Now we can go back to neighbors who occasionally say hi when we get our mail instead of whatever strange thing this is that makes my heart flutter.
Moe hits the ringer on the counter. “Order up!”
I still have another hour before we close, my feet are killing me, and a slow throb has taken up residence behind my temples. Another group of students comes in, and I want to cry. When will this night end?
I stare longingly at my new romance novel under the cash register. When things are dead around here, Moe lets me read sometimes. Obviously, that’s not happening tonight.
My mom says I shouldn’t read romance because it’ll give me unrealistic expectations about relationships. She doesn’t understand that it’s the one thing that gives me hope of finding my person, whoever he is.
Jinxy and Nick come up to pay the check, and I apologize as I ring them up. “Sorry for the wait tonight.”
Jinxy smiles. “No problem, cutie. Dinner was great. Jinxy loves a good omelet.”
Did he just refer to himself in third person? I try to hide my laugh. “Glad you enjoyed it. I’ll tell Moe.”
I don’t make eye contact with Nick. I shouldn’t be hurt that he’s flirting with cheerleaders. He’s not my boyfriend.
Before he can say anything, I take off to deliver another order. In the last ten minutes, five tables paid and left, and now I have to bus their tables since people keep coming.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the football table leaving, and I let out a relieved breath.
I really need to stop getting emotionally invested in men. A good start will be not watching those dang football games. If only they weren’t so good. Nick really is an incredible player, and I hope he goes all the way. Fortunately, he doesn’t need my one-girl fan club to do that.
I decide right then and there that I need to build up an emotional wall so high no one can scale it, not even my ridiculously handsome neighbor.
With a groan, I heft the large gray bin to bus the tables when Nick walks up to me. I do a double-take as he shrugs off his letterman, revealing his ripped arms and muscled chest, and drapes the jacket over a chair at the counter. I finally find my tongue. “I—I thought you left.” My eyes widen. “Why are you wrapping an apron around your waist?”
Ignoring my question, he takes the bin out of my hands and starts bussing tables.
Confused, I stand there for a solid ten seconds as I watch him scrape leftover food onto one plate and then stack the others in the bin. “What are you doing?”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “Helping you clean your tables so you’re not here all night.”
“I can see that, but why?”
“Because you’ve been busting your ass since I got here, and I can’t in good conscience go home when you have so much work ahead of you.”
My eyes sting, and I look away and blink several times.
He lowers his voice. “Plus, I didn’t like how Tiffany talked to you. I told her to be nice. That she needed to watch her snark. I should’ve said more, but she’s like a rash. If you itch, you make things worse.”
So Queenie’s name is Tiffany. Good to know so I can avoid her.
Nick’s t-shirt stretches over his arms as he reaches across the table to grab an empty glass. It’s a mesmerizing sight.
“You have a game tomorrow. Shouldn’t you turn in early?”
After he wipes down the table, he turns to me. “I’ll survive, and if I don’t, I’m a suck-ass athlete.” He winks at me again, and my face gets hot. “Go do what you need to do. I got this.”
“Don’t you need to get home to Hazel?”
“The new babysitter is watching her. We’re good.”
I’m equal parts disappointed he’s already hired someone and relieved the position is filled.
Standing here watching him just makes things more awkward, so I shuffle backward. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.” My eyes get watery again, and I stalk off before he sees.
Doggone it. I need to build a bigger wall.