11. Chapter Eleven

I step into the kitchen, my heart pounding. And dammit if my palms weren't so sweaty.

God, this is getting harder. Why is this getting so much fucking harder? Shit. It's gotta be because of whatever happened yesterday morning, right? His sort-of apology. It wasn't even anything, really. But seeing him now, being close to him, I just can't help but feel... everything.

And of course he'd order a fucking peach cobbler.

"Come on, Coop. Aren't you even just a little curious? I mean, it's just a kiss, right?"

Fuck, that kiss. I really, really, really want another one.

"Mel, we got a to-go order!" I call out as the doors close behind me.

I see Mel back in her office. She's on the phone, and she waves at me with a scowl and then starts whisper-yelling into the phone. She's been acting all funny since yesterday, but she still hasn't told me what's up, and I'm not about to ask right now.

I'm not a cook, but since Mel's otherwise occupied, I start putting Josh's order together. The desserts are easy, and by the time I've gotten both the peach cobbler and the chocolate cream pie boxed up, Mel joins me, mumbling something under her breath that's riddled with curse words.

Shit, she's almost making my internal monologue sound tame.

"Mel, are you—"

"I'm fuckin' fine, Coop. Get the broth for the dip, will ya?"

"Yeah, yeah." Okay, so she still doesn't want to talk about it. Got it.

I quickly finish up and package everything into boxes. Then, I put the boxes in a bag, add some plastic cutlery and napkins, and grab his iced tea. By the time it's all done, Mel's gone again—back in her office, with the door closed this time. Later. I'll talk to her later.

I head out toward the dining room, and as soon as I step through the doors, I can feel him. It's that same fucking heat and magnetism, and there's also this, I dunno, tingling or some shit. He's sitting at the counter, watching me, and when our eyes meet, it happens again. Like fucking magic.

"Uh, all done. It's, uh, twenty-seven fifty."

I set the bag on the counter, and he hesitates for a second—although maybe it's not so much him hesitating as him holding my gaze longer than is strictly necessary. Then it's like he realizes just that, and his cheeks turn red.

Shit, it can't be. Is he... is he feeling all this too?

He digs into his pocket to pull out his wallet, and I look away. Only, I make the terrible mistake of glancing over in Angie's direction. Fuck. She's sitting with her back against the wall now, her knees pulled up and her chin resting on them, and she's grinning at me with this fucking knowing grin that's just—ahh, fuck.

She giggles and then pretends to fan herself as her eyes dart deliberately to Josh. Yep. Yep, I'm fucked.

I shake my head, but I can feel my face heat up, and I force myself to look back toward Josh, who's thumbing through his wallet.

"Ah, here. And keep the change." He hands me two twenties, and I immediately go to protest—because that's just too much of a tip, and it feels wrong—but he cuts me off and pulls something else out of his wallet. "Uh, I forgot yesterday... My, uh, my number."

It's a business card—Joshua A. Miller, DPT. UNMC Home Instead Center for Successful Aging. Fuck, he's really exactly what he said.

"My cell number there—that's my personal cell. Uh, in case, um..."

I grin at him, and I just can't help telling him exactly what's running through my head. "Wow, man. Look at this. That's... that's a fuckin' doctorate, right? DPT? Doctor of Physical Therapy? Damn, Josh. Congrats, man."

"Nah, it's—"

"It's huge, man. It's huge."

He's ducked his head, and he's rubbing the back of his neck. And his cheeks are still red. God, it's even hotter in here now.

I see Angie out of the corner of my eye. She's pretending to read her book now, but she's poking her eyes up over the top of it, and when she sees me, she tilts her head toward Josh and then lowers her book and mouths something that seems suspiciously like "Oh my god, he's fucking hot."

And not that I disagree with her, but... fuck. I shake my head again and then shift so I can't see her anymore.

"Anyway, um, call me? Or—or text, if that's your thing. Uh, so we can hang out again? I don't know what your schedule is." He's mumbling a bit, and he sounds nervous as hell, and it's fucking adorable. And I'm not sure when I went from panic-throwing up to thinking he's fucking adorable, but my heart is plenty happy about it right now.

"Yeah, sounds good. Maybe, um, Thursday? I'm supposed to be off Thursday."

"Supposed to be?"

"One of the other servers has been calling out a lot. Not sure what's gonna happen. But, maybe Thursday."

Fuck, I hope Thursday.

"You want to kiss me? Like, on the lips? Now?"

"Yeah. I mean . . . I think it might feel nice, and I'm just . . . curious. Aren't you . . . ?"

It had felt nice. Fucking better than nice.

Dammit, I'm staring at his lips again. Shit. I tear my eyes away, but it's too late. He saw me. And it's like his eyes are darker and sexier and—

Shit! Angie.

I glance over at her, and she quickly lifts her book up again, but I can see her body shaking, like she's trying to hold back laughter.

"'Kay. Uh, Thursday, then? Tentatively, I mean," he says, standing and picking up the bag.

I nod stiffly as our eyes meet again. He looks all hopeful and shit. Like I feel. What the fuck? Maybe it's just... I mean, maybe he just misses having me as a friend. That's it. Right? Gotta be. Fuck.

"Uh, yeah. Thursday. I'll call you."

He smiles, and it fucking lights up the room. "Great! Thanks again. For the food and stuff, I mean. Uh. Yeah. I'll, uh, see you around. Soon. I hope."

Shit, that is fucking adorable.

He starts off toward the door and then gives me a little wave before he pushes the door open and disappears.

And Angie slams her book down on the table. "Oh. My. God. Coop!"

Oh, I'm so fucked.

***

Angie is bubbling with energy for the next half hour while she tries—and fails—to get me to talk. She asks me repeatedly who Josh is, but then she really hates my cagey "just a friend," and she's sure to let me know it.

After about an hour, when I've finally got a couple of new customers seated and Mel's off the phone and back in the kitchen cooking and prepping for dinner, Angie waves me over again.

"One more coffee? But this is my last one, I promise!" she says, holding out her mug with a silly grin.

I top it off for her, as I've been doing all afternoon. Then she sort of pauses and just looks at me for a moment, her expression much too serious. When she blinks again, the seriousness is replaced by something else. Some kind of caring expression that I just don't see too often, really.

"You know, Coop, you deserve to find some happiness. I hope that whatever's been stopping you, it's not—it's not... Ack, what I'm trying to say is I don't think there are too many people in this town who would judge you for who you love. And I hope you know I'm not gonna go spreading your secrets all over town. I hope you weren't worried about that or anything."

My chest feels tight, and I look down at the floor for a moment. "Yeah, Ang, I wasn't really worried about that." At least, I don't think I was. Not really.

I glance back up, and she's smiling again.

"Good, good. Because you shouldn't be," she says. She leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, her eyes gleaming now. "Buuuuuut you do have to tell me—are you going to call him?"

I laugh lightly and shake my head. Fuck. I don't know. I mean, yes? Hell, yes? Shit. "Ang..."

"Just yes or no, Coop. That's all I need," she says, and while there's still that kind of insatiable curiosity in her eyes, as always, there's also that something else, again. Like she actually fucking cares.

"I dunno. I . . . probably will?"

"Yes! I knew it!" She nearly jumps up out of her seat, punching her fist in the air like she's cheering, and I can't help but flinch as I scan the room. Thankfully, her antics haven't attracted any attention. But still... "Ah, sorry. I'm just happy for you, Coop."

I sigh and sit down across from her at the booth. "Ang, look, uh..." Shit, am I about to tell her more than I should? Nope. Of course not. Fuck, I am. "He was a friend from when I lived in Garrington, before my mom got sick. There was some terrible shit that happened, and it's not something I really want to talk about or even fuckin' think about, alright? But it's been ten years now, and he's—he's engaged, okay? To a woman. And they're getting married next month. So don't be getting any ideas. Um, I..."

I glance around the room again and then lower my voice as I continue. "I'm not really—I mean, I've never—shit, this is hard as fuck to talk about. You know what, I-I just—I should go to, you know, finish helping Mel and make sure everyone's taken care of here, and—and, uh, yeah."

I'm pushing myself out of the booth and standing up before she can interrogate me more. She watches me like she has something to say but she's not quite sure whether to. Maybe. The look on her face is hard to interpret.

In any case, I'm quite done talking, and I've definitely shared more than I'd intended to. A hell of a lot more. I pick up the pot of coffee I'd set on the table and then tip my head toward the coffee mug she's holding in her hand and try for some sort of a playful grin, although it probably misses the mark.

"I switched you to decaf three cups ago, just FYI," I say. And then I turn and start back toward the kitchen to check on Mel.

"What? Hey, Coop! Not cool!"

"You'll thank me later, Ang!" I say with another grin, and I give her a little wave as I push through the doors into the kitchen. "Hey, Mel, is that burger ready for table eight? The dude's looking a little antsy, and—"

I stop myself when I see Clara instead of Mel at the griddle. She nods a quick greeting and reaches over to push a plate toward me.

"Just finished. Mel's on another phone call," Clara says quietly. "Oh, and Chuck's here to relieve you early. He's just washing up some of the dishes."

"Early?"

"Yeah, man," Chuck says, coming into the room through a back door that leads to the dishwashing station. "I feel pretty shitty for leaving you all hanging the last few days. I know you've been picking up all the slack, and I'm sorry for that."

My knee-jerk reaction is to say it's nothing. But that wouldn't quite be true. I've had to work way too many hours in the last couple of weeks, and I'm fucking exhausted. I'd not been looking forward to pulling another double today if Chuck hadn't shown again.

"I appreciate that," I say instead, and Chuck nods and steps in to pick up the plate Clara had prepped.

"Table eight?"

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks, man."

Chuck takes off out into the dining room, and I hesitate for just a second before starting toward Mel's office. The door's closed, which isn't a great sign, but I can't help feeling like I need to find out what's happening with her, and soon. However, as I pass Clara, she stops me with a hand on my arm.

"She said not to let anyone bother her. I think whatever's going on, she's not ready yet, Coop."

"Ah, okay. Thanks," I say, and I step over to the counter where Clara's working and help her as she starts to organize and clean up a bit. "I'll just give her more time, I guess? I've never seen her like this before."

"Yeah, I think that's for the best. And you should head home and get some rest. You look like you could use it."

"That's a nice way of saying I look like shit," I say, laughing.

Clara grins but shakes her head. "No, you just look tired."

God, I am. I am so tired. I let out a short breath and nod. "Uh, I guess I'll just go cash out and then see you tomorrow?"

"Yep! And don't worry—Chuck and I got everything covered. You go rest," Clara says, and she gives me another gentle smile before getting back to her work.

She's always too kind. But she's right. Maybe I will just go home and rest.

And try not to think about Thursday.

Without even meaning to, I stuff my hand into my pocket and grip the business card Josh gave me. Fuck, who am I kidding? Of course I'm going to call him. And of course I'm going to be thinking about Thursday.

I doubt I'll be able to think about much else.