Page 27 of Haunted

Henley: I wish you were here…

Henley

A week ago, I’d have laughed in your face if you’d told me a six-foot-something, gorgeous FBI agent would come barreling into my life; bringing a sense of peace with him I’d never experienced. But life was full of unexpected surprises and Keaton Clarke was, by far, the best kind.

After our kiss last night—which stole my breath in more ways than one—I climbed into the back of Old Blue feeling lighter instead of weighed down. Sleep, however, did not come easily. I tossed and turned for hours, which was an impressive feat considering the back seat was only about a foot and a half wide. Still, my mind raced with thoughts of a future which seemed bleak a mere forty-eight hours before.

When we parted ways that morning, I took the opportunity to check in with Nana Rita, who I might add was fired up over the fact I was late with my monthly call.

“I was getting ready to send out the National Guard,” she answered in lieu of the customary hello.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Nana. You do know the phone works both ways, right? If you were worried, you could’ve called me yourself.”

“Stop being rational.”

I chuckled into the phone.

“You sound different, Henny-Penny. Happy, even.”

The nickname started around my thirteenth birthday when I became obsessed with the copper coins. My younger self was adamant they’d bring us good luck, so whenever I saw one lying on the ground, I’d snatch it up and put it in my pocket.

“I’m always happy.”

“Lies,” she harrumphed. “You might be good at fooling yourself, but not me. Spill the tea.”

The sidewalk began to fill with the usual mid-morning crowd as I rounded the last corner on my trek to work. Even through the throng of bodies, Over Easy’s flashing neon sign stood out. It was like a beacon—or an eyesore—calling out to every passerby. Knowing our time was limited, I hoped giving her a little truth would drown out all the deception I’d been throwing her way recently.

“I met a man.”

“It’s about damn time.”

Lunch rush was an exercise in patience. Even with Jade in tow for her second shift, we were slammed. Hangry customers translated to shitty tips—which I couldn’t afford—so I swallowed my snarky retorts and smiled through the grumbled complaints of the masses while secretly hoping karma bit them all in the butt.

Our only saving grace was how quickly Jade was getting the hang of things. She even felt comfortable enough to take an order or two on her own, giving me the opportunity to sneak off for a quick break to reply to Keaton the couple of times he’d texted.

“I don’t know how you do it.” Jade sidled up next to me at the soda fountain.

“Do what?”

“Deal with all the assholes.”

Stepping to the right, I watched as she carefully filled four glasses halfway full with ice then different beverages before placing them on a tray.

“Do you see Mr. Schultz over there?” I tipped my head toward the older man sitting alone in a booth. “He’s pushing eighty years old, yet he walks here every single day for aBLT and a glass of sweet tea. The man is a total sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but he only left you a dollar tip yesterday.”

Catching her eye, I lowered my voice, hoping my explanation would resonate.

“One dollar every day over the course of a month equals thirty dollars. For someone on a fixed income, that’s money which could go toward bills, except he chooses to spend it here…on us.”

“Shit. Now I feel horrible.”

“Don’t. Trust me though, when he starts telling you stories about his life, pay attention. Those moments are worth more than any amount of money left on the table.”

“So, take the good with the bad?”

“Exactly.”

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