“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see your hairy face, but is everything okay?” she asks, concern lacing her cheerful voice.
“Yeah, sure,” I shrug a shoulder, “just decided to change things up a bit.”
“All right.” She places a mug in front of me. “And it’s nothing to do with your new neighbor?”
My eyes dart toward her. “How do you know I have a new neighbor?”
“P-p-please.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s Little Hope. Everyone knows everything.”
“Which reminds me…” I tap my chin. “What are you doing here today? I thought you’re in Springfield on weekdays?” Kayla has been a waitress here for as long as I can remember, but recently, she went to school and followed her passion by becoming a tattoo artist. Her boss has a parlor in Springfield, where she works during the week.
“I switched to weekends for the fall. Marina needs more help during the fall and winter since everyone wants to visit Maine when it’s a tits-freezing temperature. Go figure.” A lazy, bemused smile spreads across her face. “And since Freya opened the PTSD center, we get even more loads of customers, and Marina needs more help here. Even though she’ll never admit it to me,” she says quieter.
“Why doesn’t she hire another waitress?” I ask, looking around. It is indeed unusually hectic. Almost every single table is taken. “And I don’t know, expand, maybe? Seems like business is doing fine.”
“Tell me about it. We already hired two, but she doesn’t want to close the place because she doesn’t want to lose a few months, since she’s saving money for a down payment formyplace.” She rolls her eyes as she pours coffee for me. “The stubborn woman refuses to understand I’m finally able to take care of myself.”
“I heard you!” Marina yells from the kitchen, making me chuckle.
“I sure hope you did!” Kayla yells back. They bicker all the time, but it’s out of mutual respect. They’re a weird family that formed later in life.
She switches her attention back to me. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy. Why are you here?”
“Can’t a man get a breakfast at the breakfast place?” I ask, throwing my hands up.
“Why, a man can, of course.” She dramatically presses her open palm to her chest. “But really. Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” My eyes narrow at her. She knows something she’s not telling me. Her gaze darts to the side as she bites the inside of her cheek. It’s something I’ve seen so many times, all the way back when she used to come to my place when her mom brought another boyfriend home. I’d ask her what happened, and she’d say nothing and start chewing on her cheek.
“Just—” She gives a slight shake of her head. “Never mind. Do you want the usual?”
I almost want to press for what she was about to say, but I know it wouldn’t end well for me.
“Nah, let’s do something new. What would you recommend? I’m kind of short on time here.”
“Well…” She taps a pen on her lips. “Everything will take time, but—” She gives me a conspiratorial smile and looks around. “I might be able to snatch a Lonely Kurt for you from someone’s order. You’re a hero, after all. They can wait.”
“Won’t you get in trouble?”
“Please.” Her eyes roll so far into her head, I’m scared they’re stuck there. “It’s Freya’s to-go order, and I don’t remember her ever picking it up on time.”
“Sounds good then.” I’ve never tried the Lonely Kurt, but I’ve heard from the guys that it’s incredible. And very, very fattening. A fatty meal is just what I need after my morning session. I feel heat rising beneath my beard, and for the umpteenth time, I’m glad I’ve grown it out. It’s so easy to hide behind it.
Kayla runs to the kitchen and returns with a full plate. An excellent breakfast to satisfy any man. I dig into it while she flies around, delivering plates and refilling coffees. Once she makes her rounds, she returns and leans on the bar, propping her chin on her hands.
“So, how’s life?”
“Same old,” I answer between bites. I’m really short on time and am definitely not worried about manners.
“How is Ghost?”
“He’s fine. Being a pain in my ass as usual. How’s your life?” I shoot back; I’ve never liked being the target of questioning, even from a friendly face. “Did the asshole mess up again?”
“Nah, he’s doing fine so far.” There’s pure adoration in her voice, and I nearly choke on a piece of bacon.
“He’d better be, or I’ll rearrange his face,” I announce through a mouthful of food.
“I’ll pass that on to him. I’m sure he’d love to hear it.” She giggles, her lips rolling back.
