Page 45 of Love Resurrected
She reaches over and uses the controls on the console to flip through the songs until she finds what she’s looking for.
“Then what’s this one?”
The soft sounds of the violins dance through the cab of my truck and I know immediately thatthisis the song from the movie and not the one she was singing. I can’t believe I mixed them up.Armageddonwas one of Kat’s go-to flicks to watch when she felt down and wanted a good cry.
It’s only been three years; how can I already be forgetting such crucial details? My god, even if I ignore that, I’m a huge Bruce Willis fan. Well, technically John McClane, but they are practically the same person. I can’t believe I forgot the song. I curse myself silently then send an equally silent apology out to the universe, hoping Kat hears it.
So stupid.
I slam my hand against the power knob on the radio console and quiet fills the air between us. Tenley looks at me, eyebrows raised. I don’t meet her gaze, nor do I explain my actions.
“Note to self, do not play theArmageddonsong in front of Brad,” Tenley mumbles.
I run a hand roughly across my forehead. I’m such an asshole.
“Sorry,” I offer. “The song has a lot of memories. Not all of them good.”
“I get it.” She nods. “Do you want to talk about her?”
My first impulse is to scream no. Talking about her makes it so much worse. The sense of loss so much more encompassing. The hurt overwhelming.
Instead, I look at her with a half-smile and shake my head. “It’s nice of you to offer, though.”
Because talk about the ultimate betrayal, talking about Kat to another woman I’m on a date with.
Although, who am I betraying with that? Not Kat, because I’d be talking about her. So, Tenley then? Do I really care if I’m betraying her? We aren’t involved. And, this isn’t a date. It’s just two friends having breakfast together after seeing two other friends. I move to turn the radio back on and find a morning news station. Can’t go wrong with that—no morning news will evoke crazy I-miss-Kat emotions.
We make it to the restaurant in a short amount of time. I haven’t been here in a while, but it has always been one of my favorites. It’s unassuming from the front, buried in a strip mall between a dry cleaner and a cell phone store. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I exit my truck then circle the front to help Tenley out. She’s tall enough she probably doesn’t need it, but even if I am an asshole, I still try to be a gentleman.
The aroma of fried potatoes and strong coffee tickle my senses when I open the door. “Two, please,” I tell the haggard-looking hostess/server, Rita, who greets us. She grabs two paper menus from a holder attached to the wall and shows us to a small table against the far wall. Her triangular paper-hat is askew, ponytail loose, and her old-school outfit—mustard yellow polyester dress with white-capped sleeves and collar, a white apron tied around her waist, and thick-soled white shoes—is slightly stained from today’s spills.
“I’ll bring you two some coffee. Cream? Sugar?”
“Black is fine,” I say.
“Do you have any sugar-free vanilla sweetener?” Tenley asks.
“We’ve got some of those little creamer cups that are vanilla, but they aren’t sugar-free,” Rita answers.
“Mmm, no thank you. Can I get a breve latte?”
“It’s just coffee here, sweetheart. I got cream, milk, sugar, and the pink sweetener.”
“Coffee with cream and sugar sounds great, thank you,” Tenley says.
“What the hell is a breve latte?” I ask when Rita leaves.
“It’s half milk and half cream,” Tenley says.
“And sugar-free vanilla sweetener? Does this place look like it would have that on hand?”
“It’s my usual order.”
“Your usual order is a breve latte with sugar-free sweetener?” I ask.
“Sort of.”
I watch her, waiting.
