With extreme effort, I draw in a sharp breath and pull my eyes off him and to the table's surface. It’s spattered in ringlets from the water dripping from my hair’s end. Reaching to the side, I snatch a napkin and wipe at the water as a pair of boots step up next to my table, pounding on the ground. Exhaling slowly, shoulders tensing as I lift my head, I smile weakly in relief. The man is elderly, and his eyes crinkle with the smile that grazes his face as he holds out a single page with a list, the menu.
“Get caught in the storm?” Ralph asks, his bushy eyebrows furrowing together in concern.
I nod, mute. My thoughts are swirling too rapidly for me to figure out what I’m supposed to do or say at the moment.
“I’ll get you a towel,” he offers gently and turns, leaving me.
I watch his back disappear behind the counter and through a door. He’s such a sweetheart. Coming to this diner with the old man bustling about always brings me joy and comfort. He’s been here for as far back as I can remember, and I’ve been coming here since I moved into the apartment with the guys almost six months ago.
Again, I push back my hair that just doesn’t want to seem to stay behind my ear. I feel the pricking burn of eyes watching my every move and don’t dare turn back around. I instantly regret not sitting near the granny. I no longer feel safe. I’m an idiot for not thinking that this man could try and come after me, and I doubt I’d be able to save myself. I’d be lucky if he left me alive.
The squeak of a cushion snaps my eyes forward, and I jump at his appearance so close to me, sitting right across from me at the same table. He gives me a lopsided smile and holds up his hands in surrender.
“Don’t be scaring her, son,” the old man chastises as he reappears and drops a towel over my shoulders. “I’m so sorry for my grandson. With his sleuthing around, he can seem a little spooky, but he’s a good kid.” He chuckles and squeezes my shoulder gently with his now free hand.
With his other, he sits a plate and mug down in front of me. The cup is steaming with light brown liquid.Coffee and creamer.The plate holds a bagel with cream cheese, and I lick my lips. I don’t need to ask to know it’s brown sugar and cinnamon cream cheese. He knows what I like and has since my second visit. It helps that we talk a lot about any and everything. I can talk his ear off if he lets me, and sometimes he actually does. He’s an easy man to talk to. It’s comfortable to do so. I don’t exactly know why, but it’s an ear that listens and that I don’t have to worry about being judged by.
I still feel crummy, but the hot coffee and bagel will warm me up soon enough. I smile up at Ralph. “Thank you, old fart.”
He chuckles with a shake of his head and turns to leave again, but not without shooting the guy across from me a warning sign. No name. I don’t miss that signal. Either it was deliberate, or Ralph is letting his grandson have the opportunity to introduce himself. An inkling inside of me tells me he isn’t about to do that, though. As if the mystery of keeping his identity a secret is, for some reason, very vital.
“Meeting a boyfriend? Husband?” he asks, his eyes flickering to my hand as I reach up, tugging my towel tighter and cupping my mug.
Warmth curls up and down my body as the water is sucked out. I shake my head, sorrowful of the question. Twenty-four years old, and I’m here in this cute little diner at night, with nothing for my life to show that I’ve made anything of myself. Yet, everybody from my class has something to show for their accomplishments. Not me.
No. Don’t do that to yourself, Gracie. It’s okay. You’re better now. You’re going to have accomplishments. Being sober is a big accomplishment. It’s okay. You’re doing good.I have to remind myself I’m doing good. Not the way everybody else is, but it’s okay. I’m doing good. I have to make sure that I keep reminding myself of that.
“On my own,” I finally respond.
“Tonight?” He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head.
The gesture makes him seem younger, less of a threat. I still keep my guard up, though. I know better than to relax. I mentally scold myself for not having grabbed my pepper spray. If I come out of this alive, Daddy can never know I left home without it. I’d never hear the end of it. And it probably would be the last time I lived with anyone else but him for a long time.
“Always.” I finally say with a shrug of my shoulder and lift a corner of the towel, wiping at my face. “I’m single.”
I mentally facepalm myself for saying such a stupid thing. Sure, the guy is handsome, but he could be a damn psychopath for all I know. The more private information I give out, the more he has over me. Am I really stupid enough to spill out these details about my life to him?
“Nothing wrong in being single. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here, alone. In the middle of a storm.”
“My ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend despises me, and I live with both of my exes,” I blurt out, hating myself for being so open.
Yep. I guess I really am going to spill my heart out. Great, now he has leverage on me. I really am a fucking idiot.
Surprise flickers in his eyes, and he folds his hands on the table again, his gaze never leaving me. The longer he looks at me with his smoldering hazel eyes, the more my heart pitter-patters erratically in my chest. At intervals, it squeezes and jabs at my lungs, making breathing even more difficult. He’s paying attention to me, just me, and I can’t help but want him to keep doing so. It just feels too good to have attention on me that isn’t all about my addictions and concern for my sobriety.
This complete stranger knows nothing about any of those issues. If I’m careful enough, I can keep my mouth shut about them. So, I won’t look like a pitiful case to him too.
“Both ex-boyfriends,” he hisses dramatically and shakes his head. “That’s gotta sting.”
I stare at him, deadpan, and blink. My lips part but the words won’t come. How the hell does he know about both of them? I wrack my brain, trying to remember if I’ve ever talked to this guy, and for some strange reason, just blocked the interaction out. While I do have a lot of black spots in my mind, I’m sure that he isn’t one of them.
My fingers tingle as the warmth shoots through them from my grip on the mug that I’ve yet to let up. I try to focus on that instead.
Only when cold fingers wrap around my wrist, do my eyes flash open. I follow the length of his arm and lift my gaze up to his eyes. They are gentle, soothing, and calm the frayed nerve endings that sizzle through my body. A fuzzy cloud drifts through my mind.
“Gracie,” my name on his lips twists something inside of me that I can’t quite figure out.
My breath hitches. Again, I search my mind, but I can’t recall when I told him my name. Maybe I did without realizing it?