Page 2 of Midnight Valentine
We share a smile, she ambles down the counter to refill someone’s coffee, and I dig in. I’m not what you’d call a dainty eater, so within a few minutes, I’ve polished off most of the omelet and have started to make a dent in the giant pile of hash browns. Just as I’m lifting the fork to my mouth, that strange feeling overtakes me again. All the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end and my ears burn like I’ve stuck my finger into an electrical socket.
I set my fork down, grit my teeth, and look over my shoulder.
Moody Raincoat Guy is staring at me with an expression like he’s about to jump out of the booth and open fire.
But what he doesn’t know about me is that I’m not the girl who wilts when confronted with awkward or potentially dangerous situations. I’m the girl who bares her teeth and growls.
I meet his burning gaze with an unflinching one of my own. “You got a problem?”
The grip he’s got on his coffee mug tightens until his knuckles turn white. He swallows, a muscle in his jaw flexing, but says nothing.
“How’s that omelet, honey?”
I hold Moody Raincoat’s hate-filled gaze a moment longer before turning back to the waitress. “Amazing. I won’t have to eat for two days. Actually, scratch that. Do you have key lime pie?”
The unmistakable sound of a big man trying to quickly evacuate a small booth comes from behind me. There’s a lot of rattling and thumping, the squeak of rubber soles on the linoleum floor, and a huff of aggravation. Then he’s clomping past, dragging wind and the scent of the woods in his wake. I hear the bell over the front door jangle, then the door slams shut with a jarring noise. The force of it rattles all the windows. I’m surprised all the glass in the place doesn’t break.
Looking over my shoulder, the waitress shakes her head and sighs.
“He’s a real charmer,” I say drily.
“He used to be.” Her voice is tinged with sorrow, which piques my curiosity.
“You know him?”
Her kind green eyes turn sad. “Known him since he was a boy. Hell, everybody in this town knows him. He’s lived here all his life. Captain of the football team in high school, prom king, engaged to the prettiest girl in town. Everyone loved him. There was even talk of him running for office, he was so popular in these parts. Then the accident happened, and he’s never been the same since.”
A cold veil of dread settles over me at the mention of the word “accident.” I have to moisten my lips because my mouth has gone dry.
The waitress waves a hand in front of her face, as if to dispel a cloud of bad energy. “Sorry, Cal’s always telling me not to gossip. Let me get that pie for you.” She comes back with it shortly and refills my coffee. “You here on vacation?”
“Nope. I’m moving in.”
“Really? That’s exciting! We don’t get many permanent transplants. Most everyone in Seaside this time of year is a tourist. Where you from?”
“Phoenix.”
She looks impressed. “Oh, big city. I could never live in a city as big as that.” She notices the wedding band on my finger and brightens. “You’re here with your husband?”
That word doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. I’ve grown callouses over all kinds of words, like husband, marriage, kids. Love.
“My husband passed away several years ago.”
The waitress puts her hand over her heart. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
I can tell she really is. A lot of people say the words from a reflex to be polite but don’t mean them, but this friendly waitress isn’t one of those people. “Thank you.”
“So do you have family nearby? Portland, maybe?”
“Nope.”
“Work, then?”
She’s wondering why I decided to move here, Smallsville, USA. The answer isn’t one of those things I’ve grown a callous over, so I go with a half-truth, delivered with a cheery smile.
“In a way, I suppose, though I don’t have a job waiting for me. It’s more like I’m going to make one.” When she knits her brows in confusion, I add, “I bought the Buttercup Inn.”
She lets out an excited whoop that has everyone’s heads turning. Over her shoulder, she hollers toward the kitchen, “Cal! This nice little girl bought the Buttercup!”
