Page 22 of Show Me How
“You have to let me buy you lunch, then,” I counter.
“Hook, line, and sinker, baby, you got me.”
My laugh is genuine, so much so that it takes me by surprise. We get out of the van, and I focus too hard on that. On how truly unhappy I’ve been that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to enjoy myself. I’m twenty-six and have never had as much fun as I’ve had today with a woman I only met a few hours ago. How is that possible when all we’ve done is buy hair care products and handmade panties?
Lacey takes my hand and leads me through the doors and into a booth tucked in the corner of the diner. It’s . . . dramatically orange in here, and I think that helps pull me out of the hole my thoughts have crawled into.
“You’re going to love this place. Do you like lemonade? Maggie makes the best strawberry lemonade. I swear I could drink it every single day.”
I swallow, lowering my eyes to the menu Lacey’s already opened in front of me. “I’ll try it.”
“The bacon burger is good, but so are the chicken strips. Are you a chicken strip girl?”
“I don’t know.”
She pauses for a brief second, curiosity drifting across her face. “You could try a bit of everything?”
“How about you order for me? I trust in your taste of food.”
“Okay, I can do that. We’re going on a bit of an adventure, then, are we?”
I crook a smile. “Yeah.”
“Oh! What about mozza sticks? You’ve had to have had those.”
“Once or twice. I don’t really remember if I liked them.”
“We’re ordering them, then,” she exclaims, her finger running down the menu, poking all of the potential options.
I sit back in the booth and run my eyes over the place, trying to piece together why it seems to be so popular. Is it because it’s the only restaurant here, or is it really that good? The busy atmosphere somehow manages not to be overwhelming, and that’s new for me. Everywhere I’ve gone for dinner before has had music too loud to hear a conversation properly or so many waitstaff that you’re constantly interrupted.
Similar to the second-hand shop, there’s a bell above the door that chimes as it’s opened. There’s a slight flurry that carries to our table, ruffling my hair. I turn in my seat and go hot in a flash.
The head of black hair is familiar, but it’s nothing compared to the smirk crooked in the direction of the woman behind the worn, orange bar. I try to steady my breathing when Shadestrides straight to her and leans his arms against the bar, tattooed fingers tapping.
She’s older, maybe in her fifties. The silver streaks in her long hair match the makeup she’s spread on her eyelids. I don’t know how I missed it when we first got here, but there’s a name on her yellow apron that tells me she’s the famous Maggie.
Shade’s in another black shirt today, but it’s long-sleeved this time, hiding the art that I had a first-class seat to explore the other night. His jeans are a dark blue, and he’s in a black pair of boots that eat the hem of them. I swallow tightly and clamp my legs together when I get a spark between them that’s too familiar to the ones he ignited the last time we were together. It’s dirty, and I feel like a creep when I remind myself that he’s not even aware that I’m looking at him.
Straightening, I spin forward and gasp when I catch the grin on Lacey’s face.
“He’s hot, right?”
“What?”
“Shade. You think he’s good-looking,” she states bluntly.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and stare at the menu. “What made you think that? I was just looking at him.”
“Yeah, like you wanted to call him over and take a seat on his lap instead of the booth.”
“Lacey,” I scold, keeping my voice down as my cheeks burn. “Don’t say that so loudly.”
She covers her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not the best at being discreet.”
“Is he gone?”
“Not yet. Maggie’s in the back getting his order, I bet.”
