Page 127 of Truck Stop Tempest

“THANKS, TUULI.” PASTOR DAVIES curled an arm around his wife and waved goodbye as they shuffled through the door, the cowbell giving a hearty rattle.

I waved. Delivered the fish and chips basket to table five, then checked the clock, my heart sinking with every shift of the red hand.

Tito and Tucker had been due home late last night. He’d sent a short text around midnight saying they were delayed, and I hadn’t heard anything since.

Morgan, our new waitress, skirted around me, balancing a tray of empty plates, at the same time a group of loud, sun-kissed teens barreled through the door, roughing each other up and not paying attention to their surroundings. The largest of the group bumped into Morgan and sent her tray flying across the floor with a terrible clatter.

His face pinked with embarrassment, hers reddened in anger. They bumped heads, squatting at the same time to pick up the mess.

“Jesus. I’m so sorry.” The boy hurried to stand and offered a hand.

Morgan swatted him away. “Step back. Just find a table. I’ll get this.”

I came to her aid at the same time Charlie barreled through the door, aiming his don’t-fuck-with-me glare at the testosterone posse.

“Get these boys a seat, Toodaloo. I’ll get the mess.”

Had to give the tall kid credit. He didn’t back down. Ignoring Charlie altogether, he dropped right back to his haunches and picked up every last dish he’d sent flying, despite the death stares Morgan aimed straight through his skull.

I settled his friends in the corner booth, checked on table six, then headed back to the rowdy boys.

“What can I get you to drink?”

They rattled off their orders, heads bowed in worship over their phones. As I headed to the counter, one of them mumbled, “Holy shit. I’d love to come all over that pretty face.”

My spine stiffened.

A loud slam made me jump.

Someone yelled, “Jesus. Fuck. Shit.”

I whirled around. Tito stood behind one of the boys, the mouthy one, I assumed, hand on his head, smashing his cheek into the table.

“Hey, Bunny.” A playful smile greeted me.

I would never tire of the palpitations that hit every time I laid eyes on that face. “Grim.”

“C’mere, baby.” He jerked his sexy chin, gesturing me closer.

You could’ve heard a pin drop. I glanced around the diner and yep, all eyes were aimed our direction. My first instinct was to flee. Instead, I sidled up to Tito.

Not releasing the boy, he bent my direction and took my mouth in a greeting totally inappropriate for public viewing, but one hundred and ten percent worth the embarrassment.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against my lips, eyes gleaming with mirth.

Releasing the kid’s head, he bent low and commanded, “Apologize to Miss Holt.”

The boy dragged a tongue over his bottom lip, eyeing his friends one at a time. He wanted to fight. He wanted to save face. Not one of his buddies gave any indication that they were going to back him up.

Tall guy warned, “This is Tango Rossi’s place, Troy. Don’t be stupid.”

Troy’s fists balled tight. Then he met my eyes. “I apologize for being disrespectful.”

Tito patted him hard on the back. “Good man.” He grabbed my hand. “Eat up, boys. Lunch is on me.” Then he gave the table three raps with his knuckles, told the kids to have a good day, and dragged me through the swinging doors and down the hall.

Safely out of eyesight, he pinned me to the wall with a kiss that was playful and possessive.

I curled my fingers around the waistband of his jeans. “You’re back.”

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