It took me forever to get to sleep. His softest touch does things to my heart that I can’t even explain.
But that knowing look in his eyes when he was trying to fish for the truth about Dean… I didn’t like it.
I don’t want him to know.
It’s not like he can fix it for me. And I don’t want his pity either.
Hearing him talk about his dad, though. I swear I could taste the fear in his voice. He must have lived through hell a few times in his life. Plus losing his mama.
I get it.
We speak the same language.
Maybe it would be safe to let him in.
I’ve never told a living soul what Dean can really be like. I’m sure Jackson’s figured it out. He’s not deaf. He’s also not stupid enough to ask me about it.
I’ll never admit to it.
Ever.
Dean’s not besting me.
One day, I’ll be long gone, and Dean is gonna die an old, lonely, miserable man.
“Order up!” I hear the call from the kitchen and walk in, my smile coming easy when I spot Michael.
He’s working the kitchen like he was born to do it.
Aw, man, I hope he stays forever. Or at least until I’ve got my pennies saved.
Maybe we could take Jackson and skip town, the three of us.
The thought sends a flush right through me, and I quickly grab the plates and spin for the diner in case he knows how to read minds.
My gosh, I’ve known the man all of a week and I’m already thinking of running away with him. That’s crazy!
I mean, sure, I’ve spent more hours talking to him than I have anybody else in that week, but still. Just because I’m attracted to him doesn’t mean we’re destined to be together.
My heart trills.
Be together.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
I grin, placing the two plates on the table.
“Happy eatin’.” I twirl away from the table, feeling like a fool yet unable to stop myself.
Man, what would it be like to date someone like Michael? Or be in a full-blown relationship? Would we be like Billy and Franks? Unable to get enough of each other?
Would we—
My happy thoughts disintegrate as the diner door swings open and Hank Keyes walks in.
I check the time, frowning slightly as I approach him.
“You’re a little early today.”
He pulls off his shades, avoiding my gaze like he always does.
“Thought I’d grab a coffee before the others arrive.”
He heads for his usual table, and I get him a menu like I do every Wednesday. I’m resisting the urge to use a little snark and ask him if his friends are planning on showing up just before closing like they usually do. If he can make it here at this time, why can’t they?
I hand him the menu without a word, then grab a mug and the coffeepot.
The black liquid steams, and I focus on the sound of it pouring.
He sits there quietly, not looking at me.
I get it. I don’t much like looking at him either.
“Can I get you anything else? Or are you gonna wait?”
He clears his throat, resting the pads of his fingers on the hot mug. He glances at me before sharply looking out the window.
“I hear you’ve got a new chef.”
I grip the pot handle, hoping my voice comes out nice and easy. “Word travels fast around here.”
“Mrs. Crawford wouldn’t stop boasting about how great her food was yesterday. What happened to Mateo?”
And then his eyes are on me.
Not Hank Keyes eyes, but Police Chief Keyes eyes.
I stare them down, doing my best not to flinch away.
“He quit. Wasn’t enjoying the work. But he’s actually done us all a big favor, because the new guy can cook him under the table. I guess you’ll find out for yourself when you order something later.”
I turn away but am brought up short by the last words I want to hear.
“I’d like to meet him.”
My nostrils flare, but I make sure my lips are turned up in a smile when I pivot back on my foot. “Why?”
He shrugs. “I like to get to know the people in my town.”
“He’s just passin’ through.”
His steely gaze meets mine again, his soft voice not matching the look on his face. “Well, I better hurry, then. Tell him there’s a customer who’d like to have a chat.”
“He’s pretty busy right now. You know, cookin’ the food for the customers who’ve actually ordered somethin’.”
“What’s the problem, Annie?” His bushy eyebrows draw together. “It’s almost like you don’t want me to meet him.”
I roll my eyes to hide the fact that my insides are going nuts.
Meeting a cop?
That’s the last thing Michael will want to do.
Especially Hank freaking Keyes!
“I’ll just wait here for him to come out.”
I could refuse. Tell him to finish his damn coffee and get.
But knowing my luck, he’d just waltz into the kitchen and force a meeting anyway.
Dammit!
Trying for a serene smile, I resist the urge to pour hot coffee right in Chief Keyes’s lap and instead quietly murmur, “I’ll tell him to pop out when he’s got a minute.”
“That’d be great. Thanks, Annabelle Mae.”
It takes everything in me not to flip him off as I storm for the kitchen.
I hate when he calls me that.
I hate when he calls me anything!
What am I going to say to Michael?
He doesn’t want this!
How am I supposed to protect him?
If I refuse to introduce him, Hank will get suspicious, Dean will get pissed, and that puts Jackson at risk.
But doing this could put Michael at risk.
I still have no idea who shot him.
What if Hank asks the wrong questions and corners Michael into some kind of interrogation?
Aw, this is bad.
This is really, really bad!
25
Table Eleven
I flip the burger patties, humming under my breath as I double-check the order to make sure I’m getting it right.
It’s been a busy shift, but things are starting to slow down a little.
I check the clock on the wall. The diner closes at three, which means I’ve only got forty-five minutes of cooking left before I’ll start cleaning up the kitchen for Danny’s shift tonight.
“Okay, we’ve got a problem.”
I whip around at the sound of Annie’s voice.
She looks fired up and scared at the same time.
I go on instant alert.
Is Dean hassling her about something?
If he is, what am I gonna do about it?
I tossed and turned a lot last night, trying to answer that question.
Do I really have it in me to smack the guy down if he touches Annie?
Can I risk some kind of fight and alert the authorities to my presence here?
That could be the worst idea, but—
“Hank Keyes wants to meet you.” She points over her shoulder. “He’s out in the diner waitin’ right now.”
“Who?”
She tuts and plays with her ponytail, looking everywhere but at me.
“Annie. Who is Hank Keyes?”
With a sharp huff, she crosses her arms and mumbles, “He’s the police chief.”