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29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

I'm fucking distracted today. Mixing up orders all over the place. Forgetting to refill drinks. Counting out change incorrectly. All inconsequential things, at least. Or rather—anything that might be of consequence is quickly fixed or laughed off, since everyone who's in this morning is a Friday-morning regular.

Mel, too. She's just laughing her ass off at me every time I fuck up. And that's a welcome change from her behavior the whole last week. Hell, she hasn't even threatened to fire me yet today, even after I bungled yet another order and she had to remake yet another omelet. I mean, honestly, why the fuck would I have written down swiss cheese? Who the fuck puts swiss cheese on an omelet?

The kitchen's full of jokes at my expense for that one, although it's mostly Mel and Chuck. Clara's too nice to laugh at me, but I see her grinning. And Chuck's in and out, helping with orders and deliveries of some of Mel's baked goods and such.

Even though I'm fucking up all over the place, the tips are great. Much better than a typical Friday morning. And I can't seem to wipe the stupid grin off my face, though that's definitely not because of the tips.

I'm just refilling coffees for two of my remaining three tables when the door opens. I know it's him before I even turn around. It's just that thing I can feel when he enters the room—the thing I'd called magnetism before. I don't know what the fuck it actually is, but god, it's still just as strong. And it feels fantastic.

I smile and nod to Mr. and Mrs. Murkowski, whose coffees I've just topped off, and then I straighten up and turn around.

And god, my heart. My fucking heart is bursting with joy as I see him. I can't help it. I'm so fucking in love. He's standing just inside the door, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and a soft expression in his eyes. He tilts his head toward the counter in a silent question, and I nod.

"I'll be right there, just give me a minute?" I say, and it's like there's this flicker of energy between us as he smiles.

"Sure, yeah."

I want to just gather him up in my arms and kiss him senseless right there. And it takes a lot of self-control for me to not do just that. But I need to put the coffee pot back in the kitchen and get the check for the Murkowskis and see if an order is up yet for one of my other tables. So it's a few minutes later when I'm finally able to join him.

He's taken one of the end seats at the counter, nearest to the door. It's pretty close to where he'd sat when he came in on Wednesday. And he's staring down at his phone, typing a text message, maybe, when I slip into the seat next to his.

I've got about five minutes, if I'm lucky, before I need to check on my tables again, and as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket and looks up at me, I'm wishing I had much, much more time than that. My throat feels tight.

"I missed you," I say, and I'm trying to smile now, but there's this overwhelming emotion in my chest. I want to hug him, kiss him, touch him. Something's telling me to let him make the first move, though. After all, we are in public.

He blinks, and I swear I can see a longing in his eyes. "I, uh, almost came early because I didn't want to wait any longer to see you."

"I would have loved that," I answer immediately, my voice thick with emotion again.

His eyes flit down to my lips and then back up, and all I can think is "Fuck, yes, please." God, I fucking need a kiss right now. My heart's jumping around, thrumming unsteadily, and I can't hold everything back any longer. Just one touch is all. Maybe that'll be enough.

I slowly reach out and set my hand on his thigh. And I hold my breath as I wait to see if this is okay with him. He does hesitate, but it's only for a second, and then his hand covers mine. It's instant—a wave of warmth and tingling, rushing up my arm.

And it feels fucking good. So fucking good, and yet not near enough. In fact, it only makes me want him more.

"I really, really want to kiss you right now," I say as I squeeze his thigh. His eyes widen just a little, and I shake my head and backtrack. "But I understand if—"

"I want that too," he cuts in, and he purses his lips in a tight smile and then lowers his eyes to our hands, where his thumb now rubs gently across the top of my knuckles. God, it's so fucking good, and I'm having to work hard to control myself again. When he looks back up at me a moment later, his cheeks are a fucking adorable shade of red and I can barely stand it. "Um, I-I would—kiss you, that is," he says quietly. "But we, um, sort of have a bit of an audience."

I hadn't heard it before, but now that he pointed it out, I can definitely hear the telltale squeaking of the hinges on the kitchen door, the muffled voices—one muffled voice in particular. I groan and close my eyes.

"It's Mel, isn't it?"

"Uh, yeah. And another woman with dark hair."

"Clara," I say, and I twist my head around to see both of them peeking curiously out of the partially opened door. I expect some reaction, like them ducking back into the kitchen quickly as though they hadn't been fucking spying on me. But that's not what I get at all.

Mel's smiling—and it's not her usual half-scowl smile or her cynical grin. It's an honest-to-fucking-goodness smile, and her eyes are almost... soft or something. Clara, too. Her expression is kind and gentle. And it's as though they're both—fuck, I don't even know. I narrow my eyes at both of them, but Mel just sort of nods at me.

I don't fucking know what to think. So I do the thing I probably shouldn't.

"If you two would stop spying on us, I might actually get a kiss hello. So if you don't mind...?"

There's a quiet laugh from Josh, which is good, because I suppose that could have backfired on me in some fucking spectacular way and he could be taking off right about now. And Mel and Clara, well... it's sort of more of the same of what I've been getting all morning. Mel's giggling and Clara's got this caring smile on her lips. Mel gives me another nod—is that supposed to be some sort of approval or something? fuck—and then the door to the kitchen closes.

We're still not alone—there are three tables of customers in the diner. But it sure feels like it's just him and me when I turn back around to face him again. He's smiling, and his cheeks are flush.

"You're fucking adorable right now, man," I say, my voice a low whisper. "Fucking sexy too. Can I kiss you now?"

He nods. "Yeah."

I scoot closer to the edge of my seat and then lean in toward him. He reaches up with his free hand and turns my baseball cap around, his grin looking just a little silly. Then his hand settles on my neck, and he draws me in for a light kiss. It's brief and somewhat chaste. But given everything, it's more than enough. And it makes my heart soar.

I don't want to pull away, and he doesn't push me away. So instead, I let my forehead rest against his for another moment before I straighten up, blinking my eyes back open. He's watching me, smiling, and he reaches up again to turn my hat back around.

"Has it, um, been busy?" he says after another long moment where we're just staring at each other like lovestruck idiots. At least, that's how I'm staring at him. Because I am—a lovestruck idiot.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, um..." I clear my throat and glance back at the tables behind me. No one's looking over here like they want my attention. I turn back to Josh.

Fuck, he's gorgeous. And I want to kiss him again. More later. There's always later.

"Yeah, it was pretty busy. But all good. The time passed quickly. Sort of. It sort of passed quickly. Because I was just trying to not count down the minutes until—" I shake my head. What the fuck's wrong with me? Lovestruck idiot. Fuck.

"Yeah, me too."

We stare at each other for another minute. Then he sort of coughs and lowers his gaze back to our hands, which are still clasped together on his thigh. And something in the air between us changes. It's not much, but I can feel it. It's a tension in his jaw and shoulders. A longer blink of his eyes. A stilted breath.

Fuck, what did I say?

I squeeze his hand. "Sorry, um, I should have offered already. Do you want anything? Coffee or pie or something?"

"Nah, I... just wanted to see you. And, um..." He trails off as he lifts his chin again, and the tension is now in his eyes too.

Fuck, why is my stomach suddenly queasy? Everything's fine. He's just nervous.

But that's not it. That's not it, and his eyes tell me that as he holds my gaze for another second before blinking and looking away again.

I almost can't speak to ask. But I have to know.

"What's—what's wrong?"

He still holds my hand, and I get the sense he's clinging to it. And that makes my stomach lurch again.

"It's nothing, really," he says, which immediately tells me that it's absolutely not nothing. "But, um, something's come up, and I have to, uh, leave..."

His words fade into some fuzzy jumble of sounds as he keeps talking. But all I hear is "I have to leave." And I'm suddenly far away, waiting outside our first-period classroom ten years ago, watching as he walks down the hallway toward me, his eyes trained to the floor in front of him.

"Hey, are you okay? I was gonna text you last night, but I didn't want to in case your dad—" He walks right past me without looking up. I follow him inside. "Josh, hey, what's—"

He shakes his head and waves me off, then he takes the single open seat near the front of the classroom.

And I'm left standing there. Alone.

Fuck.

Fuck, he can't do this again. He can't take off after we just...

I blink my eyes and try to clear my vision, and I'm nauseous. It feels like I might vomit. I mean, I won't. No, I fucking won't. But my stomach's clenched in some painful way, and I don't know what to do about it. I screw my eyes shut.

"Wh-wh-why? You told me—you said you were going to stay. So we could figure things out. That's what you said? Why would you—why would you have to—" I'm fucking shaking. My voice is shaking. My hands are shaking, and somehow, I'm dizzy and hot and cold at the same time. Josh is holding both of my hands now, and I don't know when that happened, but I pull them away and lift them up to rub my eyes.

I'm not fucking crying. I won't. But he's talking again, and I should probably listen. I screw my eyes shut as both of his hands settle on my thighs.

"...just for a couple days. Just to drive there and back. Brenna—"

"Drive where?" Fuck, I'm so lost. My ears are ringing, and yeah, I might vomit.

"Omaha. Just for a couple days, Coop. Not even that, maybe. But Brenna—"

"Fuck." It's a quiet curse, under my breath. I'm not so far gone that I forget there are customers sitting not fifteen feet away. But, really. Fuck.

"Can I explain? Please?" he says softly, and his hands are still on my thighs, closer to my knees now, though. I wish that made me feel as good as it had a minute ago.

Fuck.

I should listen to him, let him explain. He probably already tried to explain when I wasn't really hearing his words. But something won't let me. Something's just shutting down that option.

I stand up and mumble, "I-I have to get back to work," even though I know that's not what I should be doing.

He jumps up from his seat and reaches out to grasp my arm. "Coop..." His voice is low, and I hear the plea in it. But I can't look at him, and my hands are still shaking. Fuck, my knees are wobbly too. And I'm gonna vomit. Ahh, fuck.

"When, um, when will you be back?"

"T-tomorrow night. Or Sunday, at the latest. I think. I—"

"Right." Fuck, he doesn't even know. He can't even tell me. Maybe he won't even fucking come back at all. I can't fucking do this again. I cough to clear my throat. "Okay, well, I-I really have to get back to work."

He starts to protest, but I turn and walk toward the kitchen, shrugging away his hand on my arm. And I keep walking, even as I'm telling myself again that this isn't what I should be doing. I should let him keep talking. I should let him tell me whatever his explanation is. Because he'd promised me, hadn't he?

Maybe he hadn't after all. Maybe I'm making things up in my head. Telling myself fucking fantasies and fairy tales. Stories full of fucking happily-ever-afters. But that's never been my life. Me and my fucked-up life have never been part of any happily-ever-after.

I'm not sure why I expected it to start now.

I'm just ducking behind the counter on my way back to the kitchen when I feel his hand on my arm again.

"Coop, please—please wait. I can't leave like this. I—"

I stop and close my eyes. "You shouldn't—" My hands clench into fists, and I start over, lowering my voice to just above a whisper. "You shouldn't fucking leave at all. You said—"

"I know. I know. And that's what I'm trying to tell you. It's Brenna. I have to take her back. She's not—she's—she really, really needs to go home. That's the only reason. I swear, I wouldn't—I—" His voice cracks, and he tugs on my arm, maybe to ask me to turn around. But when I don't move, he steps in front of me and brings his hands up to frame my face.

I'm still not crying. I still won't cry. But I can't stop my hands as they come up to grasp his wrists. I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to push him away or hold him to me. He doesn't give me a chance to decide. He stretches up to kiss me, and when our lips meet, it's almost like my heart is being ripped in two directions at once.

God, I love him. But I'm also terrified. I'm terrified to lose this. To lose him. To lose us.

I break the kiss, and I'm still trembling. Even my breath shudders. "You—you can't go, Josh. Please. Please don't leave."

He shakes his head, and his voice is low but insistent. "I'm not leaving you. I'm not. I wouldn't. I just have to take Brenna home. I have to—she's not okay, and it's my fault. Dammit, this is all my fault. I'm so sorry. Coop, please believe me. I will be back. I promise. I will be back, and—"

The kitchen door opens, and there's this rush of warm air that does nothing to warm me. I straighten up and back up a step, remembering where we're at. Josh's hands drop away from my face, and I hear him blow out a short breath as my eyes jump to where Clara's standing in the doorway. She's frowning slightly and looking at me with concern. I paste a smile on my face.

"Table five's order?"

She nods. "Yeah. Just finished."

"I'll be right there. Thanks, Clara."

Fuck.

She disappears back into the kitchen, and I try not to, but my gaze flickers quickly around the dining room. It's too quiet in here. Like everyone's been listening in.

"I have to go." Shit. I can't do this. "Do you—do you have my house key?" I ask, and I can't even look up at him, but I think he nods.

"Y-yeah. Um..." He pulls the key out of his pocket, and when he hands it to me, I can see he's shaking.

"Thanks." I'm not sure what else to say, and I'm not sure what to do. Except I suddenly feel a very strong wave of something very unpleasant, and I know I absolutely need to get back to work now. I stuff the key into my pocket, and this time, when I turn to head back into the kitchen, he doesn't stop me.

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