She wanted to snap back at him, could feel the words sitting on the tip of her tongue…but there was something about the way that he said it that made her pause. He hadn’t told her that she was wrong, or even said that her parents were right; he’d told her that she was making her own life miserable by being bitter. She couldn’t say anything, couldn’t tell him to shove it, because, well, she knew that he was right. She had felt the pressure of ignoring their attempts to mend the bridge for a while. She exhaled, blowing a stray curl out of her face. “Are you always such an intense person?”
He cringed. “I don’t think so. Apparently, only with you.”
“Well, as far as conversations with literal strangers go, I think we’ve about covered the basics.”
“Definitely.”
Although he grinned, she had the distinct impression, by the way that he turned his eyes away and cleared his throat that he was as unsettled by how quickly they’d skipped the small talk and jumped into the nitty-gritty of their personal lives. It wasn’t normal for her to offer personal information to someone she didn’t know. In fact, other than her parents and Sarah, he might be the only other person who knew about how she had ended up living in LA. The thought made her feel a little unhinged and, if she were completely honest, a little embarrassed.
“What is a lieutenant’s job description exactly?” she asked, eager to redirect the conversation away from something less personal.
“It’s technically an upper management position, sometimes generalized, sometimes more specific, depending on the person, but I don’t think you ever really escape helping out on occasional calls.”
She fell quiet for a moment, thinking, and then asked, “Where do you fall?”
“I’m more involved with Robbery-Homicide, but my administrative role extends across all sections for my geographic division.”
“Which is?”
“Central LA.”
“It doesn’t get to you?” she asked. “Tracking down criminals?”
He shook his head in a so-so motion and when they came to the door of the diner, he reached forward to pull it open for her.
“Thanks,” she said, unoffended that he hadn’t offered more. She stepped into the diner, felt her stomach give a low rumble when the ever-present smell of bacon hit her.
She felt instantly at ease in the familiar space and glanced around to see if any of the other regulars were in yet. The 4th Street Diner was one of those places that seemed to encapsulate a time and place in American history. From the cherry-red booths to the black and white, checkered tile floor, the chocolate malts, and hot apple pie, the diner was quintessential 50’s America. That, coupled with the ancient patronage, always made her feel like she was stepping into a time warp, a dimension to another world.
Lola loved it.
Sancho, the owner, waved at her and signaled to the counter, calling her to her preferred spot right in front of him. She smiled and because she had sensed Jacob come up behind her, moved forward without looking back at him.
“Hey, Lola.” Sancho greeted her, a big smile pulling his generous cheeks up in an expression that made him look like he was on the verge of laughter. He moved around behind the counter, picking up one clean glass at a time and wiping it before putting it back down in the same place on the back bar, per his wife’s insistence that he always look busy.
She pulled one of the circular, metal bar stools out and plopped down on the red cushion. “Hi, Sancho.”
Jacob pulled out the stool next to her and sat down and Lola tried hard not to grin as his huge form balanced on the small barstool, his broad shoulders ridiculously out of place at the child-sized counter.
“This is a little early for you,” Sancho said, casting a casual glance at Jacob.
“Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well.” The words were out of her mouth before she registered how it must look to Sancho, coming in with Jacob before seven on a Saturday morning. She blushed when he grinned at her from behind the counter and she deliberately refrained from making eye contact with Jacob.
“Hey, man. Sancho.”
Jacob smiled and reached over the counter to shake the offered hand. “Jacob.”
“I’ve been telling Lola for ages that she’s too pretty to live in this neighborhood alone.”
“Sancho.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been coming here for a decade and you’re still trying to get me to move away?” She didn’t mention the incident from the night before; there was no need to worry everyone. And certainly no need to tell Sancho. He was the modern equivalent to a Victorian mamma—kind, overprotective, an overt gossip, and a blatant matchmaker. She had found herself serendipitously sitting next to one of his ‘young friends’ on more than one occasion and would do anything in her power to discourage him from finding her dates. His choice of men for her had proved…disappointing.
“Ah,” he shrugged, “we worry.”
She noticed the proverbial ‘we’ and wondered if he was talking about his wife, Louisa, the neighborhood in general, or his small band of retired friends that frequented the diner every day so that they could have a few hours away from their wives. She saw them almost every week; grey-haired, hunched over, and sitting at their regular corner booth, laughing and joking like they’d known each other for their entire lives—which she was pretty sure they had.
“I’m a big girl.”
“But you’re too skinny. Any man could just throw you over his shoulder and walk away with you.”
Next to her, Jacob chuckled. She turned and sent him an exaggerated, slanted look. “Whose side are you on?”
“Sancho’s. Clearly.”
When her mouth fell open, Sancho laughed, his belly jiggling up and down with every ‘ha.’ “Oh, I like this one, Lola.” The door opened behind them, and Sancho waved the couple and their two small kids to a booth. “I’ll be right back for your order,” he said, walking around the counter so that he could seat the guests.
“He’s quite something.”
She looked at Jacob, grinned when she saw that his eyes were smiling. “He is.” She leaned over, conspiratorially. “Do not tell him any secrets.”
Jacob glanced behind him exaggeratedly, looking for Sancho. “He’s a gossip?”
“Overt.”
“Noted.”
Chapter 4
He lay awake, staring at the white ceiling of his apartment thinking about Lola Michaels. Their breakfast had been nice. Almost too nice. They’d laughed and joked like they’d been old friends. Even the owner of the diner, Sancho, had eyed them skeptically at one point and asked how long they had been dating.
He smiled when he remembered Lola’s reaction. She had been mortified, had taken a huge gulp of her black coffee to swallow whatever she’d started choking on. Because he’d enjoyed her reaction, enjoyed the way a perfectly pink blush had flooded her neck and cheeks, he had remained quiet and let her explain that they were ‘just friends’ to a highly skeptical Sancho.
When it had come time to part ways, he’d briefly considered hugging her, but when that had rapidly progressed into wondering what she’d do if he kissed her, he’d pulled back and offered her his hand instead. Even that, the most basic contact, his palm against hers, had made his entire arm itch with the urge to touch her. He sighed when he’d remembered what he’d said to cover up his own awkwardness. ‘Don’t forget to call if you need help, Lola’.