Page 23 of Heartless

“You have such a type,” he says to Cass with a chuckle, who shoots him an irritated look. “Oh, don’t tell me.” I move closer to them, menus in my hand, even though I haven’t rattled off my normal full greeting. “Don’ttell meyou were only taking home girls that look like her?—”

“Shut up, Wren,” Cass says flatly, but he never looks at his friend. His eyes remain on mine as I hesitate in front of them, unsure of what to do. “Hello, Winnie.”

“Should I like…pretend I didn’t hear what he said?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Or do I just mark you down as being a creep if what he’s said is true?” I don’t know how to process what he’d said, though I wonder if Wren is simply joking.

Cass takes a step closer, one hand up on the menus in my hand. “Well, I’d prefer you didn’t think I’m a creep.” He gives me a soft, almost apologetic smile as his eyes glitter. “But I do try not to lie to you, so I can’t really tell you otherwise.”

This is definitely too much for me to handle on any Thursday. Let alonethisThursday when my nerves are fried and half the town is talking about me without realizing it’sme.

“You know what?” My grin widens. “I should go on my break. Or go home. This is not what I signed up for today.”

“Ah, come on.” Wren swoops in and leans his head on Cass’s shoulder, giving me a look that might be his attempt at a pout. “I’ve been begging him foryearsto bring me here to see you.”

Cass’s eyes close, and he lets out a breath. “You’re not helping.”

“You’re really not,” I agree.

“At least I got you both on the same page about something.” Wren winks dramatically at me, and I roll my eyes hard enough I’m surprised nothing snaps. “I’ll give you a good tip for waiting on us. Promise.”

I waiver, thinking it over, even though I don’treallyhave a choice. With just me and Jeremy to wait on customers unless Martha needs to step in, I’d feel like shit for going home early. “It had better be a huge tip,” I say finally with a sniff, tugging the menus away from Cass. I turn on my heel and take them to my favorite booth in the corner without any more hesitation. But as they sit, I look them both over, surveying Cass in the daylight inpublicand getting a good look at his friend.

Or whatever Wren is.

“Are you sure this is okay?” I ask while busying myself with setting their menus in front of them. “What if someone recognizes you?” My own words have me glancing around the diner, but no one is looking our way.

“They won’t. They never do.” When I look back at him, Cass is resting his head on his hand and gazing up at me instead of his menu.

It makes me feel strange in a way I don’t quite understand. “Do you guys know what you want?” I don’t need to write their order down, unless they’re going to order everything on the menu with tons of customizations.

“I want chocolate milk and, uh, an order of your pecan pie pancakes? Those were the ones on that show, right?” Wren hands me the menu as his gaze searches my face, unabashed. “And before I leave, can I get a second order? My girlfriend would love them as much as I’d love to bring them home to her.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re competing with New Wren,” Cass murmurs with a glance back toward his friend. At my confused look, he adds, “New Wren is a cat. His girlfriend is cat-sitting for our other friends. He’s feeling a little inadequate.”

“As you should. Cats are better than people,” I reply without hesitation. “What do you want, Cassian?” His name feels strange on my tongue; like a dirty word or something illicit.

Like a secret.

“What’s your favorite thing on the menu?” It’s definitely not the answer I’m expecting, and I look away nervously when I realize Cass isstillstaring at me.

“Look away, Cass,” Wren sighs. “You’re being creepy.”

“I’m starting to think he only has one mode and it is, in fact, being creepy.” I’m not good at filtering myself today, but Wren gives an appreciative smirk. “My favorite thing isn’t on the menu. And you’ll hate it.” I don’t actually know if he will, but I say it anyway. With another glance around the diner, my shoulders fall in a relaxed shrug. Maybe Cassian is right. Maybe people really don’t recognize him.

It’s not like his parents are here to identify him, either. They left town less than a year after Carissa’s murder.

“Can I order it, anyway?” It only takes one look at his pretty blue eyes for me to relent, and I pluck their menus off the table before heading back to the kitchen. Jeremy is a step behind me, and from the corner of my eye, I see him look at my table in the corner.

“Do you know those guys?” he asks, seeming bored as he chucks his menus in the bin. “They seem talkative.”

“Nah,” I lie smoothly. “They just wanted to talk about the episode.” That gets a massive eye roll from Jeremy, who likes those kinds of people just as little as I do. But it’s an easy lie, and it gets his curiosity away from Cassian and Wren.

It turns out Cassian doesn’t hate my favorite dish of stuffed cinnamon toast on a waffle, topped with whipped cream and cherry pie filling. Though he does give it an incredulous look when I drop the plate in front of him. And they really do tip huge before leaving, though not before Wren gives Cass alookI don’t understand and murmurs something in his ear. When I have a second, I look up after they’ve left, only to see Wren sauntering off toward a red car, alone.

And I don’t see Cassian in the parking lot at all.

Around an hour after they left, I happen to glance up from my table to see Cassian across the street, in the same place he’d been when I cut my hand nearly a week ago. My stomach does a little flip, and I have to ask my table to repeat their drink order, thanks to the rushing blood in my ears and the too-loud thoughts bouncing around my brain.

Why is he still here,seems to be the question I consider the most. Because I can’t figure out what he’s doing.

---