Chapter 8

Tory

The little diner sits at the end of the boardwalk, tucked between a surf shop and a bait-and-tackle store. It’s the kind of place with neon signs buzzing in the window, scuffed linoleum floors, and the smell of sizzling bacon lingering in the air no matter what time of day it is. In other words, it’s perfect.

“Hungry?” Ranger asks, his voice low and rumbly as he holds the door open for me.

I glance up at him—this towering wall of muscle who somehow feels safer than anyone I’ve ever known—and smile. “Starving. You’ve walked me halfway across the coast.”

He smirks. “You’re still standing, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” I shoot back playfully, stepping inside.

The bell above the door jingles, and the waitress—a middle-aged woman with a kind smile and a nametag that reads Linda —greets us with a bright, “Sit anywhere you like, hon!”

We settle into a booth by the window. Ranger slides in across from me, the vinyl creaking under his weight. It’s ridiculous how good he looks even here, in a tiny hole-in-the-wall diner. He makes everything around him look smaller, like he doesn’t belong in a place so ordinary.

“What are you getting?” he asks, flipping open the menu like he’s done this a million times before.

“Pancakes,” I reply without hesitation. “With extra syrup.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You and your pancakes.”

“What can I say? I’m consistent.” I grin, closing my menu. “And you?”

“Burger. Always the burger,” he replies, then sets the menu aside. “Gotta keep these muscles enormous, remember?”

I laugh softly, a sound I didn’t know I needed to hear from myself today. Being with Ranger makes everything feel lighter, as if I’ve stepped out of my own overthinking mind for once and into a world where it’s okay to just be .

Linda comes by with her notepad, and we place our orders. “Pancakes for the lady, and a burger for the gentleman. How do you want it cooked, sweetie?” Linda asks with a smile.

“Medium,” Ranger says with a nod.

Linda smiles and scribbles it down. “You two make a cute couple.”

I nearly choke on air. “Oh! We’re not—we’re just…”

Ranger smirks at my flustered explanation, clearly amused. “Just hungry,” he finishes for me.

Linda chuckles and winks at me. “Right. Well, I’ll get that started for ya.”

As soon as she leaves, I drop my face into my hands and groan. “Why does everyone think we’re a couple?”

“Maybe because we look good together,” Ranger replies casually, leaning back against the booth and crossing his arms.

I peek at him through my fingers. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugs, the smirk still lingering on his lips. “Just saying. Linda’s got good taste.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling as I sit back in my seat. The energy between us feels easy, natural. For someone like me—someone who’s spent most of her life feeling awkward in social settings—it’s a strange but welcome change.

The food arrives quicker than I expect. Linda sets down a plate of fluffy pancakes dripping with syrup in front of me and a burger the size of my head in front of Ranger. “Enjoy, darlin’.”

I dig in immediately, the sweet, buttery taste of the pancakes making me hum with happiness. “Oh my God. These are so good.”

Ranger’s halfway through his burger already, and he raises an eyebrow. “You always make noises when you eat?”

I glare at him, my cheeks heating. “Only when it’s really good food.”

“You’re a food critic’s dream.”

“Better than a Neanderthal inhaling a burger,” I fire back, pointing my fork at him.

He grins, his dark eyes lighting up with something warm that makes my heart do this weird flip. “Fair point.”

We eat and chat—about nothing and everything. He asks me about how I got into jewelry-making, and I explain how I started collecting crystals on trips with my dad, turning them into something beautiful when I needed a creative outlet. In return, he tells me stories about growing up with his sister, about getting into trouble as kids and how he always played protector.

“I guess it makes sense that you do this now,” I say, gesturing toward him with my fork.

“What, eat burgers?”

“No,” I laugh. “Protect people. You’re good at it.”

His expression softens slightly, and he gives me a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks, Tory.”

The moment hangs there, quiet and meaningful, until the sound of the diner door opening pulls me out of it. I glance up instinctively. A group of guys enters—four of them—laughing loudly and clapping each other on the back as they make their way toward a table a few booths down from ours.

Immediately, the energy shifts.

I don’t know if it’s instinct or if I’ve just been around Ranger long enough to pick up on his vibe, but I feel it. His shoulders go a little stiffer, his gaze sharpens, and the lightness that was just between us evaporates.

“What is it?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay fixed on the group of guys, watching them like a hawk. “Nothing. Just… keep eating.”

But I can’t. I feel their eyes on me. The occasional burst of laughter from their table makes me shrink back against the booth, and I know Ranger feels it too because his jaw tightens.

One of the guys—tall, scruffy, and wearing a tank top that shows off his sunburned shoulders—glances over at me, then leans toward his friend and mutters something. They both snicker, and my skin crawls.

Ranger notices. Of course, he does.

“They’re just being idiots,” I whisper, trying to play it off. “It’s fine.”

He doesn’t respond. His hands are on the table now, fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the wood.

I take a sip of my water and try to focus on anything else, but I can feel their eyes still darting my way. Finally, I hear one of them—Tank Top—say it loud enough for me to hear.

“Hey, sweetheart, you lost? You look like you belong on a runway, not in this place.”

I freeze. My hand stops halfway to my glass.

Before I can even react, Ranger is already turning his head.

Slowly, his dark eyes lock onto the guy like a predator finding its prey. The smile that flashes across his face is anything but friendly.

“Don’t,” Ranger says, his voice low, steady, and dangerous. It sends a chill down my spine.

Tank Top looks taken aback for half a second before puffing out his chest. “Relax, man. Just making conversation.”

“You’re done talking,” Ranger replies, sliding out of the booth and rising to his full, imposing height. The guys at the table go quiet as Ranger steps closer, his calm demeanor far more terrifying than any shouting could be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Tank Top mutters, suddenly not so brave.

Ranger doesn’t say another word. He just stands there, his presence alone enough to send the message: Don’t fuck with her.

After a tense beat, the guy looks away, mumbling something to his friends. They all drop their gazes, suddenly very interested in their menus.

Ranger turns back to me, his face unreadable, and holds out his hand. “Let’s go.”

I don’t argue. I slip my hand into his, letting him pull me to my feet. He drops a few bills on the table to cover the meal, then leads me toward the door without another glance at the group of guys.

The moment we step outside, the cool breeze hits me, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Ranger still has my hand in his, his grip firm and reassuring.

“Are you okay?” he asks, glancing down at me.

I nod quickly. “Yeah. Thank you. You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he says firmly. “They weren’t going to stop.”

Something about the way he says it—so certain, so protective—makes my chest tighten. His gaze still scans the area like he’s looking for more threats, and as much as I want to pretend I don’t need protecting, I can’t help but feel grateful that he’s here. That he’s him.

I look up at him and smile softly. “For the record, I really liked those pancakes.”

He glances down at me, the corner of his mouth twitching. “For the record, I really liked scaring the shit out of those guys.”

I laugh, and just like that, the tension melts away. With Ranger, I know I’m safe. And for the first time in my life, I think maybe being protected doesn’t feel so bad.