“Then don’t let him treat you like one,” he retorts.
As I stretch out across the table, wiping it down, I let my head fall in defeat as I sigh out in exasperation. “Just leave me alone, please?”
“Not gonna happen,” he replies. “What’s going on with you?”
I take a seat in the booth, absent-mindedly running the towel back and forth over the same spot on the table before looking up at my friend. “You know how we worked last night and didn’t get off until five this morning, like usual. Well, I get home, finally fall asleep, only to be woken up by my best friend/roommate. I’m exhausted and I’ve had a pretty bad day.”
“What time did you come in?” he asks.
I stretch my arms above my head, hoping to put some energy back in my drained body. “Nine this morning,” I answer before yawning.
“Fucking prick,” he murmurs under his breath while looking out the same door Dave vacated not long ago.
He turns back to me with a sad smile on his face. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“Oh, no. I made one with Dave earlier, and you see how well that worked out for me.”
He gives me a stern look with his eyes shut into slits and his lips pressed into a hard line. “Yeah, but this is me and I don’t go back on my word. And don’t ever compare me to that asshole again.”
I nod. “Okay. So let’s hear this deal.”
Dante takes a seat across from me, one arm propped on the table and the other slung casually on top of the back of the booth. “At midnight,” he looks at his watch, “in a couple of hours, you can come out here and take a nap in one of the booths in the back and I’ll keep an eye on things for a little while.”
Immediately, I’m shaking my head no. “Uhh… thanks, but I like being alive.”
He laughs like what I just said was funny. But I’m dead serious. I mean I feel safe where I work when I’m awake and alert, but not safe enough to fall asleep, even with Dante working with me most of the time. “I don’t know if I should feel insulted by that statement or take it as a joke. You know I would never let anything happen to you, right?”
I do know Dante wouldn’t let anything happen to me, but I also know it’s impossible to keep your eye on someone at all times. “I know, but I think I can push through, but if I decide to take you up on your offer, I’ll let you know.”
“All right, then,” he says, scooting out of the booth just as the chime above the door goes off. I look up to see Gus, one of our regulars who stops through at least twice a week.
“Hey Gus!” I shout across the dining room. “I’ll be right with you, okay?” I push myself out of the booth, taking Dante’s extended hand as he helps me up.
Gus waves his hand dismissively as he takes a seat on a stool at the front counter. “You don’t need to wait on me. I get the same thing every time I come in here. Tonight ain’t goin’ to be any different,” he responds in his gruff voice from smoking too much as he takes his hat off and places it in front of him on the counter.
Gus is one of my favorite customers from South Carolina. He’s a short, pudgy man with a bald spot on the center of his head that he’s not ashamed of. No older than fifty-five, laugh lines surround the corners of his eyes and mouth. He’s a gentle soul with a kind heart. Sometimes he brings his wife, Carla, out on the road with him, seeing as their two kids are grown.
“Where you headed to this time?” I ask as I walk behind the counter while Dante walks back into the kitchen. I don’t even have to tell him Gus’ order, that’s how often he comes in here, two eggs over easy, grits, hash browns, bacon and sausage, with a cup of coffee, black.
“Orlando. Then I have a back haul up this way that I’ll drop off in Macon before I head back home for the weekend.”
“Aren’t you tired?” I ask. The thought alone of having to drive that much makes me want to crawl up in my bed and sleep for hours.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, but it’s the only life I’ve ever known. Been doin’ it since I was eighteen. It’s fed and clothed my children, put a good roof over my family’s head, paid for the kids’ college, and given my wife the life she deserves.”
I lean forward, rest my arms on the counter in front of him, and smile. “What kind of that life is it Carla deserves?” I ask.
A mischievous grin creeps onto his face. “Diamonds,” he replies, causing me to burst out in laughter.
I shake my head, my laughter subsiding. “Good answer.” I walk over towards the coffee pot to pour him a cup. As I turn around, setting his steaming cup of ‘fuel’ as he calls it in front of him, I ask, “So when I am going to see that lovely wife of yours again?”
“I don’t know,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “She’s been so busy lately traveling to go see Kayla. You know she’s due any day now? Carla’s afraid she’s going to miss our first grandbaby bein’ born.”
A pang of disappointment hits me. I will never know what it’s like to have my parents there for me when I have my own children. I haven’t spoken to them in two years, not since they told me I was dead to them if I didn’t go through with my wedding to Todd. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go back to that part of my life, but then reality sinks in and reminds me why I left in the first place. Happiness.
“Are you excited about being a grandfather?”
“Hell yeah. I’m goin’ to spoil him rotten,” he states proudly. “Then I’ll send him home to his parents and let them deal with the aftermath.” He chuckles.
“I thought you said Kayla didn’t know what she was having?” I ask confused.
“They don’t know, but I’m thinkin’ it’s a boy. And if I say it enough, it might come true. I mean, who else am I going to teach how to fish? You know her husband, as good a man as he is, don’t know anything about fishing.”
“Here you go, Kels,” Dante calls from behind me.
I look over my shoulder to see that Gus’ orders up. I retrieve his plates, holding one in each hand, before setting them down in front of him. “Promise me you’ll show me pictures?” I ask as I refill his coffee.
“You betcha,” he answers before taking a bite of his food.
I nod with a smile. “Well, I’ll come check on you in a bit, okay?”
He nods as he continues to eat.
I make my way to the kitchen to see Dante washing a pile of dishes. “Need any help?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “But you can look at the expiration times on the desserts up front and see what we need to get made up if you don’t mind.”
“I have a feeling it’s going to be a lot. So be ready, Betty Crocker,” I joke as I rush out of the kitchen before Dante has a chance to throw something at me.
Vaguely I hear him yell, “Emeril Lagasse! Get it right, woman!”
I shake my head, laughing quietly to myself as I hope the rest of my night continues like this.
I slide the glass door open to look at the desserts. Plates of apple and cherry pie line the bottom shelf. The middle shelf holds two neat rows of peach cobbler. On the top shelf sit cups of fresh fruit mixed in with individual serving sizes of strawberry shortcake. Looking at the bottoms of the dishes, I note that only ten are expired. As I turn to throw the last one away, the chime above the door goes off, catching my attention.
I swear time stands still as I look at the man who has just walked through the doors. Strong jaw, probably late twenties/early thirties, blond hair cut high and tight, and a body that is clearly used to working out is hidden underneath a gunmetal green flight suit. Wow is the only word to describe the image of perfection walking my way and staring back at me. My lungs hurt from air desperately trying to escape, since I can’t seem to breathe. I’ve met some attractive men before, but this… this man’s perfection outshines them all.
“Ummm… Miss.” His southern drawl immediately washes over me, making me ache in places I haven’t in a long time. “Are you all right?” he asks right as he walks up to the front counter. And now that he’s s
tanding right in front of me, I see a slightly crooked nose and the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
Snapping out of my stupor, I shake my head to try to think of what to say. “Uh… yeah,” I croak.
He points at my chest and heat rushes to my cheeks from embarrassment that quickly switches to anger. I’m not ashamed of my full C-cups, but it’s not like he needs to point them out to me. “You might want to get a towel,” he states before I can say something rude.
Ever so slowly, I look down, and there you have it. My day/night has officially gone to shit of epic proportions. Pressed against my black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt is a plate of strawberry shortcake. “Shit,” I whisper yell. I don’t even bother looking up because I’m so embarrassed right now, that I can feel the heat radiating off my face. “Just give me a moment?” I ask as I rush off to the kitchen.
“Take your time,” he shouts at my retreating form.
“What the hell happened to you?” Dante asks, laughing.
I turn to look at him, my eyes narrowed into slits and what I can only assume is a scowl on my face. Whipped cream drips from the bottom of the plate, landing on top of my new black Chucks. “Is it time for me to go home yet?” I ask, groaning.
Dante tosses a towel at me. “Here, use this to clean up.”
As I pull the plate away from my body, strawberries, filling, and chunks of angel food cake drop to the floor while others pieces stay stuck to me. When I toss the plate in the sink, water sloshes up, soaking the front of my shirt and making the whole situation that much worse. Laughter bubbles up from unknown depths. This day has been so awful that the only thing left to do is laugh. I’m bent over at the knees, laughing so hard tears run down my face. My cheeks ache and I can’t catch my breath.
“You all right?” Dante asks, concerned.
I wave my hand at him dismissively when I hear a voice behind me. “I’m really sorry to ask, but is there any way I can get a menu?”
My head snaps up at the sound, and all I can do is laugh harder. Not only did I embarrass the hell out of myself in front of this Adonis, now he’s witnessing my breakdown, too. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he looks from me to Dante and back to me, completely dumbfounded.
“Is she all right, man?” he asks Dante.
“I’m fine,” I finally manage to get out after taking several deep breaths. They both stare at me as if I’ve finally lost it. Lifting one finger in the air, I say, “If you can just give me another moment, I’ll be right out with a menu to get you started.”
He smiles and nods once before leaving me to clean myself up.
“Uh oh,” Dante says.
“I swear, if you say anything right now, I’m going to paint you in the concoction that I’m covered in,” I threaten jokingly.
He uses two of his fingers and slides them across his lips like he’s zipping them closed.
“Shit! I forgot about Gus.” Quickly, I wipe the mess off my shirt, not even caring anymore what I look like. After getting all the food off, I’m left with a wet shirt and a huge stain.
I square my shoulders and hold my head up high in confidence as I walk back out into the main dining area. As I pluck a menu up off the corner of the counter, I see Gus waiting patiently, a smirk on his face.
“I’ll bring your check over to you in a second,” I say to him. “Just let me give this gentleman over there a menu.” I point towards the man who’s been the cause of my embarrassment tonight.
“Take your time, sweetheart,” Gus says.
“All better now?” His eyes flick from my nametag to my face. “Kelsey?”
I take a deep breath to help calm my nerves. “Yes. Thank you.” I place the menu down in front of him. “What can I get you to drink?” I don’t even need my notepad anymore. I haven’t needed one in a while. I already know what all my regulars like to eat and drink, and if they decide to change anything up, it’s not like I can’t remember that too. But even tonight, with a new face in here, I still don’t need it.
“A water will be fine,” he answers as he opens the menu.
I nod and begin to walk away before I turn back around to face him. “Thanks,” I offer.
His eyebrows scrunch together and I can tell he’s confused. “For what?”
“For checking on me,” I nod my head back towards the kitchen, “back there. You didn’t have to do that, so, thanks.” Before he can say anything else, I spin around and take off to get his water.
Shit! Gus’ check. Taking a detour from the refill station, I make a beeline for the front counter so I can get Gus taken care of. “Sorry about that,” I murmur loud enough so only Gus can hear.
He places his hand on top of mine. His warmth seeps into me, giving me a chance to collect myself. My eyes drift closed of their own accord as I crack my neck from side to side to release some of the built up tension. When I finally look at him, he smiles.
“Better?”
“Much,” I answer with a nod.
“You sure did make a mess of yourself.” He turns his head and points towards the dessert case.
I chuckle and sweep a hand over my shirt. “Trust me, I don’t need to be reminded. Eight dollars and eighty-five cents, please.”
Gus pulls out his billfold and hands me a twenty. “Keep the change,” he says with a wink as he stands from his stool. He understands the life of being a waiter/waitress. When Kayla was still in college and before she got married, she waited tables in a nice restaurant–the black dress pants, black shirt, tie kind of facility–and had a difficult time making it. Gus told me about how her customers never tipped the proper amount and some of her other horrible experiences. Once a married couple came in, and the woman wound up throwing a glass of wine on Kayla because the lady’s husband was checking out Kayla’s backside. He told me all of this one night when I was venting to him about how bad my evening had been. Needless to say, I shut my mouth real quick.
“Thanks.”
With his hand still on mine, he looks over his shoulder at the customer sitting in the back booth. “Make him earn you.”
My mouth drops open in shock for a brief second before I recover. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do. And trust me, I saw the way he was looking at you, too,” he throws in for good measure before pulling his hand back, slipping on his hat, and walking away with a smirk on his face.
Huh? That sly devil.
I shake my head, laughing quietly to myself. As I pour my new customer’s glass of water, I hear his voice from behind me. “What’s so funny?”
I gasp and silently pray to all that is holy that this man didn’t hear what Gus had to say. I look back over my shoulder to see the man of perfection sitting on the stool Gus just vacated.
“Nothing. Did you not like your booth?” I ask when I realize that he has the menu open again.
He looks up at me over the menu and shrugs. “It was fine, but I hoped if I sit in this spot, maybe you’ll talk to me, too.”
I place his glass of water in front of him. Crossing my arms over my chest and arching an eyebrow, I ask, “And what makes you think I want to talk to you?”
He places the menu down on the counter while intently looking at me. Lifting his hand, he crooks his finger at me, beckoning me to come closer, and like a moth to a flame, I do. I lean in towards him and he whispers, “Closer.” I lean in a little closer to the point I can feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek. “Because I’d like to talk to you.”
The husky timbre of his tone has my eyes sliding closed for the briefest of moments before reality sets in. I am at work, and even if I weren’t, I still wouldn’t let someone get to me like this. I pull back only to look him in the eyes.
“Well, I don’t talk to strangers.”
A smile graces his face, showcasing a beautiful set of teeth. Internally, I groan.
Could he look any more perfect?
He extends his hand to me. Cautiously, I take it and his large
hand swallows mine. “Riley Jackson. Warrant Officer Riley Jackson,” he states proudly and I can’t help it, but I laugh.
As he removes his hand from around mine, the smile slips from his face only to be replaced by a bewildered look. I knew he was military when he walked in. The flight suit gave him away. It’s not that I have a thing against soldiers, but a lot of them, not all of them, think that anyone and everyone wants them, but not me. Since the truck stop is right down the road from Ft. Stewart, soldiers are always coming in and out of here, just not so much at night.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asks.
My laughter starts to fade when I realize that I may have offended him. “Does that work on all the girls?”
“Usually,” he states.
“At least you’re honest. But it won’t work on me.” I’ve lived the kind of life where titles are everything. Not anymore. I’ve never cared about who a person is, how much money they made, what they did for a living… none of it, and I’ll be damned if I start now.
“And you are?” he asks.
I tap my temple with a grin spreading across my face.
“You already know that, Warrant Officer Riley Jackson.”
He nods.
“Yes. But Kelsey must have a last name.”
All joking aside, I answer with genuine sincerity. “Connor. Waitress for Smokey’s Diner.”
“So, what brings you in here?”
“Some buddies of mine that I work with come in every now and then and said the food was good. I thought I’d give it a shot since it’s only about twenty minutes from my house.” He gives me a nonchalant shrug. “How long have you worked here?” Riley asks as I set his plate in front of him.
“Almost two years.”
It’s funny how, when I came into work earlier today, I was dead tired, but now I’m wide awake. After Gus left, the only people left in the diner are Riley, Dante, and me, and it’s been that way for the past two hours. I turn towards the two coffee pots we have and shut them down to clean them and brew fresh coffee.
Smoldering Page 3
