Page 45 of His Heart

Brooke

The Sunrise Dinerhad seen better days. Tucked away on a side street and housed in a rundown building, the diner could have been one of those hole-in-the-wall places known for great food. If it’d had great food. Which it didn’t. The booths were worn out, the kitchen outdated, and the neon sign outside blinked PEN, the O having long since burned out. They never had many customers, but somehow the place stayed open. I had no idea how.

I opened the door, the jingling bell announcing my arrival. Betty Jean looked up from her newspaper. “Hey there, sweetie.” Her bright pink lipstick cracked when she smiled and her hair was a shade of strawberry blond that didn’t exist in nature. “You working today?”

“No,” I said. “Just killing time.”

I slipped into a booth. Betty Jean owned the place and she let me work sometimes. I knew they didn’t really need me. But Betty Jean seemed to have realized I was in a bad spot. I tried not to think of it as a pity thing. She swore up and down I gave her a break, since she couldn’t afford to hire someone full-time. If I worked some shifts, she could get other things done. It was a win for both of us.

It helped keep me afloat, even if it wasn’t enough money for me to get my own place. But at least it was something.

“Are you all right?” Betty Jean asked. She stood by the table, a full coffee carafe in her hand.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” I turned over the white coffee mug. “Just tired, I guess.” And fucking hungover.

She poured. “It’s almost lunch time, but I bet you haven’t eaten anything. How about some breakfast?”

I shrugged. I knew I should eat, but I never had much of an appetite. “Sure.”

“I’ll get you the usual,” she said. She always made me eat something. Only charged me for it about half the time, too.

She left to give the cook my order and I pinched the bridge of my nose. My head felt like it was going to split open. I dug out bottle of Tylenol from my bag and took a few. Hopefully they’d take the edge off. I glanced at another bottle in my bag. Vicodin. That would definitely get rid of the headache. But I didn’t want to be out of it when I met the Harpers later.

God, what had I been thinking? How could I face them? And how could I face the man who had Liam’s heart?

I sat in the booth and sipped my coffee. Picked at my food after Betty Jean brought it. Checked the time. Watched it get closer to noon.

And I didn’t get up.

Noon passed. They were at the restaurant, now. Sitting with him. I wondered what they were talking about. What this guy looked like. Who he was and why he’d come here. Did he want to know about Liam? Why did the Harpers want to meet him? Hadn’t they been through enough already?

Another hour. I had a text from Mary, asking me if I was still coming, and if I needed a ride.

I didn’t answer.

Betty Jean glanced at me now and then, in between helping the few other customers who came in. But she didn’t ask me what I was doing. In some ways, I wished she would. Maybe if I told her what I was avoiding, she’d agree with me. Tell me I was right to stay away, and I could stop feeling bad.

Or maybe she’d tell me to go.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been waiting for someone else to tell me what to do. The restaurant was walking distance from here. If I got up now, I might still catch them.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my bag and stood. “Betty Jean, I have to go. Can I pay for this later?”

“It’s on me, sweetie,” she said.

“Thanks.”

Outside, the temperature had risen. It was warm for spring. I hurried down the street, adjusting my backpack on my shoulder. It was heavy, but I was used to it. I carried a lot of my stuff around with me since I’d moved in with Jared and his band.

Thoughts warred in my mind. I should go. It would make the Harpers happy, even though I was late. I could do this for them. They were probably getting ready to leave, so I wouldn’t have to stay long. I could say hello, talk to them for a few minutes, and be done with it.

But god, I was such a mess. On the outside, I looked fine. My long hair down, brushed nicely. Bracelets on my wrists. My clothes—a loose white tank top that laced up the front, cut-off jean shorts, and brown sandals with turquoise beading—were the same boho style I’d worn since college. And I knew how to put on a pretty smile. But the Harpers knew me better than anyone. They’d see right through me.

I turned and saw the restaurant up ahead, across the street. Stopped in my tracks.

Mary and Brian were there, standing on the sidewalk. Olivia came out of the restaurant. They each hugged her, then Brian put his arm around Mary’s shoulders. Olivia wiped her eyes. I didn’t see anyone else. A few people walked up and down the sidewalk, but the guy from Iowa must have left already.

My chest tightened and my back was tense. The ache inside threatened to overwhelm me. I stepped backward, still watching. They turned the other way and walked down the sidewalk—probably heading for their car.

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