I watch her gaze on me migrate from my eyes downward.
I briefly consider she might be checking me out, but then find myself cringing. “Oh—do you want me to put a shirt on before I come down in the morning? I’m sorry. Creature of habit. And I look out of place with a shirt when I run on the beach.”
Her eyes widen, gaze snapping from my abs to my face again as though she was caught red-handed, wrist-deep in Grandma’s cookie jar.
Shewaschecking me out.
Ha!I feel oddly vindicated to see that as much as she might say she’s not interested in dating me, maybe I haven’t lost all my appeal.
“No, no!” she says quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“Well,Imight be the one makingyouuncomfortable,” I point out.
“Not at all.” Her voice squeaks a little. “I really don’t mind. Go shirtless all you like around here.”
I fight the smile that aches to curve my mouth upwards.
Okay. Shirtless, it is.
“So, uh… if you’d rather be in bed at this hour, why aren’t you?” she asks, seeming to want to change the subject. “I mean, it’s the weekend.”
“Yeah. I’m kind of obligated to do PT every morning though.”
Something lights in her eyes. Recollection maybe?
“Oh, of course.” She says it as though someone told her the same at some point in her life.
For a moment, I’m wondering if maybe she once dated a military guy. And I’m just nosy enough to ask, “Lesson you learned from an old boyfriend?”
“No, no. Definitely not. I don’t date—”
“—military guys,” I finish for her. Well, so much for that theory. “Yeah, you mentioned that before.”
“But I won’t tell your commanders if you sleep in,” she offers, sending me a conspiratorial look.
“Yeah, butI’llknow.” I can’t help sounding a little surly as I say it. Every time she reminds me that she doesn’t date military guys it makes me think of my ex-girlfriend again.
“So do you open the diner every day?” I ask, pushing aside negative thoughts.
She shakes her head. “Harriet and I alternate. But it’s hard to break the habit of waking up early, I guess. And I’ve never been the best sleeper.”
“Well, if you’re not needed at work, you should join me,” I offer again, only because she looks sorely in need of a distraction right now.
“Running?”
“Yeah. Best way to start the day.”
“I’m not a runner.”
“Everyone’sa runner,” I counter.
“Not me.”
I cock my head. “If someone pulls out a grenade, believe me, you’re a runner.”
“Thankfully that rarely happens on Tybee Island. And I’m kind of headed out anyway.” She stands, adding, “Besides, I’d slow you down.”
“I don’t mind. Offer stands anytime.” I suck down my coffee as though it’s Gatorade after a long run. “Hey—do you happen to have a towel that I could borrow? I’d like to wipe down a bit before I come in, but I forgot to pack some towels from home. Don’t want to drip sweat on your floor.”