My heart skips around in my chest like a young girl playing hopscotch, and I can’t help but grin. “All right.”
His lips break out in a breathtaking smile. “Great. I’ll follow you to the diner.”
Ford makes sure I’m secured in my own car before slipping into my aunt’s vehicle and following me out of the lot. It only takes a few minutes to get to our destination, but my eyes repeatedly cast a glance in the rearview mirror, and my mind is focused on one man the entire time. I don’t even know how I make it to the diner in one piece.
As soon as I pull into a parking spot, Ford follows suit, jumps out, and practically races to my door. Once it’s opened, he extends a hand, helping me out. He did that last night too, and I love the way his warm, rough fingers feel against my skin.
The moment we step through the entrance, I’m surrounded in the familiar sights and sounds of Foreman’s Place. It’s been here for decades, first opened by Darwin Foreman and his wife, Peggy. Their daughter, Suzanne, owns it now. While she’s implemented new specials, the core comfort foods that put this place on the map all those years ago can still be found on the menu.
“Have a seat anywhere!” Doris hollers as she pours a cup of coffee at one of the tables. Doris Hankey has worked here almost as long as the restaurant has been open. She’s a staple, just like the faded white-and-red checkered tablecloths, the sticky plastic menus, and the ripped black vinyl booth seats.
Recognizing everyone, I head for the farthest booth from the door and slide in the side with my back to the room. I always prefer keeping a low profile. It’s a familiar habit when I return to the place it all went down. Actually, I’ve only been here a few times in the last year, mostly with Cassie or my aunt and uncle.
“This place is great,” Ford says, sliding into the booth across from me and reaching for the menus behind the napkin dispenser.
Just as he slips one across the table for me, our server arrives. “Good morning.”
Shit.
No.
“Morning,” Ford replies happily, while my heart tries to claw from my chest.
“Can I get you some coffee? Oh. Hi, Shayne.”
I slowly glance up to see Daphne Jones giving me the exact same look she’s given me for the last year. Even though I did nothing to her, she still despises me.
Disdain.
“Daphne. Hi.” I try to keep my tone even, but even I can hear the clip in my voice. “No coffee for me, thanks. I’ll just have an orange juice.”
“I’ll have a coffee and ice water,” Ford replies, oblivious to the sudden tension surrounding me and our server or the disgusted face she gives me as she turns and walks away.
“Everything okay?” he asks, worry marring his gorgeous features.
Okay, maybe not so oblivious.
“Yeah, sure, fine,” I state too quickly, studying the menu as if it holds state secrets.
Before he can ask further questions, Daphne returns with our drinks, setting mine down on the table with a little too much force. “Are you ready to order?”
Ford indicates for me to go first, so I steel my spine and pretend everything is all right, that one of the girls who made my life hell a year ago isn’t staring at me with judgmental eyes and waiting for me to order food. Food that will no doubt sit in my stomach like a lead balloon, if I even get any down my throat.
God, I’m going to throw up.
“I’ll have French toast,” I reply, my throat as dry as cotton as I return my menu to the holder behind the napkins.
Daphne writes on her little pad of paper. “Any side piece? I mean side dish,” she adds quickly, giving me a condescending smirk. “Hash browns, bacon, fruit?”
I swallow the hurt and paste on my best I-don’t-give-a-crap-about-your-pettiness smile, letting her know her childish comment doesn’t affect me. “No, thank you.”
Daphne turns, taking in Ford for the first time. I can see the moment his hotness registers with her. “What would you like, sir?”
“I’ll have the same, but with a side of hash browns and gravy,” he replies, not even giving her a second glance as he slips the menu into the holder and reaches for my hands.
“Your food will be out shortly,” Daphne states, flipping her hair over her shoulder and scurrying toward the kitchen.
“So… what was that about?” Ford asks, gently squeezing my hands.
“Daphne? Oh, nothing.”
His eyes bore into me, studying me in a way I’m not accustomed to. I wonder if he’s going to call me on my lie. I’m sure he can feel the tension and discomfort. It’s thick and hangs over me like a heavy fog. But if he senses it, he doesn’t dig for more information. Instead, he asks, “So what do you want to do after we return the car?”