“Two black coffees. No cream or sugar, just a shaker of cinnamon, please.”
The kid eyes me curiously, glances at Claire, and then walks away without another word.
I reach across, grabbing Claire’s hand in mine, hoping it will calm whatever nerves she’s experiencing. I scan the place, searching for any sign of something out of the ordinary.
The building has a strange resemblance to Bram’s. A very old-fashioned diner kind of vibe. Same glass case with various sweets—some muffins, a few pies.
“Is this where you brought that donut home from?” I ask Claire.
She looks up at me, a wildness in her eyes. “Mmhm.”
I narrow my gaze. “What’s up with you?”
But before she can answer, the kid is back with two mugs and a pot of coffee. He sets down the cinnamon and slides it toward me. “What else can I get you?”
I shift my eyes to the menus near the packets of sugar, but decide to order our usual, in hopes that it’s edible. “Two stacks of blueberry pancakes and two orders of bacon. That’ll be it for now.”
The kid makes a note on his paper. “Shouldn’t take long.”
He leaves me and Claire behind, our hands still gripping each other.
I sprinkle some cinnamon into her cup and nudge it toward her, doing the same with mine, and then scan the crowd again.
Old couple in the opposite corner booth. A middle-aged woman on her laptop at a table. A twenty-something guy standing near the register, waiting to pay his bill. Another guy kneeling by the donuts trying to figure out which one he wants.
There’s the kid serving us, and another young lady wiping down a newly empty table. At least one person is working in the kitchen, but from here, I can’t pinpoint how many for sure.
I release Claire and drag my cup to my lips, blowing gently on the steam rising to assault me. I take a sip, noting the decent flavor. Not too bitter but packs a solid bold punch. I will definitely be adding it to my list of coffee shops. Is that why Josey chooses to come here daily? I didn’t peg him as a java snob, but maybe he enjoys the laid-back atmosphere and the fact that it’s so fucking similar to Bram’s. A reminder of back home.
A man appears from the kitchen area, his back pushing through the swinging door, a case of something in his arms. He turns, setting it on the counter and skimming the patrons. His harsh gaze settles over us briefly, but he does a double-take, staying on us longer than the rest of the diner. He glances over to the kid then points and mumbles something about the contents of the box, grabs a pot of coffee off the nearest burner, and walks over.
Claire’s body goes rigid…as if she saw a ghost.
“Top you off?” He meets my gaze and doesn’t look away.
I scan the shape of his face, the dark green shade of his eyes. The way his jaw is pressed in a tense manner. There’s something so familiar about him that it’s unnerving.
“Sure,” I finally respond, pushing my cup toward him and dragging Claire’s along, too.
“You take yours with cinnamon, too?” He fills us up and stands there, waiting for my response.
“Mmhm.” I glance over to Claire in my peripheral, ready to throw myself across the table if this guy ends up somehow being a threat to her.
“Thought I was the only one.” His lips turn up slowly, a strange kindness about the expression on his face. He glances at Claire. “Glad to see you back, Claire.”
I fully focus on her again. Have these two already met?
“You and Rosie make friends everywhere, don’t you?” I ask Claire a bit rhetorically.
The man raises a bushy eyebrow at her.
Claire forces a smile.
“They sure do. Rosie was a chatty one.” He extends his free hand to me. “Luciano Bane.”
My attention shifts to the branding on the menu, plastered on the front window…the name of the place.Bane’s Café.It’s no wonder he met Claire and Rosie last night, he’s the freaking Bram of this establishment.
I grab hold and give him a firm shake. I catch the wrong word just as it’s about to escape my lips and switch it with my hidden identity. “Theo.”
“My pleasure.” Luciano looks to Claire then to me. “If you need anything, let me know.” He strolls away, going back behind the bar and setting the pot of joe on its warmer.
Our young waiter passes him on the way over, hands full of plates of pancakes and bacon.
I scan the room again, not really noticing anything out of place. Maybe I can meet Josey and see if he can help me figure out how to get out of this mess I’m in.
Claire takes a bite of her pancakes, mumbling about how good they are.
I focus on her, smiling at how happy she is with her breakfast. Good food and coffee are the way to my girl’s heart, and it’s one of the things I absolutely adore about her.
I notice the way her gaze darts across the room toward the kitchen, like she’s watching out for something suspicious, too. Is it because of our already sketchy situation, or is there something else causing her to be extra concerned with keeping an eye out?