Page 25 of True North

“Yep, and the eggs and bacon. Late breakfast.”

“How’s your ma?” I ask, filling his mug with coffee.

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Yes, Louisa. Fine.”

I roll my eyes at him and make my way back toward the kitchen to put in his order. By the time I make the counter, the butterflies that took flight when his eyes met mine have graduated to fire-breathing dragons.

Damn you, Harry Rawlins.

What does a girl have to do to get this man out of her system?

Possibly Brad...

But the thought makes my stomach flip. The dragons are replaced with heavy iron knots, and I shake the thought from my head.How about abstinence, Lou?Sounds much better than awkward Brad.

I sigh and work another few tables before Harry’s order comes up. The small bell on the pass dings, and I grab his plate. Maybe we should have this out. Hauling this guilt around is doing nothing for my conscience.

I place the food in front of him and plop onto the bench seat on the opposite side of the table. He picks up his fork and stares at me.

He raises a brow. “You needin’ something?”

Yes, you out of my head.

“I want to apologize...”

His head hangs, hands still gripping his cutlery. A long, heavy sigh rolls through his lips. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Louisa.”

“Well, I do.”

His head snaps up.

“Jesus, woman, let it be. Diggin’ up the past ain’t going to do either of us any good. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll be eatin’ alone.”

I frown, studying his stern face for a moment before rising with the scraps of my dignity. “We will be having this conversation, Harry. You can’t stay angry with me for the rest of our lives. We both liv?—”

“You done?”

My mouth gapes.

Screw you.“See you ’round, Rawlins.”

He grunts and shovels food into his mouth. The temporary moment we shared in his ma’s kitchen is obviously long forgotten. Out the back, I hunt down Lisa and beg her to swap out our sections. I need this job, but I do not need his moody bullshit.

“Sorry hon, tips are too good. I ain’t swapping, got three kids to feed. Maybe you could convince Cynthia?” Lisa’s face is all empathy.

I can’t ask her to swap when she needs the money more than I do. It’s not right.

I wander to the front of the diner. Cynthia is pouring more coffee for a couple of her regulars. “Hey Cynthia, would it be possible to swap areas, even for a week or two?”

She turns back, pot in hand. “Why you wanna go and do that?”

“It’s just that?—”

Her gaze snags on the last booth and the dark head of hair visible over the bench seat. “Ah, I see the problem. You know what? My daddy always said you should face your problems head-on. Now, what kind of a friend would I be if I let you run from yours?” She smiles at me.

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