Hank nods. “Figured I’d welcome him to Buckland Springs.”
“Well, that’s nice of you. Hope you don’t mind if I send him back to the kitchen, though. This boy’s got work to do.”
“Yes, of course.” Hank pulls out his chair to sit, and I take my cue.
“It was nice to meet you, sir.” I extend my hand again, praying it’s not too sweaty as his fingers wrap around mine.
His gaze hits me, and I don’t have to look twice to know what he’s saying.
He may have been shut down a little quickly by Dean and Annie, but he’s going to be keeping a very close eye on me.
As I head back to the kitchen, I can’t ignore the thoughts rushing through me.
I should split tonight. I could creep out while everyone’s sleeping.
But then I get to the grill and Annie’s there waiting for me.
The second she sees me, she wraps her arms around my neck and clings.
“I’m sorry. You did so great, and I just shot my mouth off and could have made everythin’ worse. That man just makes me so crazy!”
I run my arms around her waist, giving her a light squeeze before quickly pulling away when I hear footsteps approaching.
Dean barrels around the corner and glares at Annie.
“I hope you were nice to Hank just then.”
She stares up at her stepfather, her head bobbing erratically.
He doesn’t believe her, and we all know it.
With a soft growl, he stomps out of the kitchen, and Annie sags against the counter.
I watch her face work through a couple of emotions. She’s unaware of my gaze as her expression flitters with worry and then smooths out to a brave smile that she turns on me.
“You did great. I hope—” She lets out a shaky breath. “I hope he didn’t scare you off or anythin’. ’Cause I…” Her cheeks tinge pink, her smile turning from brave to genuine. “I really like having you around.”
She bolts out of the kitchen before I can respond.
I glance over my shoulder, watching her blonde head disappear, then look at the kitchen door.
I could walk through it right now and never look back.
But…
Annie.
I’m starting to really care about her.
All the people I’ve lost.
All the times my heart’s been shredded.
Bits of my soul are scattered all over this country.
Can I really leave a big chunk of it in Buckland Springs?
Sure, the Hank situation is a thorn that I’m going to have to keep a close eye on.
But…
She likes having me around.
A smile curls my lips. It’s dopey and big. A fool’s smile.
Man, it feels good.
26
It’s ‘Family Lunch’ Time
I’m happy.
It’s not a feeling I’m used to. I mean, I’ve obviously felt joy before, and I’m practiced at putting on smiles in the diner, but this is different.
My heart feels like it could sing. It’s such a foreign sensation that I’m actually noticing it. This giddy lightness makes me giggle over stuff that’s not even funny. It’s actually kind of embarrassing, and Jackson keeps looking at me like I’m losing my mind.
Maybe I am.
It’s been four days since Michael got this job, and each day I get a little more aware of him. A little more giddy. A little more light-headed.
The incident with Hank has gone unmentioned. Thank God. As far as I’m aware, he hasn’t pounced on Michael outside of work, and Dean hasn’t pounced on me or Jackson either. It’s some kind of miracle. My life seems to be full of them this week.
On Wednesday, Mirren took out Michael’s stitches, stiffly congratulated him on the job, and then gave in to a smile at probably the sweetest, most sincere thank-you I’ve ever heard.
I think she’s warming to him, which is understandable. The guy is pure gold.
And he’s still here.
Every morning, a small part of me wakes up expecting to find him gone.
But every morning, we share coffee together, and I fall a little bit harder for his sweet smile.
Clearing my throat, I try to squash my grin as I clip a new order up on the rail and steal a furtive glance at the super-hot chef. He’s in a fitted white T-shirt today, doing me a whole lot of favors by flashing those taut biceps around. He flips a burger patty, and I watch the muscles in his forearm flex.
He’s got nice hands. I kind of wish they’d touch me again, but he’s a real gentleman in that department. He might brush his fingers past mine in the kitchen or briefly caress my arm or cheek when we’re talking late into the night, but he hasn’t tried to kiss me or anything.
I wish he would.
Or maybe I should kiss him.
But that’s just a little terrifying. What if I’m reading him all wrong?
Michael’s definitely got his mysteries about him. Sometimes he’ll open up and share things from his past; other times he’s a clam and the only things to get him talking are the superficial—favorite color, music, food… stuff like that.
Together we’ve constructed the ultimate breakfast, lunch and dinner. We’ve imagined the perfect sundae, described the ideal holiday, dreamed about things we know will never come true. But it’s fun. It’s fun to create with him. To wish. To hope.
Maybe that’s dangerous. I don’t know.
I just know that doing it makes me happy.
And that’s why my heart wants to sing all the time.
Jackson finishes arranging a salad on the plate, then puts it on the server and dings the bell, even though I’m standing right there.
“Order up!” He grins at me and I shake my head, grabbing the plates and heading back out to the diner.
Nothing’s gonna dampen my spirits today.
Once the evening shift is over, I’m gonna get me a whole day off. Now that Michael’s not in hiding anymore, I can spend the day with him. Franks has invited us out after church. If the weather’s good, we might go for a walk along the river or something.
Sounds perfect to me.
“Here you go.” I place each beautiful plate down on the table and smile proudly at my brother’s handiwork.
Michael’s been teaching him all morning, and he’s getting real good.
It’s been fun watching them work together. Jackson’s taken to Michael like a duck to water. This is probably something that should concern me, but I don’t want to think about the fact that Michael will make tracks as soon as Dean finds a new chef. Hopefully he’s in no hurry. Him saving money by paying Michael practically nothing is probably helping.
Is it selfish of me to hope he takes his sweet time?
The longer Michael stays, the less I want to leave. Buckland Springs isn’t so bad when there’s a gorgeous, kind man sleeping in my garage.
“This looks great.”
I grin down at Mr. and Mrs. Yates. “Can I get you anythin’ else?”
“No, we’re all good for now.”
They’re not even looking at me, too busy eyeing up their food.
I shake my head and turn for the door when I hear it opening.
And there goes my smile.
My stomach clenches, my cheeks flushing hot against my will.