Page 54 of Love & Rockets

And Jake wasn’t calling her anymore.

Lord, she missed those late night calls and texts. So much so, she gave up staring at the ceiling night after night in favor of re-reading their brief exchanges. He never said anything overtly romantic or sexy, but there was a different kind of intimacy to them.

How was your day?

Is your shoulder feeling better?

Can I pick you up at seven instead of seven-thirty?

The last one never failed to make her smile. She’d started grilling him about his motives the minute they were alone in the car together. As usual, Jake took it all in stride. And in the end, the only answer he gave her was a pat on her knee and a quiet, “I couldn’t wait to see you.”

Lifting the heavy tray unto her shoulder, she set her jaw and stepped out of the safety of the kitchen. The Pit was crowded—lunchtimes always were—but not packed. A quick scan confirmed she had two vacant tables in her section. The knowledge that he’d chosen Zelda Jo’s section on purpose settled in her stomach like lead weight.

With a brittle-feeling smile plastered on her face, she doled out plates and baskets at the appropriate table. Years of practice made running her tables on autopilot a breeze. She traded quips with a couple of her regular customers, noted which cups needed refilling, jotted an addition to an order on her pad, and scanned her other tables for signs of distress as she moved through the packed room. Drawing on a reserve of strength she probably hadn’t tapped since Grace was an infant, she kept her mind focused on the business at hand, not allowing herself to even peek in Jake’s direction until she was certain she had a handle on everything. Particularly her emotions.

But nothing could prepare her for the sight of him. His hair was too long again and as rumpled as ever. He wore dress pants and a button-down shirt, but the collar and his sleeves were flipped back from his wrists. The sight of the silky dark hair covering muscled forearms nearly stopped her dead in her tracks. As if sensing her stare, he turned toward her. The light from the faux-tiffany lamp over the table bounced off the lenses of his glasses, obscuring his eyes, but she didn’t need to see them to feel them.

His lunch date said something and he started as if she’d hit him with a pair of jumper cables. Then he laughed at whatever the other woman said, and the sound pierced Darla’s heart.

His date was pretty. Beautiful, really. Zelda hadn’t lied. The girl was young. ‘Look twice’ young. And perfect. Despite her age, or lack of it, the woman was meticulously turned out. Her sunshine-colored hair looked to be professionally streaked, the purse at her side probably cost more than two months’ rent, and her beringed hands were tipped with a full set of acrylic nails.

When Darla’d been the girl’s age, she’d had stretch marks, shirts striped with kid goo, and a full set of worry lines.

Worse, the chickie had an air of confidence about her that rankled.

Zelda Jo crossed her line of vision carrying two tumblers of iced tea. Darla would have had to be blind to miss the pointed ‘I told you so’ glare her friend shot at her, but that didn’t mean she had to react. Ducking her head, she wove through the tables, forcing herself to concentrate on the tasks at hand.

Sweet tea. Pork platter to-go. For God’s sake, don’t look at Jake. Remember extra wet wipes for table nine.

“You okay?” Bubba asked, startling her from her thoughts.

“Fine.” The response was automatic. So was the look of patient sympathy on Bubba’s worn face. “Really, I’m okay.”

Bubba wiped his hands on the splattered towel tucked into his belt. “Jake’s a good guy.”

She raised an eyebrow, stunned by the unexpected commentary. “He is.”

He waved a scarred and stained hand toward the dining room. “I doubt it’s anything like Z.J. is thinking.”

As if he’d conjured her by saying her name, Zelda Jo rushed into the kitchen, her face alight with barely contained excitement. “Well, if that don’t beat all,” she said, tossing her order pad onto the counter.

Bubba shot Darla one last commiserating look, then turned back to his work. Darla didn’t even pretend to play it coy. She scooped the other woman’s order pad from the counter and handed his back. “What?”

Zelda Jo smiled and tucked her favorite prop back into the pocket of her apron. “The girl John-John has in here?” Dropping her voice to a loud whisper, she leaned in. “She doesn’t eat meat!”

She sounded so affronted, Darla had to laugh out loud.

“I bet she’s one of them vee-gans like Gwyneth Paltrow.” Tipping her chin up, she gave a sniff of disdain. “I hear they don’t even eat eggs.”

“No,” Darla said, both mocking and confirming in one neat word.

“Or drink milk. Or eat cheese,” Zelda added, going in for the kill.

Clapping her hands to her cheeks Darla gasped in horror. “Heaven forbid!”

Zelda smirked, then turned her attention to the baskets Bubba was lining up along the pick-up counter. “Mock away, smartypants, but you’re missin’ the bigger picture here.”

“Bigger picture?”

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