Page 9 of Drown Like Heaven
Ten minutes later, we were dashing across the rainy parking lot in front of a small roadside diner. The red and green sign shimmered from above our heads, buzzing through the raindrops. Spruce trees stood tall behind the building and dark clouds swirled overhead, eddying and rolling across the low dome of the sky.
Mason yanked the door open and shoved me inside, then guided us over to a booth next to the wall of windows along the front. Most of the inside of the diner was designed to look like a log cabin, worn green vinyl covering the cushions on the booths and old license plates tacked on any available wall space. Everything was the same shade of medium-brown wood, save for the square linoleum flooring, which was pale yellow.
A young girl with her hair in a ponytail came over to the table, laminated menus in hand, a notepad and pen tucked in the pocket of her apron. The single pendant light above our table illuminated her face with its dusty gold glow.
“I’m Sofia, and I’ll be taking care of you guys this afternoon. Can I get you started with anything to drink? Coffee? Water?” She laid the menus on the table along with two bundles of utensils rolled up in napkins, clicking her pen open while sheglanced between us, maybe assuming we weretogether. If only she knew how we’d just met.
I looked at Mason, half-expecting him to be the one to say something. I couldn’t exactly afford much extra right now, and wasn’t interested in blowing the small amount of money I did have on diner food I didn’t need. Though a quick glimpse at the menus showed me the prices were actually quite cheap.
“Two waters and a coffee,” he answered, looking up at our waitress. I breathed out a sigh of relief.
The moment she left the table, I spoke up, “I don’t really want to buy anything right now.”
“I’m obviously buying. Get whatever you want,” Mason answered without even looking up from his menu. I scrutinized his face, the full lips and strong jaw, the dark slashes of his brows, his long eyelashes and still-damp brown hair. The low-slung light of the pendant above the table made everything feel closer. Safer, maybe. Mason’s unnatural intensity seemed muted here.
“It wasn’t obvious to me,” I said, picking up my own menu and running the pad of my finger along the plastic edge. Maybe it should’ve been obvious, though. This was entirely his suggestion—not even asuggestion, really. He’d dragged me here. “Who’s the coffee for?”
“Whoever wants it.” Mason’s eyes connected with mine; his irises were brown like soil and mine were green like ferns. Meeting each other just like the forest did outside these walls. “Or we could share,” he added. “Don’t know how sweet you like it.”
I felt like I should know things about him, something more than his first name and the fact that he liked the feeling of almost drowning himself, but I wasn’t sure how to ask. Sofia came back with the glasses of water and a steaming mug of coffee, alongwith a few vanilla creamers, which she set on the table next to the ceramic mug.
“Need a few more minutes?” she asked.
Mason and I both affirmed that we were still looking over our menus.
“Take your time.” Sofia nodded and left, strolling down a few tables to check on another group—an older couple eating with who I presumed were their grandkids.
“Do you want some waffles or something?” Mason asked as he eyed me stacking the little plastic cups of creamer into a small pyramid. “We could share a stack.”
Was this normal for him? Did he often drag girls out of the ocean, offer them his clothes, and then take them to this tiny diner to share a stack of waffles? I narrowed my eyes and looked back at the pyramid.
“You don’t want to talk,” he surmised.
“We can talk. I just want to know how many girls you’ve taken here.” I internally smacked myself upside the head, hating that I sounded jealous, hating that I sortawasjealous. I’d met this man all of thirty minutes ago. The energy radiating from him was making me dumb.
“I’ve never taken a girl here. I’ve actually never even been here.”
“What?” I stared at him. “How did you decide on it?”
“I drive past this place all the time, and I’ve always wanted to see the inside. This seemed as good an opportunity as any.” He reached out and flicked the tower of creamers, sending the few plastic cups tumbling onto the faux-wood surface of the table. I couldn’t determine if he was lying or not.
“I guess I just don’t understand why you’re holding me hostage.”
“Because I don’t want you walking off to fuck-knows-where through that. That’s why.” He jerked his head towards the foggywindow, where rain was pouring down the glass in slick sheets. Thunder echoed through the sky and shook the pane in its frame.
“I was going to take the bus.”
“You got front door bus service?”
I slammed my palm down on the table, irritated with his tone. Our silverware rattled. “I’ll split a stack of blueberry waffles with you and then you’re going to let me leave. Okay?”
Mason didn’t give any indication of yes or no.
“And I’m going to drown them in syrup, so I hope you like that,” I added. If he really cared so much about me getting home safe, he could deal with a small flood of maple syrup.
“I love it.” His gaze lingered on mine, almost challenging me. I thought I could see something predatory in his eyes. Something mildly untamed.
I need to leave.
