When I get in my car, I look at the time on my phone and it reads six forty-five, which is the same time I leave every Wednesday morning. The thought crosses my mind to call Helen and let her know I’m going to be there a little later than usual, but I decide to play it by ear. There’s a chance I’ll get there and he won’t even show. Or he will, but we won’t have anything to talk about. Or I might chicken out and keep driving.
Yeah, there’s always that.
But when I get close to the diner, it’s not hard to spot the truck . . . and then the beefcake. He’s leaning up against the side of the rusted metal—legs crossed, arms folded, looking like a dream. No, seriously, I had a dream just like this a few nights ago and I’m currently experiencing the strongest case of déjà vu I’ve ever had in my entire life.
What do they say about that?
Is it good?
Bad?
In another universe, someone like me and someone like Gunnar meet up for breakfast at Daisy’s all the time? Have I crossed over some time-space continuum?
And this is a prime example of why Frankie Reeves can’t have nice things. She screws it up with all of her overthinking and overanalyzing. And then she starts speaking about herself in the third person. It’s embarrassing.
Get ahold of yourself.
I park my car beside Gunnar, and I don’t miss the smile on his gorgeous face. With all the angular planes and hard lines, his soft smile is a nice contrast, setting off his mesmerizing eyes.
Oh, my God. I sound ridiculous, like one of those lovesick girls on the stupid dating shows the other nurses watch on our late night shifts. When he knocks on my window, I jump in my seat, my eyes flashing over to meet his, and he’s holding a bouquet of flowers. Sunflowers, to be exact, which happen to be my favorite.
How did he know that?
What if he’s a serial killer stalker?
That would be my luck.
“Hey,” I say, getting out of my car and tamping down the rush of nerves.
He gives me an even bigger smile. Funny, I didn’t think he’d be a morning person, but he’s somehow just as chipper in the daylight as he is at night in the middle of the canned foods at the grocery store.
“Good morning,” he muses. “Didn’t think I’d be here, huh?”
I scrunch my nose and glance over at the door of Daisy’s as another early riser walks in, letting the smell of freshly baked donuts waft out. “I don’t know,” I admit. I was hoping you would . . . and I was hoping you wouldn’t. “But since you are, I guess we should go inside before the old men eat all the donuts.”
“Have they run out before?” he asks, his expression going serious, like the idea of them running out of donuts is a tragedy. It really is. Daisy’s donuts are hands-down the best in the state of Tennessee.
Letting out a laugh and appreciating the way the tightness in my chest eases, I shake my head. “Nah, I don’t think so, but we want first dibs. They’re best when they’re fresh.”
He nods his head in agreement. “True.” Glancing down at the flowers that are still in his hand, he hesitates for a moment, shifting on his feet. It’s possibly better than the flowers, because I realize then, he might also be a little nervous about this date. “I brought you flowers.”
“Where did you get flowers at this time of morning?” I ask, taking them from him and holding them to my chest before turning and placing them on the passenger seat of my car.
“Tempest knows the florist downtown,” he says, pinching his bottom lip like he’s regretting his choices. “Is it too much?”
I thought I might see a different side of Gunnar this morning, but this is certainly not what I had in mind. He’s surprising me again, but it’s not bad.
“It’s great,” I assure him. Perfect, if I’m being honest, but I’m not ready to show all of my cards just yet.
As we walk into the diner, the same kid from yesterday is at the counter. When he sees Gunnar, his eyes widen and I have to fight back a chuckle. I wonder if Gunnar gets that everywhere he goes. If people reacted to me every time I walked into a room, I think I’d take a page from my mother’s book and stay home. Attention like that makes my skin crawl.
“Good morning,” he greets, schooling his features as he reaches for his notepad and pencil. “Jelly donut and coffee to go?”
I give him a smile, but then shake my head. “Two jelly donuts and two coffees . . . for here.”
His eyebrows go up, surprised at this change of events.
“Can you add on a maple bar?” Gunnar asks, glancing in the case. “And a blueberry cake donut.”
Turning around, I give him what must be a surprised expression because he laughs.
“What?” he asks incredulously. “I’m a growing boy.”
The spit I was swallowing must have a bone in it because I choke and Gunnar pats my back until I can catch my breath.
“You okay?” he asks with a knowing grin, placing money down on the counter to pay for our breakfast. I would argue, but I’m still recovering, so I let him. It’s just a donut and a cup of coffee. No big deal.
“Fine,” I reply, as we make our way over to a table and have a seat, feeling a little hot. The air around us feels charged, but that’s not new; it’s been that way since the first day I met him in the ER. I’ve just been trying to ignore it, hoping it would go away. Like him, it hasn’t.
“I thought you drink smoothies for breakfast?” The way he’s leveling me with his eyes makes me fidgety. Now that I’m really getting an up close and personal experience with them, I decide they remind me of sea glass.
“Uh, I do. Drink smoothies. Every day, except for Wednesdays,” I reply, still feeling mesmerized by the intensity of his eyes. I wasn’t ready for those. The smirk? Sure. The biceps? Fine. The eyes? Nope. They turn me into a rambling idiot. “On Wednesdays, I eat jelly donuts.”
The smile he gives me is a new one, different from all the rest. It’s not his cocky smirk or his confident grin. It’s a little wistful and a little mysterious . . . and a lot mine. I decide since I haven’t seen it before now, I’m going to claim it. It’s my favorite.
“Two jelly donuts, one maple bar, and one blueberry cake donut,” the guy, who I now see has a name—Kyle—says as he sets down our donuts on the table between us. “I’ll be right back with your coffees.”
A second later, two piping hot cups of coffee appear and I smile up at him. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, glancing over at Gunnar. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Looks great, man,” Gunnar says, reaching for the maple donut. “Thanks.”
I slide one of the jelly-filled donuts onto a napkin and take a bite. Strangely, it tastes even better than usual and I wonder if it’s the fact I’m eating it while sitting down and not driving down the road. Or maybe it’s the company.
“So, when you’re not stitching up people in the ER,” Gunnar starts, but pauses long enough to lick some icing off his thumb and drawing my attention to his mouth. “What do you do besides grocery trips to Piggly Wiggly on Tuesdays and getting donuts on Wednesdays?”
Taking a sip of my coffee, I try to decide if he’s making fun of my simple life or just being conversational. “I also go to the farmer's market on Saturdays,” I offer, gauging his reaction.