Page 16 of Piston

We slid into a booth, the cracked vinyl cushions squeaking beneath us. A waitress with pink hair and a nose ring sauntered over, smacking her gum.

"Well, well, if it isn't Piston," she drawled. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Jenny," Piston said, his hand finding mine under the table. "She's new to the Spoon."

The waitress eyed me up and down, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Fresh meat, huh? Better watch out, sugar. Piston's a heartbreaker."

I felt my cheeks flush, but Piston just laughed. "Don't worry, Rox. I'm on my best behavior tonight."

Rox snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it. What'll you have?"

We placed our orders - a bacon cheeseburger for Piston, a veggie burger for me. As Rox walked away, I turned to Piston, eyebrow raised.

"Heartbreaker, huh?"

Piston shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. "What can I say? I've got a reputation."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the flutter in my chest. There was something about Piston that drew me in, despite mybetter judgment. He was a walking contradiction - rough edges and soft smiles, danger and tenderness all wrapped up in one.

As we waited for our food, the tension between us eased, replaced by a comfortable familiarity. Piston cracked jokes, making me laugh until my sides hurt. I found myself opening up, sharing stories from the salon, my dreams for the future.

And through it all, Piston listened, his eyes never leaving mine. He made me feel seen, heard, in a way I hadn't experienced before. Like I was the only person in the room, the only one that mattered.

By the time our burgers arrived, the earlier awkwardness had disappeared completely. We dug in, moaning appreciatively at the first bite.

"Oh my god," I said around a mouthful of veggie burger. "This is incredible."

Piston grinned, ketchup smeared on his chin. "Told ya. Best damn burgers in town."

I laughed, reaching over to wipe the ketchup away with my thumb. Piston caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. The gesture was simple, sweet, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

"Jenny," he said, his voice low and rough. "I'm really glad you're here."

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering in my chest. "Me too, Piston. Me too."

As the evening wore on, the conversation turned to heavier topics. Piston's eyes took on a faraway look as he talked about his past, his words coming out in fits and starts.

"I ain't always been the man I am now," he said, picking at the label on his beer bottle. "Done things I ain't proud of, things that still haunt me."

I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. "Like what?"

Piston shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "Not sure you wanna know, darlin'. Might change the way you look at me."

"Try me," I said, holding his gaze. "I'm tougher than I look."

He let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. "Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you."

And so he began to talk, painting a picture of a life I could barely imagine. A childhood marked by poverty and neglect, a father who drank too much and a mother who couldn't cope. Running with the wrong crowd, getting into fights, doing drugs.

But through it all, there was a thread of hope, of resilience. Piston spoke of the moment he realized he wanted more, the day he walked into Perdition and found a family, a purpose.

As he talked, I found myself drawn to him in a way I couldn't quite explain. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness that made me want to reach out and touch him, to offer comfort and understanding.

"I ain't perfect, Jenny," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying' to be better. To make something of myself."

I reached across the table, taking his hand in mine. "I know you are, Piston. And for what it's worth, I think you're doing a damn good job."

He looked up at me, surprise and gratitude mingling in his expression. "You mean that?"

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