“Hi, Ellie!” Her uncle’s face popped onto the screen like a living, breathing photobomb, and he waved. “Come visit us soon!” And then he was gone.
“An Uncle Jamie drive-by for you.” Tracey laughed. “Talk to you later, sweetie. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She kissed her fingertips and blew toward the phone, something she’d done since Tracey had taught her at the age of three. Tracey caught it, pressed it to her heart, then waved, and the screen went back to Ellis’s app icons.
When the omelet was perfectly golden—she sent silent thanks to Cal for teaching her exactly how long to let it sit before folding it—she slid it onto a plate and sprinkled it with the cheese she’d shredded beforehand. Then she took it to the couch where her laptop was open on the small coffee table.
She’d gotten her first assignment fromThe 11th Commandment. Some school board member who’d been touting anti-LGBTQ rhetoric had been caught spying on the boys’ bathroom with a camera he’d installed. Creepy and awful and the site wanted her to write up thecorrelation between the two. They’d sent her police reports and statements, along with a couple video clips of board meetings so she could hear him for herself. She hated that she was now going to have to teach people that there waszeroconnection between being gay and fucking pedophilia, but she would do it, because no way was she going to write it up like they were intertwined.
For the next two and a half hours, she researched and read and listened and watched. She got about half the story written and was happy with the direction, but when the third yawn in fifteen minutes cranked her jaws open wide, she closed things down and headed to bed because her alarm was going to go off at oh-dark-thirty.
Diner work, man. It started with the roosters.
* * *
Ellis had forgotten all about the redhead.
Well. No. That wasn’t true.
She’dmostlyforgotten about the redhead.Mostly. ’Cause she did hang out in the back of Ellis’s head, to be trotted out on occasion. Like last night. In a dream. A sex dream. Yeah. Ahem.
And now, she was here. In the diner. On a normal Thursday morning in April. And Ellis couldn’t help herself—she wanted to say hi. To talk to her. To ask her questions about her life and her thoughts and her dreams andWhat the hell is actually happening in my head, oh my God?
Kitty was watching Ellis with interest laced with amusement. She could feel it. Like her eyes were accusatory fingers, poking at her, saying things like,Mm-hmm. I see you. I see you lookin’ at her.But then laughing about it. Laughingat herabout it.
But Ellis felt brave. Why and how, she had zero clue, but she wasn’t about to question it. She picked up the coffeepot and gave Kitty a questioning glance. Kitty smiled and nodded and gave her a subtle shoo motion with her fingers. Ellis crossed the diner.
“Hi,” she said to the redhead. “Can I warm that up for you?”
“Yes, please,” the redhead said with a smile and a sparkle in her dark eyes.
“I was thinking maybe we should engrave this chair and table with your name, since you sit here so often.” Okay, not great, but not awful.A little stilted. But the idea was cute, right? She winced internally but managed to pour coffee without spilling it anywhere, so that was a win regardless.
“You know, I like that idea.” The redhead’s light chuckle was adorably cute. Not girly, but kind of sweet, like the tinkling of sugar cubes falling into a cup. And God, she had gorgeously full lips.
“Well, I’d have to know what name to put on it…” Holy shit, did she really say that?
The redhead’s grin grew as she arched one dark red eyebrow. “Okay, that was pretty smooth. I have to hand it to you.”
She could feel her own blush climb up from her chest, cover her neck, and rise into her cheeks. And itwassmooth, if she said so herself and thank you very much.
“And just when I thought you couldn’t get cuter, you start blushing.”
Holy shit, did the redhead really just saythat?
With a clear of her throat, Ellis switched the coffeepot to her left hand and held out the right. “Ellis Conrad.”
“Ellis. Unusual. I like it.” The redhead put her hand in Ellis’s. It was warm, the bones fine, but the grip sure and firm. “Cherry Davis.” And before she could comment, Cherry Davis went on. “Yes, it’s actually my name. A redhead named Cherry. I know.” She rolled her pretty brown eyes. “What can I say? My dad had a sense of humor.”
“Well, I like it, and I think it suits you.” And somehow, it did.
“Thanks.”
“So, what is it about this place?” Ellis asked. When Cherry frowned, Ellis searched for better words to express her thoughts. “I mean, why not a Starbucks or a Dunkin’? You’re young and cool and hip. Seems like this place might be a little…stodgy for you.”
“Hmm. I mean, first of all, I love that you think I’m cool and hip. Thanks for that. Second, don’t get me wrong, I love me some Starbucks. But there’s something”—she pressed her pink lips together like she was searching for the right words—“comforting about this place. Warm. Inviting. Plus”—she picked up her coffee and watched Ellis over the rim—“I like the view.” And her eyes stayed on Ellis even as she sipped.
That eye contact held, and a current akin to something electric ran between them, hot and sizzling. Way beyond interesting. Ellis felt herself blush some more, and her smile grew. She had to clear her throatbefore she could form words but finally managed to say something along the lines of, “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
