Page 22 of Deceitful Promises

He walks around to my side of the car. Maybe it’s petty, but I quickly push the door open before he can do it for me. Okay, so there’s nomaybeabout that. I climb from the car and follow him toward the entrance. The whole time, he’s standing close.

“Are you hungry again?” I ask. “We only ate like two hours ago.”

“We,” he repeats, making me want to slap him.

“Seriously, mind your business.”

“Hmm. Anyway, when you’re two-seventy, you need a lot of fuel. Let’s get a plate of something to share. That way, you can make me feel good about myself. I won’t even know how much I’ve eaten.”

A small smile touches my lips. Despite everything, I can’t ignore how he’s constantly trying to make an effort with me. He seems to always think of me, but that could be his kidnapper charm. Maybe he’s just trying to make me believe he cares. Perhaps I’m a sucker.

“We’ll wait here,” he says before entering the diner.

“What, why?”

He nods inside. “That family is about to leave the corner booth.”

“Why does that matter?”

He frowns. “It’s the best seat in the house.”

I look through the tall windows, spotting at least three other tables we could sit at. “If you want to eat …”

“They’re paying their bill now,” he says, not looking at me.

“I don’t get it.”

“It has the best view,” he says gruffly. “What’s so difficult? It’s the safest place to sit, so that’s where we’ll sit.”

His tone has become dark and impatient. I don’t understand why it matters, but he’s clearly not going anywhere. Soon, the family of four leaves, and Aiden opens the door for me. The stench of food hits me the second we walk through the door: bacon, eggs, grease, and coffee. I try to hide my reaction, but I can feel him watching, always watching.

He sits with his back to the wall, seeming more comfortable now.

“Is this a military thing or something?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Ah, here’s the waitress.”

But hedoesknow. He’s just trying to pretend everything’s fine. This really shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t matter in the tiniest way. Yet it niggles at me, just like how the waitress smiles at Aiden niggles at me. She’s a short, curvy woman, built like my brother’s wives, who can have curves for days and still look beautiful. Not for a ballerina, though.

“What can I get y’all?”

“Is that a Southern accent?” Aiden says with a smile.

“Sure is.”

“We’ll have the breakfast platter. Thank you. And a coffee for me, black. Ania?”

“Water.”

I find myself glaring at the waitress as she turns and walks away. She’s swaying her hips almost like she wants to put on a show for Aiden. It doesn’t matter, though. She can do anything she wants. It makes no difference to me.

“Why did you say that about her accent?” I ask.

Aiden shrugs. “Small talk is second nature to me. It makes life easier. If I just stare at people, they get uncomfortable.”

I start tearing apart a napkin, nodding. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Why? Jealous?”

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