Page 73 of Branded Hearts

I step out of the car, circling around to open her door. “Glad you think so. Come, let’s head inside.”

The sound of our footsteps on the gravel mixes with the gentle evening breeze. As we enter, the warmth of the diner envelops us, along with the scent of home-cooked meals and coffee. The interior is quaint, with chequered tablecloths and old-fashioned diner booths. A waitress greets us with a smile.

“Table for two?”

I nod, and she leads us to a table by the window, overlooking the breathtaking view, offering us menus. We settle in, and I flick my eyes to Amelia, who is busy staring out the window, where the sunset catches the horizon, and just below the clifftop, the town of Clifftop Haven is lit up by house windows and streetlights.

This place feels like our own little world, where the only things that matter are the present moment and the person sitting acrossfrom you. Eventually, we both decide on our orders, and another waitress arrives in time to take our orders. Amelia orders the chicken parmigiana with a salad, and I order the T-bone steak, medium-rare, with a side of mashed potatoes and chips.

Yeah, I like my carbs.

I can’t be too lean for work, so I make sure I’m eating a more than sufficient amount of red meat and carbs to maintain my physique. She gives me a curious glance, before smirking, and I just know she’s thinking what I am, no doubt. The waitress lingers for a moment, and I feel her eyes on me, but I avoid her gaze.

Clearing my throat, I say, “That’ll be all. Thanks,” before handing her back the menus.

Amelia wastes no time diving into conversation as we wait for our food to arrive. I know she’s nervous because she’s rambling.

“So, I have a sister,” she begins, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Her name’s Kathryn, but I call her ‘Kat.’ She’s eight years older, lives in Sydney with her husband, and they have a daughter—named after me, actually.” She laughs softly, a nervous edge to her voice. “It’s kind of surreal, you know? To have a little niece named after you.”

“Are you close with your sister, even though she moved away?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual, though Amelia’s mention of her family stirs something deep within me.

“Oh, so close. Have been since I was born,” she replies warmly. “I’m really close with her husband, John, as well. He’s great. You’d get along well with him, I think.”

Her words strike a chord. It’s as if she sees a future where we’remore intertwined, where meeting her family isn’t just a passing thought, but a possibility. For someone like me, who’s kept people at arm’s length, it’s both comforting and unsettling.

“Family means a lot to you, huh?” I say, noting the warmth in her eyes.

Amelia nods. “Yeah, they’re everything to me. Kat has always been like a second mum to me.”

Her sincerity softens my gruff exterior. I find myself drawn to her openness, her willingness to share these personal details with me. It’s a side of her that makes me want to know more, to understand what makes her tick beyond the surface.

One particular fact seems to be lingering, however. A stark reminder as I calculate silently. I realise Amelia must be around twenty-four. Literally my sister’s age. This isn’t news to me, more like something I just chose to ignore.

I’m pushing thirty, and she seems so... youthful, full of life. What could she possibly see in a guy like me?

“So, you’re twenty-four, then?” I manage to ask, my voice attempting nonchalance.

“Yeah,” Amelia replies, her tone soft, tinged with a hint of nervousness. “Turning twenty-five in July. A quarter of a century old,” she adds, a small smile playing on her lips.

I watch her closely, taking in the way she holds herself, the subtle movements of her hands as she speaks. Before I can delve deeper into my thoughts or say anything more, the waitress interrupts, her presence jarring in its closeness.

“Can I get y’all something to drink?”

The waitress’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I subtly shift away, feeling the weight of her touch linger. Amelia’s eyes track the interaction with a fixed intensity, her gaze unwavering. Ignoring the waitress, I turn to Amelia, a flicker of amusement in my eyes as I ask what she wants to drink.

Her cheeks flush, and she hesitates for a moment.

“Um, I’ll just have a glass of rosé,” she murmurs softly, glancing briefly at the waitress and then back at me.

Keeping my focus on Amelia, I reply casually, “Corona for me, thanks.” The waitress scurries off hastily.

“Well, she wasn’t subtle at all,” she comments, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.

“What do you mean?” I inquire.

“That waitress.” She gestures toward where the waitress disappeared. “She was flirting with you.”

I meet her gaze squarely. “Was she now? Didn’t even notice.”

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