“Why did he retire?” I ask. “You haven’t mentioned that.”
“I think he’s going to start a business. But I don’t even know. We don’t talk much.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, feeling like I have to come to Trent’s defense for some bizarre reason.
Because you want him, a voice sings inside of me. Because you need him. Because you can’t live without him.
“He calls you as often as he can. He writes and emails you and sends you photographs.”
She tilts her head at me, narrowing her eyes, and for a crazy second, I think she’s seeing right into my brain and reading my girlish crush. I turn away, a blush infusing my cheeks, not wanting to give anything away.
It doesn’t matter, anyway.
Trent would never want me. He’s tall, handsome, and experienced.
I’m a twenty-one year old wannabe photographer, a waitress, and I’m not exactly the prettiest girl around. Angela is fit and actor-like from her gym obsession. I’m curvy and easily ignored if high school and the years afterward are any indication.
“I know,” Angie says after a pause. “But this is different. I’ll be seeing him every day. What the heck are we going to talk about?”
“Angie, I’ve seen you two together. You never have trouble finding conversation.”
“But that’s for a few days here and there.” She sighs, finally setting her gleaming spoon down. “What’s it going to be like when we’ve run out of things to say?”
I reach over and place my hands on her shoulders, staring firmly at her. “Stop worrying so much. Everything’s going to be fine. I promise. Now, this place is freaking spotless. And you promised.”
She nods. “Okay. I guess it’ll take my mind off things.”
I hope it does the same for me, but I won’t tell Angie that.
It’s been three years since I last saw Trent Tanner.
Every time Angie has met with him, it’s been out of town, a father-daughter thing. The last time he saw me, I wasn’t even out of my braces yet. I wasn’t even eighteen yet.
I quiet the voice inside that whispers this is it, my chance to act on all the pent-up desire inside of me.
I focus on Angie instead, standing in the sunlit diner, posing for my photographs with a self-deprecating smile on her face.
Thank God Trent will never want me.
I don’t know if I’d be able to resist if he felt the same.
And that would break Angie’s heart.
The day wears on.
We only have a few customers – I’m pretty sure this place is going out of business – but after everyone is gone, Angie runs over to the tables and scrubs them like she’s angry with them for being so messy.
The sun has started to set when she pauses in the middle of the diner, letting her well-used cleaning cloth drop to the floor.
She stares through the windows at a jet-black SUV, a giant statement of a car, looking far too fancy and shiny to be in our dusty parking lot.
Youngstone, Maine, is not exactly a glamorous place.
“It’s him,” Angie says. “Oh, God. I need the bathroom. Tell him I’ll be out in a second, okay?”
I want to scream no, but she’s already gone, striding toward the bathroom at the other end of the diner.
I’m left standing there alone, suddenly aware of how tight my waitress’s uniform is, the skirt cutting into my hips, the T-shirt squeezing too firmly onto my breasts.
The last thing I wanted to do was gross Trent out.
I push that instinct down.
Grossing him out would be a good thing. It meant he would never look at me in that way, which is what I wanted… right?
My breath catches when he climbs from the car, standing up straight and reaching down to tuck his shirt in. I stare at the outline of his abs through the shirt, at his arms bulging against the fabric. His steel-colored hair gleaming in the sunlight.
He walks toward the diner, briskly, efficiently, a man who never hesitates and knows exactly what he wants out of life.
He has to duck under the diner door. He’s so tall. He must be six and a half feet, at least.
He looks around and then stops when he sees me, his jaw going tight, his emerald eyes glinting like he’s angry with me about something. I can’t think about what it could possibly be.
For a crazy second, I wonder if he somehow saw my love-filled notebooks before I threw them in the trash, terrified that Angie would find them and hate me for them.
“Hello,” he says. “I’m looking for my daughter. Angie.”
A blush spreads over my chest, up to my neck, infusing my cheeks as we gaze across at each other.
There’s so much shimmering rage in his expression like he hates me. Like he wishes I wasn’t here to intrude on this private family moment.
“She’s in the bathroom. She’ll be out in a minute. Would you like some coffee, Mr. Tanner?”