Night shifts black

Day Four.

 

 

It’s hard to admit I’m relieved to see the distinctive leather jacket when I enter, but there’s a flood of something rushing through me, so I have to acknowledge it. He’s switched sides at our table. I only see the back of his head because he wasn’t watching for me like I watched for him yesterday and the day before.

I approach slowly, still not entirely confident he will welcome my presence. If I go in casual, it will be easier to fake a retreat when he recoils.

“Callie.”

“Luke.”

“You up for some pancakes?” he asks, and a huge weight lifts from my shoulders.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll surprise you today.”

He likes my challenge and pushes back my chair with his foot.

“Try me.”

“Did you order yet?” I ask.

“Just coffee.”

He was waiting for me. At least, I hope he was. I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure.

“You want some tea?”

I nod. I do love my tea. I love that he knows it. “Tea would be great.”

Our server isn’t Darryn with a “y” today. It’s Shauna, the woman who filled me in about Luke’s chair obsession on that first day. I’m not surprised I remember that though. I seem to have every detail of Day One etched into my brain.

“Hi, Shauna.”

“Morning. Tea?” she asks. She knows me better than Darryn. I’m not sure why Darryn’s had so many of her shifts lately. Maybe she’s had other obligations. I realize that I don’t know enough about Shauna. I should know why she was off. She knows I like tea.

“I’ve noticed Darryn’s been on a lot lately.”

She sighs. “Yeah, I’ve been picking up the evening shifts instead. The sitter decided to take some classes, so now I have to work when my husband Jake’s at home, since I can’t have the sitter during the day.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“Two. Maddie’s four and Mark is two.”

Maddie and Mark. That’s sweet.

She leans close. “Hey, sorry to make you wait, but I have to go check on Stan’s omelet before he calls the FBI.”

I chuckle. “No problem. Tea would be great. We’ll give you our orders after you take care of Stan.”

She delivers a grateful smile, and I don’t miss the look she casts at Luke. She wonders about him, too. Wonders about the chair. Wonders why he now stays and eats breakfast. Why I’m special. In other words, she wonders the same things I do.

I feel Luke’s gaze after she leaves, but I’m not prepared to meet it. I don’t know if it will be admiring or curious or accusatory. I could make a strong case for all three. If I avoid it, it doesn’t matter. Except it does matter. I know it matters. Even more than I’m prepared to admit at this point. Eventually, I look up, but after all the debate, I can’t read his expression anyway.

“Shauna seems nice.”

“She is.”

“You’ve obviously been coming here for a while. Well, for the few months you’ve lived in the city at least.”

“A few times a week.”

“Really.”

He does the math, and I redden.

“I come more often now.” I have nothing to lose.

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t run screaming either.

“Where did you live before this?” he asks finally, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“A small town. You’ve never heard of it.”

“Try me.”

“Shelteron, Pe

“You’re right,” he replies.

“Told you. We don’t even have a stoplight. Well, we do, but it only flashes yellow so I don’t think that counts.”

“So what, you graduated high school and had to escape the small town to go make a name for yourself in the big city?”

I bite my lip and look at my hands. “No. Nothing like that. I’m older than I look.”

I have his interest now. He’s not the only one with secrets.

“How old are you?” he asks.

“Twenty-three. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“You’re younger than I thought.”

“How old did you think I was?”

I panic when I realize I lied. I did think he was twenty-seven. Well, about that anyway. I don’t even know why I said what I did, and now I’m stuck.

“Twenty-eight.”

He smirks and leans back. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed. Twenty-seven is a fine age.”

“So’s twenty-three.”

It’s the years in between that are rotten. We both think it. I look at the chair. I can’t help it.

He clears his throat. He doesn’t want to cry in front of me again. “Anyway, since you’re the expert, what’s good here besides the eggs, toast, pancakes, and tea?”

I pick up the menu as if I’m actually going to have the presence of mind to read it. My head is still spi

“Um…there are fresh baked goods,” I suggest, thanks to Darryn’s recitation at our last meeting. Unfortunately, he remembers that, too, and his lips spread into a grin.

“You’ve never had anything other than the pancakes and tea,” he charges.

“I have!”

He crosses his arms. “Really. Like what?”

“The fruit cup.”

This time he laughs, and we invite some glances from a nearby table. They’re not a

I stare at my menu. I’m not ordering the pancakes today.

“The omelets are good, too.”

“According to whom? Stan?”

I shrug. “He’s here every day. I’d say that’s pretty reliable testimony.”

“Should we do it?”

“Do what? Order omelets?”

“Yeah. You get bacon and cheese. What should I get?” he asks.

I like this game for some reason. “Western style.”

“Ok, deal. Hash browns or fruit cup?”

“Hash browns for me, fruit cup for you.”

“Toast?”

I shake my head. “Not for you, unless you get wheat and put strawberry jam on it.”

“Fine, but you have to drink coffee instead of tea.”

I wince. “Coffee?”

He raises his eyebrows, and I sigh.

“Ok, fine. Coffee. Cream, no sugar.”

“Deal.”

He holds out his hand. I take it.

I do an admirable job of pretending the handshake is exactly what he intended it to be, and when Shauna returns, we place our orders. She is confused why I don’t touch the tea she just brought and order coffee instead. She also doesn’t understand why, when I instinctively order a fruit cup, Luke jumps in and changes it to hash browns. She’s especially confused when I apologize to him for messing up my own order, but she’s a good sport and promises to be right back with my coffee.

“Living on the edge today. I don’t know if I can handle all this excitement,” I say after she leaves.

“Wow. So Sheltertown really was a small town, wasn’t it,” he teases.

“Shelteron,” I correct. “And yes, it was.”

“They didn’t have coffee there, I presume?”

“They only have orange marmalade in England?”

He grins. “You think I’m English.”

I blush. I do. Well, I did.

“I guess that means you’re not.”

He shakes his head. “No. South African.” I also think he might regret embarrassing me. “Don’t worry about it. I get that all the time, believe me. Especially here.”

“Yeah, I know. Ignorant Americans.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Really? You know me well enough to know what I’m thinking?”

No. I know him well enough to know I have no idea what he’s thinking.

“So you weren’t thinking it?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No. I really wasn’t. I’ve lived here since I was fourteen. My accent isn’t a true South African accent either. I can’t blame anyone for not being able to place it.”