Page 3 of Beck and Call

"That's because I don't have one. Not anymore." I leaned forward. "Do you usually chat up waitresses early in the morning?"

"No, I told you, I needed a diversion. It hasn't been a great morning." He shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, but the look in his eyes betrayed him. There was a darkness inside them and it seemed possible he felt as alone as I did.

"Care to talk about it? Maybe it'll be easier to talk to a stranger," I offered.

"Talking about it would mean thinking about it. I'd rather talk about you."

There were things I needed to get done before the end of my shift. Refill condiments, wipe down tables, and load the napkin dispensers. I needed this job, so I couldn't risk pissing off my manager. Still, I sat with this beautiful stranger and shared personal bits of my life I was reluctant to tell anyone.

"You've got a little bit of an accent. I'm going to guess Seattle isn't your hometown," he observed.

I was surprised he picked up on it. My Kentucky accent had mostly faded since my grandmother and I moved to Illinois when I was eight. With my mother gone, neither of us could handle being in a place we expected to see her everywhere we went.

"No, it's not. I moved here from Illinois last year."

"I'd have guessed somewhere in the south. You've got a slight twang. It's cute."

Cute. Awesome, here I was lusting after his chiseled face, sky blue eyes, and what seemed to be an amazing body, and he thought of me in the same terms I viewed puppies and babies.

"I was born in Kentucky, but I moved when I was eight, and I haven't been back since. I've worked really hard to get rid of my accent, how could you possibly have heard it?"

"Picking up little details about people is a skill I have, and I travel a lot for work. It's very beneficial when I'm trying to broker business deals, being able to read people quickly."

"Is that what you're doing? Reading me?" I asked.

He smirked, and some of the tension leached out of his expression. "I'm trying, but for the first time in my life I find myself at a loss. You are a bit of a mystery to me, Evie."

"I aim to please," I teased.

Ian started banging pots and pans in the back. Either he was warning me the boss had arrived, or he was unhappy how much attention I was giving to my handsome customer when I rebuffed every effort he made to flirt with me himself.

I bit the corner of my lip. Getting back to work was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was necessary. "I think the cook is trying to let me know I need to get back to work. I hope your day gets better."

I slid out from the booth and started to move toward the back. Beckett unfolded himself from the red vinyl bench seat, and I nearly gasped. When he came in I hadn't been standing close enough to him to grasp how tall he was. He was probably a foot taller than I was. Of course he was the embodiment of every fantasy I'd ever had.

I smiled, it was slight and probably shy, but also the most genuine display of emotion I'd allowed myself in a long time. As I turned to move away he grabbed my wrist. I felt him slip a piece of paper into my hand, and I wanted to protest. Him giving me a tip would make me feel like the charity case I actually was. Even though I needed money, I needed one good memory more. To be able to look back on these few moments that I held the attention of a handsome stranger was more important than reframing it as the time I was pitied by a handsome customer.

He tugged until I was turned in front of him. I couldn't look at him though, so I stared at my shoes. "Keep this up,” he said and I felt his hand brush across my cheek before his finger tipped my chin up. “My number and my email are on that card. I'd very much like to talk to you again. I still need a distraction, and I think you and I can be a lot of help to each other. Text me, please."

I started to open my mouth to argue. If I pursued whatever this weird connection was, my beautiful moment would disappear. The possibility of having more moments wasn't worth the risk of losing a perfect one. Not when there were so few of them to treasure in my memory.

Beckett wouldn't allow it. He moved his finger from my chin to silence my lips. "Don't say no. At least email me. I can help you get a real job. Take a chance, Evie. Opportunities like I can give you don't appear every day."

He was right, and I couldn't let my stubbornness and pride keep me down. I nodded and watched him slip out the door. Hopefully, my fears were wrong, and it wouldn't be the last time I saw him.

Chapter Two

After my shift, I folded my apron and stored it under the counter. My car wasn't working anymore, so I had to walk a mile to and from work. It wasn't too far of a distance, but it was October in Seattle. That meant it was cold and rainy, my least favorite weather combination.

I made it home fifteen minutes after my shift ended, soaking wet and shivering. The owner of my apartment building was cheap and hadn't fixed the broken elevator for the last four months. Thankfully, my apartment was only on the fourth floor, not the tenth.

My studio apartment was a bit less than three hundred square feet and didn't even have a kitchen. Each floor had a shared one, but I only ever used my microwave. Essentially, I slogged through a low paying job daily in order to spend all of my money to live in a closet.

I quickly stripped out of my wet uniform and hung it over the shower door and wrapped myself in a robe. Finally dry, I booted up my ancient laptop computer and brought it over to the only place to sit in the apartment, my futon.

It had a lumpy mattress and didn't make for either a good couch or a comfortable bed, but it came with the apartment, and considering groceries were too expensive I definitely couldn’t afford to replace it. Seattle was an expensive city to live in, and I was barely keeping my head above water as it was. The idea of working another soul sucking job just to continue living my life exactly like this was depressing.

Thankfully, the online job boards had more positions listed than the paper. After an hour of sending out my resume electronically to every job I could conceivably be qualified for, I shut down my computer. Beckett's card sat on the small counter near the microwave. I needed to see what was out there for myself before I accepted his help.

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