Page 13 of Fighter
Maverick glanced between us, brow high, but said nothing.
“What can I get you?” I asked.
Mav ordered a fresh cup of coffee, Benjamin stuck with water—no one was surprised with a body like that—and both settled for sandwich and salad specials. I darted away before my urge to linger and learn more about their lives and secret hopes overcame my common sense.
A new lunch rush started to move through, and I lost myself in the usual rhythm and movements of waitressing. Every now and then I felt eyes on me, but ignored them. Men’s eyes followed me all the time.
It's your hips, my girl,Mom would say.Be proud of those.
She'd certainly given me enough to be proud of. I wasn't brave enough to figure out if it was Benjamin looking or not, so I pretended to ignore it. Pretended my heart didn't flutter in my chest every time.
“Oh. Em. G-gee.” Dagny sighed when I stepped through the swinging door to grab a basket of biscuits. “H-h-he has been staring at y-you this whole time!”
“He's in love with my cooking,” I said, but felt a secret thrill. “The man is so broken he probably can't even make mac and cheese.”
“I'd fix him,” she whispered, breathless. Then she sighed. “No, I wouldn't. I w-w-wouldn't even be able to speak to him. He's t-terrifying.”
“He's a teddy bear.”
She shook her head, utterly unconvinced.
When I slipped back out, delivered the biscuits, and made my way back to the Mercedy table, Maverick and Benjamin stood up. Empty plates and salad bowls littered their table. Maverick tossed some money on the table, but Benjamin dropped more.
“Hey.” I smiled at both but spoke to Maverick. “We still haven't finalized where we're putting my name on your arm.”
He laughed, glancing at his left arm, where a sleeve of tattoos colored the skin. All of them were some version of a niece or nephew name with varying colors and designs, supposedly to reflect the child.
“That's right,” he drawled. “Serafina is such a short, easy name to manage. And your subdued personality will make it even easier.”
“You're right! We'll scrawl it across your chest.”
“Bethany won't mind,” he said.
“Not at all! Another woman's name over your heart? Sounds entirely innocent.” I turned to Benjamin with a warm smile. “Glad you enjoyed the spaghetti. I bake a pretty mean ziti casserole. It's all up in the cheese, I'm just saying. I mean, if you have something against cheese then you can get over it for one night. It'scheese.”
A desperate look came to his eyes. “Sounds great,” he said. “Tomorrow?”
The moment the request slipped out, I could tell he regretted it. But he didn't take it back because that would have been evenmoreawkward, so I rolled with it.
“Tomorrow sounds great. Brownies this time?” I asked.
He nodded, relief clear on his expression. “Brownies are an excellent choice for a very picky eater that also ate every single cookie, as well as two helpings of spaghetti, and then again for breakfast.”
A thrill warmed me all the way to the bones. Why did I suspect that said picky eater rarely had a home-cooked meal? Or that his relief had something to do with a happy, well-fed child? Hungry children were cranky buggers.
Although I was a bit disappointed that he wasn't asking for it just to see me, I could appreciate a father's desperation.
Feed 'em,Mom always said.That'll bring them in just like the cows.
“I'll drop it off tomorrow.” I tilted my head to the side, one eye narrowed. “Maybe a little earlier, though. 9:30 is kind of late for little tummies. I'll text you.”
Maverick's puzzled expression cleared when I thanked them and they walked out without another word. Once they left, I let out a long breath, grateful the pressure in the air had gone with them. Benjamin carried weight with him everywhere he went.
“B-boy,” Dagny whistled as she walked behind me. “That man isintense.”
“Tell me about it,” I muttered as I grabbed their plates, plucked the cash off the table—they'd left me a $30 tip—and swept into the back, my mind whirling.
“Where have you been?”
