Page 19 of Tell Me Again

Two tables are occupied at eight thirty. Predictable, like nearly every Monday morning since I started working here. Old Joe McClellan and his wife, Tammy, sit together on one side of a booth, sharing Mel’s French toast special, and Angie’s at her booth near the front door, seated cross-legged with her back up against the wall as she reads a book and sips her third cup of coffee. She waves me over on my way back out of the kitchen.

“Coop, have you read this one?! Seriously! It’s—” She starts laughing, although she tries to muffle the sound into her book.

I just shake my head and top off her coffee. “Ang, I should probably be bringing you decaf, huh?”

“No, no, you don’t understand, see, there’s this guy, and he wakes up one morning and just BOOM! outta nowhere, he’s got all these crazy superpowers! Flying and super strength and...”

Behind me, the door opens, and I fucking swear I feel him enter the room. Like some sort of scene from a movie or some shit. Like he’s got some force pulling me toward him. Magnetism, maybe. Yeah, that’s it. He’s fucking magnetic, and I feel it and I just want to turn around and let myself be drawn in his direction.

Angie’s still going on and on about the book she’s reading or something, oblivious that I’m not even hearing her, but it’s like my body is suddenly on high alert. Fucking traitorous body that’s suddenly much too warm. We want nothing to do with him, remember? We... Oh god, I can smell his aftershave, even from here, and it’s sexy as hell. Shit.

I paste a fake smile on my face, because other people are around, and I nod at whatever Angie says, even though I didn’t hear it. “Yeah, sure, Ang.”

She lights up, her green eyes dancing. “Ah-ha! Finally! Mel! He’s finally going to do it!”

Shit. What did I just agree to? “Ang, what the f—”

Mel pops her head out from the kitchen and glances at me and then toward where I can still feel Josh standing just inside the diner. She scowls and tips her head—her way of telling me to get the fuck back to work.

Angie giggles, almost like she’s happy that Mel had to give me the silent scolding. Yeah, real cool, Ang, thanks. Then she grins at me again.

“You gonna help that poor guy, or just let him stand there, staring at the ground?” she says with another grin.

Poor guy. Yeah. Poor fucking Josh.

Angie winks and then picks her coffee cup back up. “Thanks, Coop.”

“You’re welcome, Ang.”

I smile, because customer service is important here at Mel’s Diner. And I turn around stiffly, resisting that fucking magnetism or whatever the hell it is. My smile only lasts until he looks up at me with those gorgeous blue eyes of his that are just so full of some mix of regret and discomfort. Then I’m scowling again.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Okay, no, that’s not really what I say. Because customer service. I want to, though.

Instead, I take a step back, still resisting that pull. God, I’m warm all over, and those fucking gorgeous eyes are almost too much. I force myself to take a breath.

“Hey, uh, are you here to eat, or...?” Fucking stupid question, I know. But what the hell am I supposed to say? My brain already vetoed “What the fuck are you doing here?” And I’m sort of out of other options.

“Um, yeah, actually. Can I just sit . . . ?”

He motions toward the counter, his eyes pleading with me now, like his voice did the other day in the parking lot at Amy’s. Something inside me kinda breaks, and it hurts all over again.

I screw my eyes shut, but I can’t unsee the pain in his expression, just as I can’t unhear the grief in his voice from yesterday, when he’d been begging me to let him apologize. Fuck.

“Yeah, you can sit wherever you want. I’ll grab you a menu.”

I turn around and start back toward the kitchen. I’m still holding a pot of coffee in one hand, and if I keep lingering any longer, it’s gonna start to get cold. At least that’s the excuse I use to convince my feet to get moving. And the farther away from him I get, the more it hurts. That seems backwards to me, but whatever.

Just through the doors into the kitchen, I set the coffee pot back down on its warming plate and then lean against the wall for half a second, letting my eyes close again. My hands are shaking, and my heart’s racing, and I feel sick. And cold.

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me you’re gonna be sick again, Coop. I can’t deal with that shit today.”

I groan and open my eyes. Mel’s stopped what she’s doing—making a pie or something, I’m not entirely sure—and she’s watching me. I shake my head as I push myself away from the wall.

“I’m fine,” I say. But because I’m really not, I quickly add, “I mean, I’m not gonna be sick, Mel. I just... needed a minute.”

She’s curious, maybe? It’s hard to tell with her sometimes. But thankfully, she doesn’t ask. She just gives me a quick nod.

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