She smiled. “Sorry. You’re right. Muppets can be scary.” Closing her eyes, she smothered a yawn. “We should get off the phone.”
Dawson’s sigh was audible. “I know.”
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you…” She glanced at the clock and laughed. “In about five hours, then?”
“Yeah, I’ll be waiting for you.”
God, she liked the sound of that. Him waiting for her. “Okay. Good—”
“Wait.” His voice sounded urgent. “I don’t want to hang up.”
Her breath caught. “I second that.”
His laugh warmed her. “Good. Tell me about some of the favorite things you like to paint.”
And she did. They talked until they both fell asleep, their phones cradled between their shoulders and cheeks.
Chapter 7
Unable to remember the last time he had been this close to hyperventilating, which was amazing, since he didn’t really need to breathe, he glanced down at his phone. Again.
The text message from Bethany hadn’t changed in the thirty seconds since he’d last looked. According to the words on his phone, Bethany couldn’t wait for their late lunch date at two. He knew she wasn’t going to bail, especially since they’d talked on the phone every night since Wednesday.
But he was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
His gaze flickered to the dashboard. Thirty minutes early. Should he go ahead and go in? Get one of those booths near the cranking fireplace? Bethany would like that, he thought, and so he did.
As he waited for her to show, he played a round of FreeCell on his phone. Lost. Played another, and because he kept glancing up every time the chimes above the door rang, he lost another two rounds.
Good God, it was like he’d never been on a date before. If he kept this up, he’d start flickering like the Northern lights. Not good.
When the tinkling sound came again and he looked up, every nerve in his body fired at once.
It was Bethany.
Her warm brown eyes scanned the rock formations in the center of the diner, over the tables, and finally to the booth he’d found by the fireplace. When her gaze met his, she smiled and therefore sucked the marrow right out of his bones…in a totally good way.
Heading straight for their booth, she only had eyes for him. Meaning she didn’t see the college-age guy’s stare follow her. Dawson so didn’t like how the human was staring at Bethany. Like he’d never seen a female before, and Dawson was more than ready to introduce himself. Every territorial instinct in him went off. It took everything for him not to get up and pummel the dude into the old wooden floors.
“Hey,” Bethany said, shrugging off her chunky cardigan. Underneath she wore a black turtleneck that fit her curves. “You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”
Forcing his eyes north, he smiled. “No, I just got here.”
She slid into the booth, tucking her hair behind her ears. He loved that her hair was down, spilling over her shoulders. Looking around the diner, she bit her lower lip. “It’s really cozy in here. I like it. Sort of homey.”
“It’s really nice. Great food.” He cleared his throat, wanting to kick himself. “I’m glad you came.”
Her eyes darted back to his. “Me, too.”
The waitress appeared, saving them from the awkward silence while they placed their drink orders. “Do you come here often?” she asked once the waitress left.
Dawson nodded. “We come about twice a week.”
“Your brother and sister?”
“Yeah, Dee and I come every Thursday, and the three of us come every Wednesday.” He laughed. “It’s kind of bad how often we eat here, actually.”
“Do your parents not cook a lot?”
Ah, a bomb of a question, considering their parents passed away before any of them knew what they looked like. “No, they don’t cook.”
The waitress was back, sliding their glasses across the table. An oven-baked pizza, extra green peppers, light on sauce, was ordered, along with breadsticks.
Bethany fiddled with the straw, folding it into little squares so that it looked like an accordion when she was done. “I swear, my mom lives to bake. Every day I come home, there’re cookies, fresh bread, or some kind of cake.”
An unfamiliar, deep sense of yearning built in his chest. What would it be like to have a mom and dad to go home to? All they had was Matthew, not that he was chopped liver or anything, but he didn’t even live with them. At least not since they were thirteen and deemed mature enough to get by on their own. Matthew probably would have kept them with him forever, but Daemon had needed space of his own.
“That…has to be nice,” he said.
“It is.” She twirled the straw around, knocking the ice cubes against the glass. “She cooks more now, since Dad is gone most of the week and her brother is staying with us. Food is her coping mechanism.”
Remembering what she’d said about the man, he felt for her. Luxen didn’t get sick. Like, ever. “How is he doing?”
“Better. He just looks…worse than how he feels, I think.” A half smile appeared as she watched the ice cubes dance. “I feel bad, because I don’t know what to say to him. Like I barely know him and he’s going through this…life-altering event, and whatever I say just sounds lame.”
“I’m sure he appreciates you just being there.”
“You think?” Hope sparkled in her tone.
“Yeah, I do.” Wanting to reassure her, he reached across the table and placed his hand over her free one.