“Uh… The meatloaf is on special, and it’s pretty good. We also have minestrone soup and homemade bread, and the guys have a nice chicken burger going. The coleslaw is pretty tasty.”
Lazily nodding as though he has all the time in the world and absolutely nowhere else to be, he considers his options and scratches his jaw so his nails move across the week-old beard. “I don’t think I want the meatloaf. It’s not speaking to me.”
I would hope not. It’s a fucking meat dish, not a person.“Okay. So, the regular burger?”
“Did you make the coleslaw for the chicken burger?”
“No, it came from a tub.”
He thinks my answers are cute, proven by his smirk and dancing eyes. “But you made the relish for the beef burger? From scratch?”
“Yes, I made the relish from scratch.”
Finally, he flashes his full smile and reaches up to flip the mug over so I can pour. “Burger please, with the Katrina-made relish and a side of fries.”
“Coming right up.” I pour the steaming coffee with precision, because if I spill it on his hand, I’d feel kinda bad to add to the pain on top of his sore shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t need anything for your shoulder? A hospital, maybe?”
Chuckling, he brings the full mug to his lips and inhales the scent. There’s no way in hell I could drink coffee at this time of the night. I wouldn’t be able to sleep until closer to five in the morning, and then I’d have to get up again an hour later and walk around perpetuating the cycle when I pour more caffeine. “I’m okay, but thanks for the concern. Nobody ever worries about me anymore, so it’s fun to be babied for a sec.”
“Kat?” Our eyes come up at the slurred request from my single diner as he turns with dark eyes and a curled lip. Unkempt black hair hangs in his lashes, and a week-old beard covers his jaw… it’s the same as Eric’s, but at the same time, nothing like Eric’s. “Service.” He clicks his fingers. “Now.”
Heat fills my cheeks as I turn back to Eric with a forced smile. “I’ll get your meal out to you just as soon as it’s ready. And if I remember, I’ll bring you a fresh ice pack.”
“You know where to find me.” One-handed, he snaps his newspaper open and goes about reading the sports section in the back. His body language says one thing, but his watchful eyes don’t leave my back as I walk away and pray no scenes are made tonight. I have less than an hour left. One hour to get everyone out that door and the floors mopped before I can go home and fall into bed.
One more hour, then I can consider this day done and myself just a little bit closer to freedom.