Page 12 of Fighter
Dagny paused at the edge of the swinging door, where she always peeked out to see who had come in and who she had to prepare herself to talk to. The comforting bustle of the Diner rang in the air behind us. Better than a movie soundtrack some days. Behind me, the smell of freshly grilled chicken wafted by.
“W-w-why do the attractive ones always have to be married?” Dagny murmured. “Meanwhile, all these other j-jerks are trying to grab my hips and slap my rear, but they have like three t-t-teeth and hair as oily as my lawn m-mower. I h-hate waitressing.”
Dagny leaned against the wall and peered out on the main area through slits in the swinging wooden doors. Her green eyes were so light they were almost pastel. She was lovely, but quiet, and reserved because of a childhood stutter. Working at the Diner was an active attempt to fight through her social anxiety, and I loved her for her courage every day.
“Who are you creeping on?” I asked, dumping some ice into a cup.
“M-maverick. Oh, Benjamin just walked in too.”
My heart seized. First, what? Benjamin had actually taken time off of work to go somewhere else? That rarely happened at this time of day. Second, my hair looked terrible today. I hadn't washed it in seven days. My record was fourteen, but that had been in the middle of France, and it needed some help. A salon had dolled me right up after that.
“Where is he sitting?” I asked and slipped to her side. Wasted effort when the door swung open, thankfullynotrevealing us. Frantic, I yanked my hair out of my face so it rested on my shoulders in a hasty ponytail that fluffed out all over the place.
“Y-your table,” she grumbled. “They always sit at your t-t-table.”
I screeched under my breath, then calmed. No, I couldn't do this. A plethora of boyfriends in my past had started this exact way. Butterflies, lonely longing, and a hint of them needing saving. No boyfriends. I had to focus on Talmage. Geez, I still had places to travel that I hadn't even visited yet.
But then . . . why not?
There was something magical about the start of a romance. Besides, none of the other boyfriends had been Benjamin. In fact, some of the butterflies in my past had been conjured out of loneliness and desperation.
After-the-fact butterflies don't count. This guy caused the real-deal butterflies.
With that reality, I couldtotallydo this again. Falling hard was a heady feeling in the beginning. The ending sucked, but I hadn't had butterflies like this ever.
Besides, Benjamin was the safest bet I'd ever have a crush on. That man loved nothing but the mat and hopefully whatever child lurked under his desk at night. Nah, he'd be nothing but an innocent flirtation.
Like a stalking pantherto keep my eyes on and enjoy their power.
Besides, he'd looked so lost last night when I brought the food over. Whatever soul lurked beneath all that brawn was broken. I felt for him. Mom would make him a pie and pat his arm without a word and probably heal half the mistakes of his past with one bite of her crumbly crust.
I needed that pie recipe.
“Wish me luck,” I murmured.
“G-g-get his num-m-mber,” Dagny whispered conspiratorially, her hair pulled away from her eyes with a few expertly-placed pens. Her eyes widened. “I d-dare you.”
I smirked, said, “Already have it,” and flounced out.
After checking on an older couple in a back booth, I pulled my writing pad out and approached. Thankfully, Maverick sat in the chair facing me, though I had little doubt that Benjamin knew I came up behind him. He didn't seem like the type to let his guard down, even at the Diner.
Maverick grinned as I approached. The two were clearly brothers, but Maverick had a softer expression. Benjamin appeared to be chiseled from stone, with sharper angles. The man needed a lighthearted conversation or a walloping kiss. I'd be game for both.
“Hey Mav,” I cried. “My favorite Mercedy.”
He laughed. Ben scowled.
“Just kidding,” I sang as I pulled menus from my pocket and handed them over. “It's great to see you too, Ben. How was the spaghetti?”
“Amazing, thank you again.”
He lifted two clean, empty containers from the seat next to him. How could returning plastic dishes cause a flutter in my chest? No, not the dishes. He'd remembered and brought them back. Swoonworthy, right there.No finer man than the one that brings your dishes back,I imagined Mom saying. She'd be halfway in love with him.
“Glad you liked it,” I said, putting them beneath one arm, against my hip. His gaze went there, then skated away.
“We loved it.”
Thewewas a win. At least he acknowledged that he didn't live alone, whoever the small child with him was. So far, my subtle inquiries around town pointed to a daughter named Ava, but that was all anyone knew about her. Not even Bert, who owned the Diner and worked out at the MMA Center daily now, had seen much of her.
