“Sorry, hon, I just sold my last piece to that young man.”
Carla nods her head toward the end of the counter. My head immediately turns in that direction to find a guy sitting a few seats down from me. My sole focus had been on pie and I hadn’t even noticed someone sitting there.
My eyes narrow as I study him. His thick, dark hair, the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, the large metal watch on his wrist. The blue scrubs he’s wearing make me wonder if he’s a doctor. Maybe a nurse. I don’t want to sound sexist. Men can be nurses, too.
I don’t know if it’s my lingering buzz from the drinks at the bar, or if I’m just that desperate for pie, but something has me moving out of my seat and toward him.
As I get closer to him, I can’t help but think that he looks familiar in some way. It’s one of those moments where you know you’ve seen a person before but you can’t quite place where.
I watch him, fork in hand, as he presses it down into the tip of the pie. The peach filling oozes out the sides as the flaky crust breaks from the rest of the pie and gets scooped up by his fork. I can practically taste it. When he brings the fork to his lips, I feel my mouth open in anticipation of the sweet deliciousness that is about to enter his mouth.
Whether he heard the click of my heels as I approached or he sensed me near him, his fork stops short of his lips, then returns it to the plate before he turns to look at me. With a full view of his face now, it clicks. The piercing blue eyes, strong jaw and perfect smile. It’s Cole, the bookstore guy that I spilt green smoothie on. I’m still not over that. Who pays twelve dollars for a smoothie? I don’t care what’s in it, that’s ridiculous.
I’m glad to see he’s come to his senses and is eating three-dollar pie now.
In the bookstore, I recognized that he was hot, but I wasn’t focused on him in that way. I was busy avoiding Gina and then ordering the books about surrogacy. When he asked for my number and I said no, it wasn’t because he wasn’t worthy of it. The exact opposite, in fact.
He’s not the usual type of guy I go for. If I’m being honest, he looks like he has goals. And a 401K. And possibly lives somewhere that he doesn’t share with the other members of the band. He most definitely is not in a band. But, if he was, he’d be the dreamy lead singer that all the girls go crazy for.
But, now he’s here at midnight, eating pie and looking sexy as hell in blue scrubs.
He stares back at me and I can’t remember if I said anything or if I’ve just been standing here staring at him like a creeper.
I watch as he slides his plate six inches to the left, in the opposite direction of me.
“I haven’t forgotten about your ninja-like reflexes.”
8
Cole
Now that I’ve addressed her, she slides onto the stool next to mine.
“They are memorable.”
A smile spreads across her face and I can’t help but smile, too. She’s gorgeous. Her long, chestnut brown hair is styled in waves, and she’s wearing more eye makeup than she was at the bookstore. I should keep my focus on her face, but my eyes drop lower to take all of her in.
Her tight black dress hugs her breasts, the low cut garment giving me an excellent view of her cleavage, and with her legs crossed, the hem of her skirt rides up revealing long, toned legs that end in the highest heels I’ve seen since med school when I did a rotation at the ER and a girl came in with a broken ankle.
“Are you going to eat that?”
She motions toward the plate in front of me, then leans forward, propping her elbow on the counter, so she can rest her chin in her hand.
“Are you going to watch?”
“Yup. You’re eating my pie, so I’m going to sit here and watch you.”
“Your pie?”
She shrugs, making her dress inch up even further.
“Well, I come in here most Saturday nights and get a slice of Carla’s peach pie.” She motions over to the waitress who is filling up a man’s coffee cup at the end of the counter. “You took the last piece.”
“I see.” My gaze drops down to the peach pie I have yet to taste. After my shift at the hospital, I was supposed to go home, shower and meet some guys out to play pool, but instead I found myself taking a detour to the diner that everyone at work recommends. Get the pie, they said, it’s amazing! Now, I’m not sure it’s just the pie I’m interested in.
Don’t get me wrong, if she was an old lady, or a drunk guy, this would have gone another way. Well, maybe I could spare a bite for the old lady.
I reach over the counter to a stack of rolled silverware, pull on the paper tab to unfurl the napkin and pull out the knife. She watches me, curiously, as I cut the pie down the middle, then lift the extra fork in her direction.
