Page 26 of Egg Me On

"Fuck!" I hissed, grabbing paper towels. My eyes burned with tears that had nothing to do with broken eggs. Get it together, Lockhart. Cleaning them up took more time than it should have as I gave in and let myself cry, just a little.

"Morning, man."

I jerked upright, cracking my head on the underside of the counter.

“Oh fuck, that hurt,” I groaned, hoping it excused the tears still in my eyes.

I stood and found Dylan in the doorway of the food truck, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, eyebrows raised at the mess of paper towels. His expression was casual, but something in his eyes made my stomach drop.

"Jesus, Dylan. Make some noise next time." I gathered up the egg-covered paper towels, feeling grumpy.

"Didn't expect to see you here so early." He leaned against the doorframe, extending one of the coffee cups like a peace offering. "I was making coffee, so when I saw you were here, I thought I’d come with a peace offering… and see what the specials were."

I took the coffee. "Just thought I'd get a head start today," I explained too quickly. "Busy weekend, lots to catch up on."

Dylan's gaze was steady, assessing. He didn't believe me for a second.

"Camping was good," he said, taking a careful sip from his cup. "Food was great."

"Thanks." I busied myself with the egg cleanup, willing my face not to betray me. "It was fun. Haven't done much camping before."

"Seemed like you enjoyed it." His voice held an undercurrent I couldn't quite place. "You and Cash seemed pretty tight out there."

My hands froze, egg yolk seeping into the paper towels. "Yeah, well. He was nice enough to give me a ride." I forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to my own ears.

Dylan watched me struggle for a moment longer before his expression softened. "Cash is... complicated. I think there’s more going on under the surface than he’s able to get out. Not sure why."

"Nothing complicated about it." I tossed the soiled towels into the trash with more force than necessary. "Just two guys who had some fun. No big deal."

Dylan opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the distinctive rumble of a motorcycle engine. My head snapped up, heart lurching painfully against my ribs. I knew that sound.

“You know, it’s funny he didn’t ride his cafe racer to work, if you didn’t need a ride,” Dylan said. “You did tell him you didn’t need a ride, right?”

I frowned, trying to think back to what Cash used to ride to work, but I couldn’t quite remember. “What do you mean? Cafe racer?”

“He has a bike he likes for city commuting. Usually saves the bigger Harleys for longer rides. Or, lately, when he needs a seat for you.”

I swallowed. Hard. Had he stopped by my house? Why hadn’t he texted when he’d found out I’d already left?

I moved to the food truck window, unable to stop myself from looking. Cash pulled into the lot, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the rising sun. He wore the same leather jacket from the weekend, his helmet the matte black one that matched the glittery one he'd bought for me. My throat tightened.

He cut the engine, swinging his leg over the bike with that fluid grace that still made my mouth go dry. For a brief moment, he glanced toward the food truck, his eyes meeting mine across theparking lot. Something flickered across his face—too quick to identify—before his expression shuttered closed.

Dylan had moved beside me, watching the exchange with interest. "Huh," he said quietly.

“Do you think he’s upset?” I whispered. “Like, I mean, if he came by my house and I wasn’t there.”

Cash removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm as he strode toward the shop entrance. His steps were purposeful, shoulders rigid with tension. Not once did he look back at the food truck.

"He's not great at talking," Dylan offered, though his tone suggested he didn't believe it either.

"Right," I agreed, turning back to my prep area with forced nonchalance. "But it’s not like we had anything to talk about, anyway."

Dylan's skeptical expression said he wasn't buying what I was selling. He finished his coffee in one long swallow, then set the empty cup on my counter.

"Breakfast sandwich when you're up and running?" he asked, changing the subject with merciful tact.

"Sure thing. The usual?"

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