*Cole

The waitress sets down two coffee cups the second we slide onto the booth seats. "Regular or decaf, hon?" she asks me.

She pours regular for Jordan without asking, and I notice a sly wink, which means the waitress approves of Jordan bringing me to her favorite diner for breakfast. Good.

"Regular, please," I say and set my jacket on the seat next to me. "And keep 'em coming, all right?"

"You got it. Do you need a minute with the menu to decide?"

Jordan answers, "That would be great, Carmen." She passes me one of the grungy, laminated page menus and taps on the second item in the breakfasts. "I recommend the pancakes, eggs and bacon combo with free all-you-can-drink coffee, but if you go for the waffles and fruit spread, I wouldn't be offended."

"And if I go for the toast and blood sausage sandwich and grits?"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to speak to you anymore, but you should choose what you want, and live out the rest of your life alone." She lifted her eyebrows innocently and sipped her coffee.

I noted mentally that she takes her coffee black and she is adorable with her hair piled messily on top her head after a night of good fucking. "Then I'll take your word for it and have the pancake combo."

She smirks, and I stretch my hand out on the table for her take. Hesitating, she glances reflexively around the small diner and then very deliberately puts her hand in mine.

She's still afraid to be caught doing something wrong by these people. I don't let my anger show on my face—I'm not angry at her.

The diner is a bit shabby at the corners, obviously its glory days are long gone, but someone is maintaining the cozy, family atmosphere. A jukebox is in the corner, but I'm not sure if it works. The seats are an avocado green that reminds me of my grandmother's kitchen when I was a kid, and the speckled grey lunch counter has a row of gleaming stools. The only other customers here this early are several elderly gentlemen, sitting alone and one couple in their fifties, who look like they might be tourists passing through.

The waitress stops by to take our order from Jordan and she refills my cup, even though it was only down half an inch. I love it here already.

Too bad I won't be staying. I woke up to seven messages on my phone asking about progress on different cars, and it's the weekend still. When Monday hits, customers will be hunting me down. Part of me wishes things could be different, but I don't see how.

"She's nice," I say, hitching my head towards the retreating waitress.

"Carmen? Yeah, she's great. I've been stopping for coffee on my way to work since I started at the Children's Center, and I come in for a big breakfast at least once a week."

"How's their lunch?"

She takes her hand back. "It's good. Burgers, fries, some mixed salads. I don't come for lunch or dinner, though. Too many other people."

I don't press the subject. Silence settles between us, but it's a strained, uncomfortable one. I sense there is more, but she doesn't want to talk. I watch the cars on the road through the large windows across the front of the diner, drinking my coffee.

Jordan clears her throat. "What day are you leaving town again?"

A chill spreads in my chest. I intend to take her with me, but haven't found the right moment to ask. What if she says no? "I need another couple days at least to finish things up. I'd like to spend a little time with Roberta, too, to make sure she has the legalities squared away and is handling things all right."

"Handling things like her grief for the loss of her husband?" Jordan's voice is unexpectedly rough. I set my cup down, trying to figure out what's really going on in her head and heart.

I know I should just ask. I tell myself I'm an idiot. "Like that, yeah. I'm not going to leave right away. There's too much to take care of here. Things for me to figure out, too."

She nods, face muscles tight.

I put my hands around hers, which have a death grip on her coffee. "There's more than I thought tying me to this town."

"Is that bad?"

"It's not bad at all. I told you, this trip is so much more than I thought it would be. I've found something here. I—"

The bustling, wide form of Carmen arrives at the table. "All right, two pancake combos, here we go, folks. And of course, this comes with real maple syrup, a small side of fruit spread and all the coffee you can drink. And that means you, cowboy. We're serious about the coffee." She grins at me and it's too contagious not to smile back as she distributes our heaping plates and bottles of syrup.

The mood to talk is interrupted, though, and we both dig into the pancakes. I groan in pleasure. These are better than I ever had as a kid, except the times I stayed at my grandma's. It seems odd to find a taste of a good childhood in a run-down diner off a busy stretch of road. I can see why Jordan stops by regularly. This must be a second home for her.

I watch her squeeze a huge bite of dripping pancake in her mouth, enjoying the obvious happiness on her face.

"Wha?" she asks around her food.

"Nothing. This food is great."

"I know, right?" She stabs her fork in the scrambled eggs.

"Listen, I wanted to propose something. There's something I want to do. With you." Flutters stir in my gut. What if I can't convince her leaving is right move?

"Wait, is this something kinky involving me and maple syrup? Because my answer is yes."

I choke, a dozen kinky ideas flashing instantly through my head. "No. Actually, it's..." I cough, clearing my throat.

Jordan's eyes zero in on something beyond my shoulder and a second later the door jingles as someone comes in. She blanches, swallowing quickly and dropping her gaze to her plate. I resist the urge to turn and see who has come in to ruin our breakfast.

A person pauses by our table. A young woman. "Oh, hey, Jordan, I didn't expect to see you here. How are you?" The woman—about our age, maybe a year or two younger, hair and make-up more for an evening out than a Sunday morning breakfast diner—has a smooth, flat expression. It's fucking scary. A doll would have more life behind her eyes. She's with a man, husband or boyfriend, who nudges her to keep walking.

"I'm good," Jordan says. Her face has gone completely blank as well. My gut clenches. She's like a different person and I'm sitting here helpless to fix the problem. "You?"

"We're good. No news?"

"No news."

The guy urges her to move, whispering to her and glaring at me. The woman turns her flat eyes my way and, worse than the expressionless doll face, interest and what could be hot desire flames up. Tiny muscles pull her cheeks and lips into a surprised pout. "Do I know you?" It's like a snake suddenly wrapping around your arm and licking your bicep seductively. I wanted to swat her as far away as possible.

"Pretty sure you don't," I answer. "Have a nice day."

"But I'm pretty sure I do." She steps back to look me up and down in my seat. God it's uncomfortable. "High school. I think you knew my brother. Trey." Her voice is very calm and firm. She wants me to know what power she holds over Jordan.

Ice freezes me instantly. That's why Jordan looks like she's about to puke. We have to get away from this toxic chick. She has the warmth and sincerity of a sociopath playing with razor blades.

"Don't remember the guy." I shove my plate aside to put my elbows on the table to catch Jordan's eye. "Why don't you head out to the car while I get the food boxed. I have to be at Javier's in a couple of minutes."

Jordan nods, on autopilot as she walks to the door, and the couple stroll to the back of the diner, watching her every step. The second she's out the door, I head for their table.

The guy barely had time to sit and I'm pinning them in, hands on their table. He turns red. "Now I don't remember either of you, and I don't care to get to know you, but do I have one thing to say. You'll stay the hell away from Jordan for the rest of your goddamm lives."

"Or what?" the man asks.

I shake my head frowning. "Or nothing. You'll keep your distance from now on. You see her coming, you'll turn the other way. You won't talk about her. You won't talk to her."

"Make me."

"I don't have to threaten you. You'll do as your told, because if you even get look at her sideways ever again, she will contact a very successful lawyer who has five Corvettes in my garage that I am currently restoring to perfection, and I will do it for free which will more than cover the cost of turning your lives into living nightmares. Legally, of course. Think you are broke and pathetic now? Wait until Schumer is done dragging your through the courts for several years."

"What?" the guy asks. He clearly hasn't understood a word I said. All he understands is that I'm twice his size so he can't try anything.

Trey's sister screws up her mouth like she just sucked a lemon dry. It's not attractive. "Listen, Cole. You obviously have no idea who or what Jordan is. Let me save you some real misery by explaining—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, because as his sister, you have no idea who or what Trey actually is. I guarantee you never heard him in the boy's locker room telling the guys which girls he got too drunk to see straight so he could fuck, or I should say rape, them. Or the other ones he pressured into giving him blow-jobs under the bleachers. He handed out names and numbers."

Her nostrils flare in rage, but a guilty expression flickers across her boyfriend's face.

I continue. "That's right, you have no clue who Trey is, but your boyfriend remembers those locker room talks. He probably knows your brother better than you do. Now, you two have a real nice day."

I take the breakfast platters to the food counter, where the waitress is waiting with boxes and the bill. I leave her a generous tip and head out. Jordan is crouched over at the back of my car.

*** Thanks as always for reading!!! ((hugs)) ***