Page 40 of Landing Her Eagle
“Yeah, I have everything. Let’s go,” I say instead as I grab my bags, glancing around the living room at the couch where we’ve spent the past week cuddling, and follow Daphne out the front door, making sure the lock has engaged. The next time I come home, the pots of brightly colored mums we bought for the porch will be dead and gone. I miss them already.
I’m missing pots of flowers. It’s ridiculous. I’ve seen the tulip fields of the Netherlands, visited beautiful gardens of grand homes, explored tropical rain forests, and I’m lamenting pots of chrysanthemums.
Climbing in the driver’s seat of Daphne’s Escape after putting my bags in the back, I ask about lunch. “Want to stop for burgers at the place on 42?”
There’s a 1950s-themed restaurant on a road we can take to the airport. Most of the time we’d take the Atlantic City Expressway since it’s faster, but I’m not in a hurry to get to the airport, and this way we can stop for lunch.
“Sure, sounds good. I haven’t been there in forever.” My girl puts a brave smile on her face. “It’s a shame we won’t have time for the arcade. I guess that means we’ll have to go back.”
She’s doing her absolute best to be cheery and make it easy for me to leave. She knows if I know she’s upset, it will gut me. However, the forced cheeriness is twisting a knife in my stomach all the same. Leaving has never been this difficult before. I always miss Daphne when I go, but my eagerness to be off on my next adventure usually tips the scales in favor of leaving. That’s not the case this time. For the first time, I feel apathetic over my departure, and if I was being honest with myself, I’d admit what I’m really feeling is dread.
We pull into the restaurant parking lot. It’s been years since we’ve eaten here, and I hope it’s as good as I remember. Well, years sinceI’veeaten here. For all I know, Daphne comes here all the time. Without me.
I recognize the hypocrisy of moping over things Daphne has done in our places without me while I’ve been off traveling the world. It doesn’t help ease the ache though.
“It doesn’t seem like anything has changed,” I say, holding the door for her. This place is cool. It resembles an old 1950s diner like fromHappy Days, with mini jukeboxes at each booth. The female servers wear pedal pushers or poodle skirts, and the male servers wear cuffed jeans and white T-shirts, channeling The Fonz. The burgers and fries are incredible, and they have a soda fountain where you can order all kinds of exotically flavored sodas, ice cream floats, and milkshakes. There’s an arcade attached full of video games and boardwalk games like Skee-Ball. Sometimes in college, we’d come with rolls of quarters and spend the entire afternoon playing games and goofing off, giving our stash of tickets to a kid so they could cash them in for prizes. Those were wonderful days.
“Hey, hon, you can sit wherever you want. I’ll bring over menus,” the waitress calls out to Daphne as we enter.
“Thanks,” Daph responds. “Booth by the window?”
Nodding, I follow her to the booth, unable to resist resting my hand on Daph’s lower back as we walk over. I don’t want to pass up any opportunity to touch her. She must feel the same way because instead of sitting across from each other like we usually do, she grabs my hand and pulls me to sit beside her. I wrap my arm around her shoulders as our waitress comes over with menus and two glasses of water.
“She waited on us last time, didn’t she?” It is obvious Daphne is on the same wavelength as I am.
“I think so. I remember the eyeglasses.” I read over the menu even though I already know what I’m getting. “What sounds good to you?”
“Other than you?” With a cheeky grin, Daphne leans in to kiss me. “I’m thinking about the double cheeseburger. Want to split an order of cheese fries?”
That sounds good. I nod my agreement when our waitress, Marcia, approaches our table.
“Ready to order?” Marcia asks, pad in hand.
“I love your glasses!” Daphne enthuses, smiling up at her.
“Thanks, hon!” They are cute, pink cat-eye shaped with rhinestones in the corner. Very kitschy, but it fits the vibe of the place.
“I’ll go first.” Daphne places her order. After I give my order and Marcia walks away, Daph taps our menus on the table and puts them back in the holder.
Stretching my arm along the back of the booth, Daphne snuggles into my side, placing her hand on my thigh. I press a kiss to her temple and sigh. We haven’t spoken much since we got in the car, and there’s so much to say. I think we’re afraid of getting emotional and making our parting even more difficult, so we’re choosing to remain silent instead. I’m fearful that if I express any reluctance or doubt about leaving, Daphne will ask me to stay, and I’ll be in the position of having to tell her no.
Not that she has any problem telling me no when I ask her to come with me. Okay, that sounded bitter. I understand why she says no. I don’t like it, but I understand it. I’m not wasting our limited time together on bitterness. That’s what my flight to Madrid is for.
Technically, I could cancel this trip and stay here. I’m a freelancer, and I’m not under contract with anyone. However, I know the events I’m attending create the shots that sell well. My plan is to shop my photos around to some publications and websites I’ve worked with before and also use some images to bolster my stock photo catalog.
I need to spend my downtime on this trip to investigate more of the business side of things and how I can create a passive income with shots I’ve already taken, so I’m able to adjust my travel schedule. I can’t travel ten months of the year and maintain a relationship. If I show I’m willing to sacrifice, then maybe Daphne will be comfortable joining me. She’s right. I blindsided her, showing up out of nowhere and asking her to drop everything and run away with me. My life would be easier if she had. But I hadn’t realized then how deep her issues go.
“It will be okay, Logan.” Daphne squeezes my thigh. “We’re best friends. I know you. You must go because you have things planned. It’s okay. But we need to figure things out. If we’re dating, I don’t want to spend long stretches of time apart beyond this.”
I’m aware she doesn’t have paranormal gifts, but, in this moment, I swear she’s a mind reader.
She sighs. “We both need to compromise. I need to figure out how to do that. It’s difficult for me.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m aware we have a lot to work out but didn’t address this week. We’ll spend the next weeks figuring out a game plan that works for both of us. It’ll be okay.” That last part is more to reassure me than her.
“Here we go!” Marcia announces, placing our burgers and a basket of fries before us. “Ketchup and napkins are there.” She juts her chin toward the caddy near the window. “Do you need anything else at the moment?”
“We’re good,” I say, smiling at her.
