Page 67 of The Cabin

“We were three, my two sisters and I. Three is tough because there’s always a middle. And I know my parents had a rough go of it. But it’s all I know and I think there’s something special about it.”

“Who is the middle?”

He smirks. “You’re looking at him.”

“I actually don’t think I would’ve guessed that. You give me more of a bossy older brother type of vibe.”

“Well, I was. To one of them. My older sister Sawyer was the queen of us both, though.”

“I love her already,” I tease.

“She’s a spitfire. You’d like her. Fit right in.”

“Wow, she could be my first friend.”

“No, no, no, no. You two are not allowed to be friends. You would team up against me and I would be absolutely powerless.”

I wave my hand in the air. “Uh, exactly. It’ll be amazing.”

“You aren’t close with any of your coworkers?”

“Not really. We’re friendly. And trauma bonded. But I pushed everyone away during my marriage and especially through the divorce. If anyone got to know me, they would’ve realized how bad things were and I wasn’t ready to hear it.”

“Things got really rough with me and Chase. If I hadn’t before, I’ve definitely lost that relationship now.”

My lips form a small frown. “That sucks. It freaking sucks.”

“All done here, my dears?” I don’t know how Martha does it. So jolly. Like the diner version of Mrs. Claus.

“Yes! Everything we wanted and more, thank you so much!” She sets the check in the middle of the table and I pretty much slam chest-first onto the surface attempting to dive for it. I’m too slow. Grayson shoots his hand out lightning quick and holds his prize above his head.

“Are you always this sickeningly sweet to servers?” he asks, standing up and stretching. His shirt pulls up and reveals part of his stomach and the hair leading beneath his jeans. I didn’t getanyopportunity to explore his body earlier. That issounfair. And terrifying.

“Yupp,” my lips make a popping sound at the end, “I waitressed for ten years. It ain’t for the weak of heart.”

We walk to the register and Grayson pays. Turning, he hands me a ten-dollar bill. “Will you put this on the table while I sign?” I give him a look.

“Fine, I’ll go do it.”

I shake my head, holding my hand out and curling my fingers in quickly a couple times. “Cough it up,señor.” I wave the ten he gave me in his face.

He raises his eyebrows at me, incredulous. My stare is unimpressed and he wisely relents, stacking another ten in my hand. “That’s more like it.”

We’re walking back to the truck when he says, “Our bill was only eleven dollars.”

“Are you trying to woo me with that statement or was that a snide cheap date comment…?” He chuckles. It’s nice to hear it. I’m glad he could have an hour or two to take a second before having to dive into the deep shit we’re in.

“You made me tip twenty dollars on an eleven-dollar check.”

“I’m just not seeing what the problem is.” The way he’s shaking his head shows how ridiculously insane he finds me.

“There isn’t one, I guess.” We hop into the cab of the truck and I am delighted when he turns the radio on. It’s country,shocker, but I’ll take it. If he’s putting on music, that’s a good sign.

“She was wonderful and prompt and baked us fresh bread that we sent away.”

“You didn’t have to–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Grayson. We get it. It doesn't matter regardless. We would’ve tipped her twenty even if she dumped food on us and made us cry.” It’s like when he looks at me he sees a cute, fuzzy, absolutely psychotic kitten missing an ear and maybe even an eye.

---