities.” Jake shrugged. “See you at seven, Winters. Have a good day at work,” he said, kissing me quickly before bounding down the stairs, leaving me a little stunned.
Walking—or in this case jogging—to Sunny Side Up I smiled to myself as I thought about the date that Jake had managed to get me so excited about. Despite everything that was going on around us, he had this amazing ability to make things better. And someone that will hide your footwear in a refrigerator just to get to talk to you—that has to be love!
“What are you looking all pleased with yourself about?” Crystal asks, lowering her voice as if she were expecting me to confide some big bit of juicy gossip.
I come back from my daydreaming over the morning’s conversation with Jake. “Am I?” I ask, feeling myself blush. I’m not really used to talking to anyone about my relationship with Jake, or with anyone, for that matter. Suzie was the only friend I’d had that I felt a close enough bond with to be able to have the boy chat that seemed to be standard fare among all the other girls at school. Suzie. No, I tell myself, You can’t think about her now. Don’t let her ruin today for you. “It’s nothing,” I say, concentrating harder than necessary on putting the tips in three neat piles. “I’m just going on a date tonight,” I said, suddenly feeling silly.
“No shit,” Crystal replies, popping her gum and sounding more than a little surprised.
“No shit,” I confirm, wondering why her reaction has irked me.
It must be clear from my expression that she has irritated me. She bats her eyelashes in the same way she does with customers when she’s managed to get their order wrong, but doesn’t want it to affect the tip they’re going to give her.
“Well, that’s great, Aimee,” she says, her already-high voice getting even squeakier as she tries to show that she shares my excitement. “With Jake?” she asks, hesitatingly as if there were any other options.
“Yes, Crystal, with Jake,” I confirm, trying not to roll my eyes at her.
“What a catch that guy is,” she says dreamily, looking off into the distance, and I feel that sense of annoyance rising again.
“Yeah, he is great,” I agree, wondering if this is what jealousy must feel like.
“Not that you’re not, I mean,” Crystal blabbers. “A catch, I mean,” she clarifies. “Because you totally are. If I were a dude, I’d totally be into you,” she confirms, looking serious.
“Thanks, Crystal,” I tell her, unsure of how to respond. “That’s nice.”
“So, what are you gonna wear?” she asks, her eyes shining with excitement. Clothes is one topic that never fails to excite her.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I admit, realizing that I really should have. Not only because a girl is supposed to be concerned with what she wears on a date, but because my wardrobe had been severely culled care of my house burning down. Now that I think about it, I really don’t know what the hell I’m going to wear.
Crystal sees the obvious panic rising on my face. I’m not immune to the irony of the fact that with all the craziness going on in our lives, I’m worrying about clothes. But wasn’t that sort of the point? I reason with myself. This was supposed to be about us doing something outside of the madness that we deal with on a daily basis.
“Don’t worry,” she says, nudging me gently with her sharp elbow. “If there is anything that I’m good at, it’s makeovers. We’re probably the same size,” she says looking between us. “But you’re taller.” Now she’s talking to herself and not to me. “We’ll figure it out,” she declares, looking pleased. “I’ll come over with a few things and we’ll get you ready.”
I’m surprised at how nice Crystal is being to me—not that she’s ever been mean. But at the same time, it’s not like we’ve never known each other well enough to have sleepovers and do each other’s hair and make-up.
“That’s really sweet of you, Crys,” I say, genuinely touched. “But you really don’t have to; I’m sure I can figure something out,” I assure her, not really even managing to convince myself.
“Aimee, let the girl Cinderellafy you.” Big George’s voice comes from out of the kitchen, sounding like he’s bored of listening to our conversation. “If you try to do it yourself, the Lord only knows what poor Jake is going to be taking out tonight.” I’m sure that I hear him chuckling to himself.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Big G,” I mutter, just loudly enough for him to hear me.
“So...?” Crystal asks, looking at me expectantly.
I take a deep breath, knowing that the only other option I have is to head into the sparse shops in the town and spend pretty much everything I’ve managed to save on finding something that’s date-suitable. “That would be great; thanks Crystal,” I say, smiling.
“Yay!” she squeals loudly, attracting interested glances from the other customers. She jumps up and down like a little girl and, for what seems like the longest time, I feel excited. “So,” she says, calming herself down and getting down to business. “Where are you going?” she asks.
“Dinner and a movie,” I tell her confidently.
“Uh-huh. Where are you going for dinner?” she asks, squinting her eyes at me.
I squirm a little under her direct gaze and realize that I don’t know the answer. “Somewhere they serve food,” I reply, slowly, smiling apologetically at Crystal to show I’m aware that I’m letting her down.
Crystal sighs theatrically. “We’ll figure it out,” she tells me. “I’ll see you at your place in a little while.” Her expression is so serious, and I wonder what I’ve let myself in for. She grabs her tips and heads out the door faster than you can say ”my shift finishes before yours.”
“Don’t worry, Crys,” I say under my breath. “I’ll wait for Vanessa to show up.”
“Aimee—you still there?” George’s voice comes from the kitchen again
“Coming,” I sigh, wondering how, after less than a couple of weeks back at the diner, I’ve managed to get sucked back into covering for the other waitresses.
“Thought you were off now,” George says as I walk through the swing door to the kitchen.
“Me too,” I grumble good-naturedly. “What do you need?” I ask, looking around and expecting to see an order that needs to be delivered.
“Nothing, just to tell you that you might want to get on the graveyard shift tomorrow night,” he says shiftily. “You’ll need to swap with Vanessa,” he points out.
“And why would I want to do that?” I ask, curiously. “Because working until 3 in the morning is just the most fun you can have with your clothes on?” I joke, shaking my head at George’s suggestion. “I’m off tomorrow anyway. So you’ll just have to muddle through without missing me too much.” I grin cheekily.
“I would have asked you to pull a double tonight, but with your date and all...” George continues, as if I haven’t even spoken.
I lean against the stove so that George has to look at me. “And why would you ask me to pull a double tonight?” I ask, frowning, knowing that there’s more going on here than meets the eye. “You have enough waitresses.”
“You read the news?” George asks, reaching around me to pick up a clean spatula.
“Yes,” I reply. “Anything particular that you’re talking about?” I ask, scratching my head and trying to make heads or tails of George’s caginess.
“We’ve been getting some guests in here on the graveyard shift, when the diner’s pretty much empty,” George explains, and I realize that his voice has dropped to a whisper. “People that are interested in finding out what really happened out there that night.” George nods in the direction of the highway.
“The Feds,” I say, too loudly, causing George to whip around and give me a look that would have frozen me to the spot. “The Feds have been coming here?” I ask, my voice now a more acceptable volume level.
“The last couple of nights,” George nods, studying the w
affles he’s working on.
“How do you know they’re Feds?” I ask. “I’m guessing they don’t walk around in black suits and sunglasses like in The X Files?”
“I know what the Feds look like; I’ve seen enough of them,” George replies enigmatically.
I desperately want to ask about George’s past, about what made him leave Mexico. But he’s fiercely private. I know from experience that George doesn’t respond well to coaxing. If he doesn’t want to tell you something, then it doesn’t get told.
“Okay, and why do you think I’d want to be on shift when they come into the diner?” I ask, twirling the spatula that he’s just put down in my hands, a million thoughts whirling around my head.
“You’re a smart girl, Aimee. I think you can figure that one out,” he says cryptically.
“George,” I tell him. “Sometimes you’re very ‘wax on, wax off.’ Has anyone ever told you that?” I ask, only half-joking.
Hearts of Winter (Bleeding Angels MC Book 2) Page 9
