Page 26 of Deal Breaker
I shake my head. “Let’s not do this. It’s been a good day, and this is about Cove. Let’s leave it at that.”
She sighs. “Fine. But I’m not running this time.”
“Good,” I say, voice rough. “Because if you do, I’m not chasing you.”
She nods, swallowing hard, as I flick on the turn signal and change the subject to anything other than us. “Should we grab lunch on the way back? You must be starved.”
Landyn looks surprised, but she quickly overcomes it. “Sure,” she says with a grin. “But I’m choosing the place.”
“As long as it’s not that vegan stuff you tried to get me to like. Dress it up however you want, cauliflower will never be a steak.”
She laughs. “No vegan. Promise.”
We end up at a small sandwich shop that Landyn spots just off the highway. Nothing fancy. The bell above the door jingles as we step inside. The place smells like toasted bread and dill pickles, and there’s a guy behind the counter with a stained apron and a name tag that says Buzz. The place looks like it hasn’t seen a coat of paint in decades, but it’s charming in a comfortable, grease-splattered kind of way.
We each grab a faded menu from the counter, and I look around, the place feeling eerily familiar. “We’ve been here before, right? In college.”
Landyn grins, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “We came here a few times. You swore this place had the best meatball sub in the county.”
I laugh, remembering. “That’s right. And it did.”
She looks skeptical. “It gave you food poisoning.”
“One time,” I say, pointing at her. “And you still made out with me after.”
She snorts, shaking her head, eyes closed for a beat,“Mistakes were made.”
I don’t reply, just let the smile pull at my mouth as I step up to the counter. “Two meatball subs,” I tell Buzz. “One with extra cheese. And a small fries.”
“Ordering for me?” she says, one eyebrow raised.
“Habit,” I say with a shrug. “Old ones are hard to break.”
She studies me for a split-second, lips parting like she wants to argue but doesn’t.
“Guess it’s muscle memory,” I add, shrugging my shoulder. “Like knowing you’ll steal the last fry or fall asleep in the car on long drives.”
Her cheeks flush and her mouth curves like she might smile. Her eyes flick to mine, something unreadable behind them, and she looks away quickly. I feel it too—that moment where it could get heavy, where it could drift back into everything we left unsaid. But I don’t want that right now. Not when she’s standing beside me like this, flushed from the drive with the window down, looking exactly like the version of her that used to feel like home.
We find a booth by the window, the vinyl seats cracked and slightly sticky. She slides in across from me and leans on her elbows, her smile returning. The meatball subs are delivered in minutes, and we both dig in, famished after a long day.
“I forgot how weirdly perfect diner food tastes when you’ve been on the highway.”
I glance up at her, chewing. “That’s because you don’t give a crap what you eat when you’re starving.”
She smirks and takes a bite out of her sandwich. “You used to eat two of these in one sitting. Don’t tell me you’ve outgrown diner meatballs, Mr. CEO. Is it strictly caviar now?” she teases.
I point a fry at her. “That’s a baseless accusation.”
“Still stubborn.” Landyn grins.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I watch her across the table. She’s picking at her sandwich, eyebrows drawn slightly. Not sad. Just…thoughtful.
“You like being back?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
She shrugs. “It’s familiar. Which is both comforting and suffocating, if that makes sense.”
“It does.”
