Page 21 of Tell Me Again

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I’m crazy busy for the next hour or so as Monday morning decides to show me just how fucking awesome it can be. Shortly after I get Josh’s order in, Gerry arrives to pick up a bunch of pies from Mel, and then two other parties come in—the first a group of eight older ladies who are regulars on Tuesdays, and the second a young couple I don’t recognize.

The older ladies are easy enough. They sit at their normal booth (the only one we have that’s large enough to accommodate that many people) and order their normal breakfasts. But it’s not fucking Tuesday, ladies, so what the hell?

Just kidding. Sort of. At least I know they always tip well.

The younger couple, though, they’re obviously not happy, and I can tell the moment they walk in that nothing’s going to please them. I do my best anyway.

Mel’s all sorts of extra today too, and I’m glad the kitchen isn’t open to the dining room so no one hears her muttering curses every time I bring in a new order or request. At one point, I have to step in and help her finish prepping the pies for Gerry. When I come back out into the dining room with the box she’s packaged them in, another three customers—all older men who also are usually here on Tuesdays (fuck, is it actually Tuesday or something?)—have seated themselves at the counter just a couple of seats down from Josh.

So I’m running around the diner, downing my fourth cup of coffee, smiling and nodding and laughing. Generally being super-nice-server-guy. Hell, I might even be impressing that unhappy couple a bit. At least they enjoyed the food. Mel’s a wonderful cook.

All the while, every time I’m out in the dining room, I feel him. His eyes follow me around the room—his gorgeous blue eyes that are just begging me to stop and sit down and let him talk. Because nope, he definitely didn’t come in here to eat.

He finishes well before my other tables clear out, and it’s nearly ten by the time I’m gathering up the used dishes and wiping all the tables clean. Even Angie has finished up and headed out for the day. Now, it’s just him and me in the otherwise-empty diner. And he just sits there, nursing his fourth cup of coffee, staring at his hands and tapping on the side of the mug with his index finger.

He looks incredibly sad, and even though I remind myself again that I’m supposed to be angry with him, my heart aches all the same.

I poke my head briefly into the back, intending to just let Mel know that our odd Monday-morning rush seems to be over. She looks up from where she’s sticking a huge pot roast—tonight’s dinner special—in the slow cooker.

“What now?” she asks, clearly annoyed, and she shifts her attention back to what she’s doing.

“Uh, I—”

She shakes her head and then does something so completely out of character that I’m actually not entirely sure what to say in response—she apologizes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Coop. Just ignore me today, alright? I got some shit going on, and well, it’s been a morning.” She clears her throat and glances back up at me while securing the lid on the slow cooker. “We got more customers or something?”

“Uh, no.” I step all the way into the kitchen. “No, just the one dude at the counter who won’t leave. But he’s just—Mel, are you okay?”

She’s stopped working and is leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed. She nods in response to my question, but it’s not really convincing.

“I need a ten-minute break. Can you handle things? Clara should be in soon.”

Clara’s the other cook. She’s usually only in on the weekends. Fuck, something big must be going on with Mel for her to call Clara in.

“Yeah, of course,” I say. “Mel, are—”

“Everything’s fine, Coop. I swear. Just some personal stuff. Family shit, you know how that goes. Get back out there and make sure everyone’s happy. I just need ten minutes.”

She waves me off, motioning in the general direction of the dining room, and then turns and heads back toward her office. I’m torn between wanting to really make sure she’s okay and knowing that if I push her anymore, I’ll likely get my head taken off.

In the end, I decide on self-preservation, knowing she’ll tell me what’s going on if and when she’s ready, and I head back out into the dining room.

Josh is still sitting there, staring at his coffee, and when I come out of the kitchen, he looks up. All the smile is gone from his eyes. He glances around the diner really quickly, like he wants to be sure we’re alone, and then when his gaze meets mine again, I just... can’t not see it.

He’s sad and hurting and—fuck, I am too, though.

Fuck this morning.

“Do you, uh, need more coffee?”

He shakes his head and then laughs lightly, but it’s a strained, stunted laugh. “No, I’ve had way too much already. Uh, thanks though. I just... Are you guys always that busy on Mondays? I’d sort of expected it to be, um, a little slower, I guess...”

Now it’s my turn to laugh, and I shake my head as I lean back against the wall. “No, no, that was definitely not normal. We usually only have two or three people in here at a time until about noon.”

He nods and looks away, and his finger starts its nervous tapping on the side of his cup again. I can see it—that he’s got something he wants to say. Just like yesterday. But unlike yesterday, I can’t just run away.

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