Page 79 of Tell Me Again

And hell, I’m forgetting this isn’t Omaha. This is a small town. Everyone here probably already knows by now. Tim and Marlene and Jackie no doubt saw Coop and me being more than just friends at the bowling alley. And one person tells another, who tells another. That’s what small towns are like.

And that’s okay.

Really.

Just as long as it doesn’t get back to my parents... quite yet.

I sigh and then push myself up and stand. Maybe I need some coffee, or a little nap. It’s still much too early. And I’m tired. I opt for the nap and head back into the bedroom to lie down.

I don’t know how long I’m asleep, but when my cell phone rings from the nightstand, jolting me out of another pleasant dream, there’s sunlight streaming in through the curtains. I groan and roll over to grab my phone, blinking my eyes open against the bright light of morning. I recognize the ring as Brenna’s, and I push myself up to sit, my back resting against the headboard, as I swipe up to answer.

“Hello?” My voice sounds like I just woke up. Because I did. But I cover the speaker with my hand and clear my throat.

“H-hey, Josh.”

Shit, something’s wrong. I can tell from her voice. And from the quiet sniffle she’s trying to hide. I pull my knees up to my chest and tug the comforter up, since there’s a slight chill in the room, despite the heater still being on.

“Hey, Bren . . . How are you?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Coop

I’m fucking distracted today. Mixing up orders all over the place. Forgetting to refill drinks. Counting out change incorrectly. All inconsequential things, at least. Or rather—anything that might be of consequence is quickly fixed or laughed off, since everyone who’s in this morning is a Friday-morning regular.

Mel, too. She’s just laughing her ass off at me every time I fuck up. And that’s a welcome change from her behavior the whole last week. Hell, she hasn’t even threatened to fire me yet today, even after I bungled yet another order and she had to remake yet another omelet. I mean, honestly, why the fuck would I have written down swiss cheese? Who the fuck puts swiss cheese on an omelet?

The kitchen’s full of jokes at my expense for that one, although it’s mostly Mel and Chuck. Clara’s too nice to laugh at me, but I see her grinning. And Chuck’s in and out, helping with orders and deliveries of some of Mel’s baked goods and such.

Even though I’m fucking up all over the place, the tips are great. Much better than a typical Friday morning. And I can’t seem to wipe the stupid grin off my face, though that’s definitely not because of the tips.

I’m just refilling coffees for two of my remaining three tables when the door opens. I know it’s him before I even turn around. It’s just that thing I can feel when he enters the room—the thing I’d called magnetism before. I don’t know what the fuck it actually is, but god, it’s still just as strong. And it feels fantastic.

I smile and nod to Mr. and Mrs. Murkowski, whose coffees I’ve just topped off, and then I straighten up and turn around.

And god, my heart. My fucking heart is bursting with joy as I see him. I can’t help it. I’m so fucking in love. He’s standing just inside the door, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and a soft expression in his eyes. He tilts his head toward the counter in a silent question, and I nod.

“I’ll be right there, just give me a minute?” I say, and it’s like there’s this flicker of energy between us as he smiles.

“Sure, yeah.”

I want to just gather him up in my arms and kiss him senseless right there. And it takes a lot of self-control for me to not do just that. But I need to put the coffee pot back in the kitchen and get the check for the Murkowskis and see if an order is up yet for one of my other tables. So it’s a few minutes later when I’m finally able to join him.

He’s taken one of the end seats at the counter, nearest to the door. It’s pretty close to where he’d sat when he came in on Wednesday. And he’s staring down at his phone, typing a text message, maybe, when I slip into the seat next to his.

I’ve got about five minutes, if I’m lucky, before I need to check on my tables again, and as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket and looks up at me, I’m wishing I had much, much more time than that. My throat feels tight.

“I missed you,” I say, and I’m trying to smile now, but there’s this overwhelming emotion in my chest. I want to hug him, kiss him, touch him. Something’s telling me to let him make the first move, though. After all, we are in public.

He blinks, and I swear I can see a longing in his eyes. “I, uh, almost came early because I didn’t want to wait any longer to see you.”

“I would have loved that,” I answer immediately, my voice thick with emotion again.

His eyes flit down to my lips and then back up, and all I can think is “Fuck, yes, please.” God, I fucking need a kiss right now. My heart’s jumping around, thrumming unsteadily, and I can’t hold everything back any longer. Just one touch is all. Maybe that’ll be enough.

I slowly reach out and set my hand on his thigh. And I hold my breath as I wait to see if this is okay with him. He does hesitate, but it’s only for a second, and then his hand covers mine. It’s instant—a wave of warmth and tingling, rushing up my arm.

And it feels fucking good. So fucking good, and yet not near enough. In fact, it only makes me want him more.

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