Page 91 of The Thought of You

“I took a normal amount of time to learn to pee,” I toss back.

“Not what your mom said.” Nate snorts, and Cole fist-bumps him.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I miss Austin. The bastard’s rude as hell, but at least he minds his own business.” I roll my eyes and sip from my mug as the other two continue snickering.

Scarlett rounds the bar and places her hands on both hips. A pen is nestled behind her ear like a fifties diner waitress, her outfit complete with a collared shirt. She’s just missing one of those pointy hats. “Every time I talk to my friends instead of working, you threaten me with kitchen duty with the funky smells.” The young twenty-something girl scrunches her nose as she glares at us, dedicating a whole three seconds to each of us and ending with Cole. “What should I threaten you with, Mr. Big Shot?”

“Tell him you’ll paint his house yellow. He’s always hated that color,” Nate chimes in. “Or better yet—paint his beloved truck!”

Thankful for the subject change before I blurted something I’m not supposed to say, I snap my fingers and tease, “Tell him you’ll leave a turtle in the bed of his truck the next time he slacks off. He’s scared shitless of those things.”

“Are you serious? What adult is afraid of turtles?” Scarlett bursts into laughter as Matilda sidles up next to her in a matching outfit, only hers is pink to Scarlett’s blue.

“What did I miss?” Matilda, the second gossip queen of the south, asks.

“It turns out, Mr. Big Shot is actually Mr. Scaredy Turtle.” Scarlett shakes her head, her grin still wide and amused.

“What’s with the matching getup?” Kenny, their boss and owner, interrupts, pointing between the two girls.

Scarlett holds her head high. “It’s October, and we’re celebrating Halloween all month long with different diner outfits.”

“Let’s cut the celebration short, shall we? They’re too distracting, and they don’t go with the culture in here.”

“Oh.” Matilda slumps her hip against the counter.

“You two are the most exhausting part of my job.” Kenny sighs, then nods toward the crowd and clips, “Table seven needs refills, and Mr. Charlie is ready for his bill. Let’s not keep our customers waiting, please and thank you.”

Cole tightens his lips and busies himself with a new order. I imagine it’s not easy for him to be bossed around by a younger guy, especially since Cole was a hotshot lawyer in Charleston before life and pressure chewed him up and spit him back out into Sapphire Creek.

It’s why Scarlett calls him Mr. Big Shot.

The previously peppy girl taps at the screen of their POS system with obvious agitation, and once Kenny scurries away, a tray of drinks in hand, Matilda scoops ice into a glass and mockingly mutters, “Please and thank you.”

Scarlett mumbles back, “The things I’d like to say to that petty man.”

“Why has he been such a dick this week?” Matilda hisses. “This please and thank you business just joined his vocabulary, and I am so not here for it.”

“Same,” Scarlett draws out and finishes the simple word with a groan. “He needs to get laid.”

“You’re not getting any. Yet you’re not a dick,” Matilda says over her shoulder toward Scarlett, who finishes up on the screen and tears a ticket from the machine.

“You know we’re in a bizarre reality when Mr. Big Shot is getting more than us combined, even with his girlfriend living in Atlanta.” Scarlett nudges Cole with her elbow.

“There’s no reality where I will join this conversation.” He holds his hands up, backs away from the bar, and stalks toward the stage.

Nate and I turn toward each other in sync. “Who needs TV when the Tap is so much more interesting?” he muses.

“That’s just the tip of the drama-berg around here.” I clap his shoulder and jostle him. “You’ll get your fill of gossip within your first week of living here. If you actually stick around, that is.”

“That’s the plan. The sticking around part, anyway. Not the gossip.” He swipes his mug and sucks back a gulp.

“You’re probably already at the center of gossip, man.” I shrug toward the few ladies making eyes at him from the corner. “The second you even thought of buying your parents’ house and moving here, everyone knew, and they’re ready to pounce.”

He follows my gaze toward the women, who curl their fingers in waves at us, then turns back to me with a smirk. “I’m not dating anytime soon,” he asserts. “I just want to focus on my daughter and me settling into a new normal.”

“Where you’re stuck in one place.”

“You make it sound like I’m trapped.”

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