by Selena Kitt
I went back to the table, steeling myself for those dangerous blue eyes. I handed the man a copy of the menu. “Here you are, take your time, and let me know if you have any questions.”
I spun on my heel, ready to bolt, when his soft voice interrupted my getaway, “All right, first question, what’s your name?”
I was going to kill Patrice…
“My name?” I sputtered.
“Yeah,” he smiled, and crossed his arms casually on the table top.
“I’m Kat—Katherine,” I answered, unable to stop staring at his biceps that were even more impressive as his shirt stretched tight, struggling to contain them as he leaned forward.
“Which do you want me to use? Kat? Or Katherine?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
I couldn’t think straight long enough to answer his question. What was he asking again?
“Sorry, is that a weird question?” He asked.
“No, no, it’s not. Sorry, um, Kat works. That’s what people call me around here.”
He smiled deeper and my stomach flipped over. “Kat then. I’m Jace, it’s nice to meet you.”
I nodded, and then gestured to the menu, trying to do anything to get rid of the awkward feeling that was overwhelming me. He had to be at least eight years younger than me and I didn’t have a clue what I was thinking. “Anyways, that’s the breakfast menu, but if you want something from the lunch menu, I can usually sweet talk Benny, our cook.”
“I bet you can.”
I spun on my heel and nearly knocked Patrice over as she slipped past me with a tray of water glasses. We tangled together for a second, in a dance that would have almost been elegant except for the frantic pawing from both of us to keep her tray upright and not shower ourselves and the nearby guests with ice water. “Sorry!” I shouted as she finally righted herself and hurried away from me to the next table over.
I shot one more glance back at Jace, who was watching the whole scene with an unreadable expression on his handsome face, and then darted back to the kitchen. I gave myself two minutes to get it together, and then left the safety to go tend to my tables, leaving Jace’s for last, until I’d put in the other orders.
“Anything look good?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the small order notebook in my hands. At his silence, I made the mistake of glancing up, and caught him staring up at me. Well at least he’s not staring at my boobs, I sighed. “On the menu?” I prompted, surprised by my own sauciness.
He raised his eyebrow and his full lips twitched with the beginning of a smirk. “I’ll try the spinach and mushroom omelet.”
I jotted it down, even though I knew there was no way I’d forget it, funny how his order instantly became engraved in my brain. “Is toast okay with that?”
“Sure.”
I stepped back with one foot, ready to charge back to the kitchen, but his eyes froze me in place. “Is there… something else?” I didn’t know why I was being such a pain in the ass, it wasn’t like me to be so gruff with customers, but there was something about Jace that rattled me.
He shook his head and said, “Nope.” I walked away to put in his order, but felt his eyes following me as I crossed the small diner and pushed into the kitchen.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of busyness. Monday mornings were always like that, though. I figured people needed a little pick me up before entering their workweek grind. Unfortunately, people were also a lot crankier because it was Monday—and because they needed to get to work, as opposed to a Saturday or Sunday morning which had a much more leisurely pace. I went to Jace’s table as few times as possible, always hurrying away before he could ask more questions or try to ensnare me in any further conversation.
When the diner had nearly emptied, Patrice was clearing her tables, and I was down to my last two tables. I started across the room to pick up the check, but Patrice shot me a signal that she had it under control. I tried to ignore her, and went to one of my few remaining groups, but she swooped in to take the check before I could get there. She flashed a devious smile and I sighed before going back to Jace’s table. He’d stacked his plates and utensils, and was draining his coffee mug when I approached.
I’d spent the better part of the past hour trying to figure out what it was about him that had me so unglued, but it was a tossup between the tattoos, the muscles, the dark, brooding manner, and then there were the striking, piercing blue eyes that set my heart running for cover every time they landed on me. And then there was his face. He couldn’t be any older than twenty-five. And here I was—a thirty-two-year-old single mother with barely a pot to piss in.
Case in point…I thought, finding myself the center of his attention once again. I held up the coffee pot. “How was everything?” I asked, intentionally softening my tone.
“Really great, thank you,” he answered, flashing a heart stopping smile, before scooting out of the bench seat. I took a short step back as he stood up and was surprised when he towered over me. I was nearly five foot eight, but he was head and shoulders above me, probably at least six three. “I’ll see you next time.” He nodded and then left the diner without so much as a glance back as he crossed the street and went right into the shop with the moving truck out front.
“Oooh, looks like you met the new neighbor!” Patrice cooed in my ear as she passed by with a tray full of dirty dishes.
Great. Just great.
Jace
It was nearly impossible to focus on the movers when my mind was so firmly glued on the gorgeous waitress across the street. No matter where I was in the shop, my attention kept creeping back to the front windows, which, I’d noted, had a prime view of the diner, and I’d seen glimpses of Kat a few times as she worked.
“Mr. Winslow?”
I whipped around at the sound of my name, and found myself face to face with the head mover. He jerked his chin behind him, indicating the two men who looked to be struggling to keep a hold of the opposite ends of my pool table.
“Right, that goes upstairs in the apartment,” I instructed, feeling a pinch of guilt as the two men began carrying the table towards the steep staircase at the back of the shop. At the top of the stairs was a loft, which also had a large, industrial sized metal door that led to the overhead apartment. It was the reason I’d rented the shop in the first place. I’d be able to live directly above my tattoo shop and hoped it would help me establish a better work-life balance. Back in Chicago, I’d lived across the city from where my shop was, and never went home, often crashing on the worn leather couch in the front of the shop for days on end. My move to this small town had raised a few eyebrows, even pissed a few people off, but I could feel it in my gut, it was the right move.
Something had to change or I’d work—or drink—my way into a very early grave.
“Hey, guys, careful with that,” I called out, hustling across the room to assist two other movers who had just hauled in a metal sculpture of a larger than life tattoo gun. It was a custom piece, made by a fan of my tattoo reality show, Ink by Jace. Although, I was pretty sure that if dropped, the sculpture would fuck up the floor, rather than the other way around, and I hated the thought of it getting fucked up. I helped the movers get it situated in the corner by the reception desk, and then made my way back to my original task, hanging up my neon shop sign in the window, because it needed to be done—but also, because it gave me the best chance of seeing that sweet Kat.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since I’d met her over breakfast. It had been ages since a woman had captivated me like that, and the fact that she certainly hadn’t been trying, only made her more appealing. I’d checked her left hand and hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, but a woman like that… was sure to have someone in her life. She hadn’t flirted, had barely acknowledged me, but I could also tell she was attracted to me, her body language changed whenever she was near me, or when she thought I was watching her.
The sign buzzed to life as I hit the switch and I looked
over at the diner, wondering if she would catch the light. After a few minutes, I gave up on getting her attention, and went back to the desk as the movers finished unloading the boxes for the shop, and began hauling furniture and boxes upstairs to the apartment.
Two birds one stone, I thought, thinking of the fat stack I was saving by only having one move. Not that it mattered much. I hadn’t had to worry about money since my reality show had taken off the year before. If anything, I had more than I knew what to do with. My business manager was always chasing me down with new ideas for investments and ventures, but I constantly turned him away, choosing to squirrel it all away in my own accounts and handpicked investments. I’d never been one to take advice from anyone, and although I paid him to handle my money and advise me, there were certain things I knew I was meant to figure out on my own.
I sank into the stiff leather chair, shifting around as though I could break it in to feel like the one I’d left back in Chicago. I gave up on the chair, and began flicking through the desktop calendar, my jaw set as I considered the long list of shit I had to do. In addition to getting the rest of the shop set up, I needed to find and train a new assistant—my last one had been unwilling to locate to, in her words, BFE—and go through a rigorous inspection prior to opening day. Not to mention the radio interviews I had to squeeze in at random, thanks to the studio that produced the show.
As much as I’d tried to get out of it, the second season of my reality show was set to begin production in a few weeks, and everything had to be perfect by then. On the outside, I was rough and tumble. A tattoo artist, biker, Navy SEAL with ink covertly covering the majority of my body. But inside—I was a machine that thrived on order and control. When I’d signed the lease, I knew it’d be a tight deadline to work with, but with a lot of muscle and a few sleepless nights, it was more than possible to get everything ready by the time the camera crew came knocking.
“I’m so fucked,” I grunted, flipping the calendar shut so I didn’t have to look at the shit I had to take care of in writing anymore. I scrubbed my hands down my face, and when I opened my eyes again, I found myself staring straight into Kat’s eyes across the street. She was out front, sitting on the curb, her phone in her hands, and as soon as our eyes met, she dropped her gaze, and seconds later—just as I’d been ready to head for the door to go out and meet her—she jumped up and scurried back inside the diner.
Her haunting green eyes stayed with me long after she’d left. At the diner that morning, she’d been so standoffish and brash, with an edge that told me there were more layers to her story. She was beautiful—stunning, actually—but there was an obvious sadness clinging to her that left me burning to find out what it was all about...
I fucked around a bit, straightening up things the movers had left and every now and then, I’d glance over at the diner wanting to catch a glimpse of her, but I didn’t see her again for the rest of the day—or night.
Kat
By the end of my shift, more details had flooded in about the new tattoo shop and the mysterious stranger who had leased it. Groups of regulars came in for lunch, all abuzz, gossiping amongst themselves…
“—some reality TV star!” Carol, a middle aged woman exclaimed, to her two gal-pals, Henrietta, and Maria. The three women came in for a late lunch, nearly every day after they went out for a jog together.
I stopped at their table, filling water glasses that were barely touched, in time to hear Maria reply, “I heard that too! I looked him up, looks like he has a show all about how to apply those tattoos. Can you imagine? A whole show about that?”
The other two ladies gave disapproving clucks under their breath. “Such a shame too…” Henrietta said, craning her neck to look out the window, as though she might catch a glimpse of the mystery man in question. “Without all that hideous ink, he’d be quite a handsome man…”
All three burst into giggles, and then, just as I was backing away, Henriette grasped my hand. “What do you think dear?”
My cheeks warmed and I cast a glance behind me, wishing someone would materialize with a kitchen emergency and bail me out of the awkward question. “About what?” I finally asked, feigning innocence, as though I hadn’t been eavesdropping on their entire conversation.
Carol cocked her head at me. “About the new man in town. Have you met him yet?”
“Well—uh, yes, actually. He came in for breakfast this morning,” I admitted, shifting from foot to foot, my eyes flicking between the three ladies, not daring to stay focused on one for too long.
Henrietta smiled at me and squeezed my hand. “And? What did you think?”
“He was nice,” I answered tentatively. All three women were staring at me, their expressions begging for more details. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” I said, my voice firm with finality as I spun away and went back to the hostess station.
The afternoon stretched on, and I picked up little bits and pieces as I went about my duties, but was careful not to engage in any of the chatter. If the rumor mill was to be trusted, Jace Winslow was from Chicago, had done a stint in the Navy, then went back to Chicago where he’d had a very successful, and sought out tattoo parlor.
After a couple of years serving his booked out clientele, Hollywood came calling and produced a reality show that followed him around as he ran his business and partied. Then, about six months ago, he had a very public breakdown, and to get away from all the media coverage, he closed his shop and stepped out of the limelight. Until last week, when he signed a three year lease at the shop across from the diner, ready to start over and get his life back on track, complete with a new season of his show.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about any of the new information. I mulled it all over, gathering as much information as I could—although, I couldn’t say why any of it mattered. I told myself it was just small town, idle curiosity, but somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I knew it had more to do with the piercing pair of blue eyes and the dark, mysterious, inked man they belonged to. There was something about him that was magnetic—I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame—and I couldn’t shrug it off.
At four-thirty, I turned things over to the night shift team, and raced out of the diner to go see Jax for a couple of hours before I’d have to leave to go to night school. When I got to Hilda’s I knocked softly, knowing it was likely Jax would be napping, and she opened the door seconds later with a bright smile.
“He’s still sleeping,” Hilda said quietly, ushering me inside. We both tiptoed past the beautiful sleeping form of Jax, crashed out on her couch, and went into the tiny galley kitchen. Hilda flipped on a burner and went about making a tea bag for me while the water warmed. It was something of a habit for us, whenever I got there before Jax was awake, we would whisper in the kitchen and drink a cup of tea.
“While Jax was napping, I caught the end of the news, and you’ll never guess what I found out!” Hilda said as excitedly as she dared with the sleeping toddler in the next room.
“Let me guess, it’s about the tattoo guy, right?”
Hilda’s smile faded and I instantly regretting stealing the wind from her sails. “Sorry, girl. It’s just, that’s all anyone could talk about today at the diner. It was like wave after wave of customers and that was all anyone could think about. I think Carol must have blabbed that I’d met the guy—” Hilda’s eyebrows raised an inch, but she didn’t interrupt, “—and suddenly it was like I was on the five o’clock news. Everyone wanted to put me in the hot seat and ask questions. What was he like? Did he say anything about the show? What do you think about his tattoos? And, one person even asked what he ordered. Can you believe that? As if he’s some kind of Martian just because he has some ink!”
I stopped my rant, and peeked my head around the side of the kitchen, out into the living room to ensure that I hadn’t disturbed Jax’s nap with my railing. After a beat, I turned my attention back to Hilda. “Sorry, I’m just kinda exhausted by the whole thing.”
&nbs
p; Hilda smiled and poured the boiling water into my mug. “Here, dear,” she said, handing over the steaming cup. “This should help.”
“Thank you.” I blew the steam away, clearing my mind a little more with each puff.
“I’ve lived in this town nearly all of my life, you know. It’s not every day we get a TV star moving in and opening a business. I mean, to most of the people here, it’s no different than if Brad Pitt himself had walked down Main Street.”
I laughed softly. Now that I’d get excited about…
“It’ll blow over in a few weeks time, don’t worry. Carol and her harpies will be onto something else soon enough, dear.” Hilda poured her own cup of tea and we sat down at the small, four person table, in the nook off the kitchen. “You know what I was thinking about when they showed his picture?”
I shrugged. Hilda didn’t seem like the type to have too strong of an opinion on tattoos and piercings. I’d seen a few pictures of her daughter, Rachel, and she had a small tattoo on her ankle.
