“Of what? How long have you been writing? Is it amazing?” So many questions ran riot through her head.
He laughed and took her cup from the table.
“I write novels in the more risqué category and let's just say that I’m doing quite well for myself," he answered. "It looks like the storm has died down. Do you need a lift into town?”
Their conversation was getting along great and Mother Nature decided to put a halt to it.
“If you don’t mind?” she responded. She grabbed her bags and followed him out of his house.
The drive to town was quiet. Laura had to try to keep her attention away from the hot man sitting next her. In no time at all he was pulling up outside the diner. She groaned when she saw how busy it was.
“Are you serious about becoming a writer?” he asked as she reached for the door handle.
“Yes. It’s my dream.”
“Okay. Stop by my house. I’ll clear it with your parents and we’ll work on your technique. I take it you have some stories you’ve already written?” he asked.
“Short ones, and they’re really badly printed.”
“Bring them. I’ll give them a read. Be aware though, I 've never done this and you’ve got to be prepared to learn,” he warned.
“I will. I promise. Thank you for the ride and everything.” She got out of the car and watched as he drove off before entering the crowded diner.
On entering she saw that Peter and his gang were already seated in her work area. Great, she thought. Another afternoon with having to be kind. Laura walked into the back and changed into her uniform. Kasey, another waitress who was about two years older, was putting on her make-up.
“You made it then?” she asked.
Laura nodded. She tied her hair into a ponytail and took a fresh menu pad off the pile. “Yes. Dean Riley gave me a lift into work.”
“He’s got a cute ass,” Kasey commented.
She ignored Kasey and grabbed a coffee pot on the way out. Several customers needed refills. Orders were taken from a few others. With every second the place got rowdier.
A child spilled shake all over her uniform and another splattered tomato sauce. By the time she made it over to Peter and his gang she looked a wreck. When she reached their table she stared down at her notebook, mentally squaring her shoulders for the tease and taunts that were about to happen.
“What can I get you?” she asked. Avoiding eye contact usually worked.
“Wow, you look a mess,” Russell, one of Peter's cronies remarked..
“I mean your order,” Laura said. Fatal mistake. She looked up from her pad and saw that all six men were staring at her.
“Have you even glanced at the menu, yet?” Laura asked.
They shook their head.
“Then why did you signal me to order?” she inquired.
“Because we know what we want. Six orders of cheese burgers and fries,” Peter said, interrupting the other guys.
Laura wrote the order down, thankful that he’d stepped in. She kept her fingers crossed with hopes that the library would open up for jobs. Working at the diner was a royal pain in the ass.
Chapter Three
Dean drove to the supermarket after dropping Laura off. He was long overdue on some groceries, especially if he wanted to eat for the next few days. He thought about the young woman he’d dropped off. She was sweet looking and definitely a lovely person to talk to. He hadn't noticed any interest in him from her and he liked that. He couldn’t deal with any woman’s interest in him. After the death of his wife and child by a drunk driver, he was passed all the romancing and love talk. He spent most of his days writing. Although his editor had been in touch with him and told him that he needed to start writing lighter stuff, in his heart all he saw was the darkness, the darkness of being alone and knowing that his wife and little boy would never walk through the door again. The pain was so intense that at times it caused him to stop and breakdown for days.
On the night they’d been killed, they had been at a book signing. Carla had wanted to get little Frankie home and instead of telling her to wait for him to finish, he’d decided to get a taxi. When he’d gotten home, Carla and Frankie weren't there. They’d been killed on the highway by a truck driver who hadn’t stopped and who had had one too many beers. No matter how much satisfaction there was in knowing the driver was firmly behind bars, the pain didn’t stop. Carla and Frankie were still dead and nothing would bring them back.
“Mr. Riley?”