Page 25 of Jenna's Protector

As I pour the water, I steal glances at her: the graceful curve of her long neck as she tilts her head back, the way her fingers absently trace patterns on the arm of the chair, and the soft rise and fall of her chest with each breath. Each detail sears itself into my memory.

I hand her the water, our fingers brushing for a moment. The contact sends a jolt through me, and it’s an effort to resist the urge to let my hand linger.

“Thank you,” Jenna murmurs, her eyes meeting mine.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I sink back into my chair, closer to her than before.

“I should probably get back to the shop.” She shifts in her seat, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. “Malia must be wondering where I am.” Her gaze darts around the room, not quite meeting my eyes.

The sight of her looking so lost ignites something protective within me.

“How do you feel about lunch?”

“That sounds nice.” Jenna’s gaze flicks up to mine, a spark of interest lighting them for the first time today.

“Great.” I grab my jacket, the familiar leather creaking as I shrug it on. Max’s ears perk up at the jingle of his leash. “Let’s get out of here.”

I take Jenna to my favorite place. Big Rick’s Diner comes intoview. The red neon sign buzzes and flickers, casting a soft glow over the gravel parking lot. It’s a place that feels like home, where I’ve spent countless late nights after a long shift.

We step inside, and the familiar scents wash over me—sizzling bacon, fresh coffee, and the sweet aroma of apple pie just out of the oven. It’s warm and welcoming. The vinyl booths squeak as patrons shift in their seats, their low murmur of conversation punctuated by the clink of silverware and the occasional burst of laughter.

Jenna’s eyes widen as she takes in the view from the large windows—the vast expanse of the Pacific.

“This is beautiful,” she breathes, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.

Max’s tail wags as a waitress approaches, her eyes lighting up at seeing him.

“Well, hello there, handsome.” She coos at Max while reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “Your usual booth, Detective?”

I nod, grateful for the familiar routine. As we slide into the booth, Max settles contentedly at our feet. Here, away from the pressures of the case and the painful memories, Jenna and I can find a way to connect.

The menu crinkles in my hands as I open it, more out of habit than necessity. I already have my order in mind. Jenna scans the options, a slight furrow appearing between her brows as she concentrates. These little details, these glimpses of the real Jenna, are what I’ve been craving all day. I silently thank whatever impulse made me suggest lunch.

Our server, Betty, approaches our table, her seasoned eyes crinkling with recognition.

“Carter, honey, good to see you.” She turns to Jenna, her smile warm and welcoming. “And who’s this lovely lady?”

Before I can respond, Betty continues, her enthusiasm palpable.

“You’re in for a treat tonight. Big Rick’s clam chowder is fresh this morning, and his burgers are the best, but I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.”

“Sounds perfect.” I glance at Jenna. She nods in agreement, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Great. I’ll get you both some water to start.” Betty bustles off, her apron swishing with each step.

As we settle into the booth, the initial awkwardness between Jenna and me begins to fade. The panoramic view of the ocean through the large windows captivates us both. The rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs below provides a soothing backdrop, mingling with the soft clatter of dishes and murmur of conversations around us.

I take in the familiar surroundings, seeing them anew through Jenna’s eyes. Softened by years of washing, the checkered tablecloths add a homey touch. Framed photographs of the coast adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of the rugged beauty outside. The aroma of sizzling burgers and freshly baked pies fills the air, underscored by the faint, salty scent of the ocean.

The diner is sparsely populated, but we’re past the lunch rush. An elderly couple shares a plate of golden fries by the window, their heads bent close in quiet conversation. A young mother sips her coffee, absently rocking a stroller with her foot as she flips through a glossy magazine. At the counter, two fishermen, their faces weathered by sun and salt, share a hearty laugh over their beers, the occasional bark of laughter punctuating the ambient noise.

“I’m glad it’s not busy.” I smile at Jenna. “Weekends, this place can get pretty packed. It’s nice to have it quiet for a change.”

“It’s nice.” Jenna’s gaze roams the cozy space, taking in every detail. “I see why you like it here.”

Betty returns with our waters and pulls out a pen. “Know what you want?”

“I’ll have the clam chowder, please.” Jenna’s smile is warm and genuine.

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