Page 43 of Exposé

"If only you would've let me help you." He chuckled, and the song turned to something from The Beach Boys.

"I'm kind of a solo gal."

He nodded. "Ah. I get it. You don't work well with others."

"It's not that—"

"No. No. I get it. I'm the same way. That's why I like the maintenance job. I choose my own hours for the most part, and the only person I have to dictate what I'm doing is me. Work orders go by the wayside if I'm not feeling it."

Closing the menu, I placed it on the edge of the table and sipped my coffee. "Have you always been a handyman?"

He let out a short, dry laugh as he folded his menu, placing it on top of mine. "No. I used to be in the Marine Corps, but I skipped out after eight years of their bureaucratic bullshit."

"The Marines, huh?" I glanced down at the tattoos littering his arms and pointed at a knife stabbing into a skull on his forearm. "Death Before Dishonor?"

He chortled and ran his hand over the aging tattoo. "Uh, yeah."

"That’s a military term, right?"

His shoulder lifted. "It's been around as far back as the Romans and Samurai. The Japanese Samurai had this tradition or belief calledSeppuku." His fingers traced over the banner clenched in the skull's teeth. "They'd literally fall on their sword and die rather than face dishonor."

"Wow. That seems a bit extreme."

"It's been a cross-cultural principle long before today's modern standards."

"Ready to order?" Darrel stopped with his hands in his pockets.

I shot a questioning look at Nate.

"Scrambled eggs, bacon, side of sourdough." Nate's broad shoulders leaned against the back of his booth.

"I'll have the same. Make mine sunny side up, please."

"On it." Darrel spun without writing a single thing down, his memory as impeccable today as it was three years ago.

"What about you?" Nate leaned in, his massive forearms creating a triangle with his body, his hands cupped together on the table.

"Me?"

"Yeah, have you always wanted to be a journalist?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, I did the high school paper, and I enjoyed it, but I wanted a little more adventure with it." I sucked in my cheek and released it, creating an audible click. "Writing about celebrities and their latest nose job or politics didn't interest me. I wanted to make a difference."

"And are you?"

"What? Making a difference?" I snorted. "I'd like to think so, but that might be wishful thinking."

"Do you have a special interest in crime?"

Oddly specific.

"You could say that."

Nate hummed in interest, his eyes locked with mine. "What are you working on now?"

"I'm fleshing out an idea. I don't know what's all there yet, but it's something I noticed going on around town."

"Sounds interesting." Nate sipped on his coffee, his brow creasing a little before relaxing the next second. "I guess if it doesn't pan out, there are other things you can write about."

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