you thought?”
“Yes,” I say, not even considering lying. Why fight the truth? It’s always there no matter what.
Adrian doesn’t look like he’s taking the pleasure in it that I thought he would. Instead he sighs and asks, “Are you going to seat me?”
“That’s what the hostess is for,” is my reply when really what I’m wondering is why he’s back. I doubt he usually spends his evenings in diners, yet he’s been here numerous nights now.
“I’d rather have you.”
The way he says it shows he doesn’t mean being seated. I know what it is—that he’s trying to make me uncomfortable or to play some kind of sexual game with me. I’m not interested in games. He wouldn’t be either if he knew the truth.
“Excuse me, miss?” a customer asks, and I realize I’m clutching her napkins in my hand.
“I have work to do.” Before the last word leaves my mouth, I’m already walking away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Adrian get seated. He’s in Lisa’s section, which makes some of the tension ease from my muscles. I won’t have to deal with him for at least two hours.
What am I thinking?
It’s not like he’s going to be here for that long anyway.
I stay busy for the next couple of hours. The whole time I’m distinctly aware of Adrian. That he’s still here, that he’s eating pancakes again. The way his finger plays on the top of the table as though he’s writing something with an invisible pen. I think about his poem and if he wishes he was writing one. If that’s something he does to deal with life. If he’s always written or only since my father took away that little boy.
An anchor lands on my chest, weighing me down with a million tons of guilt—for what my father did and the fact that Adrian doesn’t know.
We’ve slowed down slightly and I’m leaning against the counter, as though that will take the weight away. Lisa steps up beside me, nudging me with a smile and having no clue the storm of emotions twisting inside my head.
“He a friend of yours?” she asks.
“No,” pops out of my mouth. How can we be friends with so much between us? “I don’t really know him.”
“It’s a shame. He’s gorgeous.”
And he really is. All his features are dark—dark hair and eyes and even a bronze shade to his skin. Darkness lingers in those eyes and the set of his jaw. One look at him and you can tell he walks around with a bruised soul.
“Looks like he’d be a good time.”
Her words make me wonder if she doesn’t see what I do when I look at him. Maybe it’s like those ghosts he said he sees in my eyes. We’re bound together by this tragedy and even though he doesn’t know it, he still sees that thread tying us together.
“Hello? Earth to Delaney?” She snaps her fingers and I look at her.
“Sorry. I guess I’m still a little shaken up from last night.”
“I know, right? I can’t believe you guys got robbed. What’s worse is that we’re open the very next day and there’s not even any security here.” At least Hugo’s the cook tonight. It feels good having a guy around.
“Are you out of here?” I ask her.
We keep a second waitress until 1:00 a.m. tonight. After that, it’s just me.
“I am. Have a good night!” she says, and then Lisa is gone, the hostess, too, leaving Hugo and me.
Glancing at Adrian’s table, I decide I should check on him. It’s my job, after all. My feet feel like they’re made of lead as I make my way to the table.
His plate is cleared away by now, leaving only a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Need a refill?” I ask, and then realize I’m an idiot and left the carafe behind the counter.
“From your invisible pot?” A small smile tugs at his lips.
I cross my arms. “I didn’t plan to come over here and stopped on my way.”
“Sure.” He shrugs, surprising me. I expected something more, so I’m a little taken off guard.
“Oh… okay. I’ll be right back.”
I grab the carafe and then head back to his
Chuck Norris, Abraham Norris, Ken Chuck, Chuck Ken; Norris Abraham, Ken Abraham