5. Chapter Five

"Coop! What the hell? That's the third time today!"

"I know. I'm sorry, Mel."

I don't even have the energy to curse, and she doesn't have the energy to stop my apology. She hurries past me in a huff as I grab a tray and kneel down to start picking up pieces of the plates I'd just dropped. So much for my fucking luck.

I never drop plates. Except apparently today.

I clean up the mess, wash my hands, and get back out into the dining room to apologize to my remaining customers for the wait. I've got three tables left, and then I can finish closing up and head home.

And I'm seriously ready to get the hell out of here because today fucking sucked.

I mean, the tips were okay, but not as much as I'd usually get after a long double on a Saturday, and now I'm going to have to sneak an extra twenty back to Mel when she's not looking. Cover those plates I broke.

And I'm dead tired. It's after ten, and I've been here all day long. My feet hurt, my shoulders hurt, and my back... yeah, that hurts too.

But most of all, I haven't been able to shake it off—that feeling I'd had after seeing Josh, standing so close to him, fucking nearly touching him. God, it's like some weird mix of the worst nausea ever and this yearning for something I know I can't have.

At least I managed to keep my shit together, unlike last night, but I've still been shaky and forgetful for most of my second shift, which hasn't helped my tips much. I can't blame my customers, though, especially when I've fucking walked right by them four times before remembering that I was supposed to refill their drinks.

"Coop, come on in here," Mel calls from her office as I step back into the kitchen a bit later, after my last table has left and I've locked up the front door.

She's sitting at her desk, hunched over a bit, writing something in this ancient ledger thing she's got where she does all her bookkeeping. Her accountants love her, I'm sure. She's got a puff of flour on her shirt, and her eyes look about as exhausted as I feel.

"Mel, I'm—"

"If you tell me you're sorry one more time, you're fuckin' fired. Sit."

I do as she says, pulling a chair up to her desk. She sets her pen down, closes her ledger, and looks up at me, her expression serious. Fuck. What did I do now?

"If this is about the rent, I probably have enough after tonight—"

"Coop, shut up and let me talk."

And again, I do as she says.

She sighs and then sits back in her chair a bit. "Don't let this go to your head, but you saved my ass today. You know how hard it is to find good, reliable employees, and even Chuck, who's worked here for years... He fucking lives two miles out, and I offered for him to borrow my car last night since he knew his was giving him trouble. And then I offered to bring him in this morning, and still—" She shakes her head. "What I'm trying to say is thank you, Coop. I really appreciate you being here when I needed you. I wish I could give you tomorrow off, because I know today was a fuckin' beast. But I need you. Jan's out. Michelle might be here, but Chuck certainly won't."

"I'll be here, Mel. Don't have anything better to do," I tease, trying for a smile. But my energy is low, and I'm feeling oddly emotional too.

Mel doesn't just give out praise like that. Ever.

I mean, I know I work hard. I have to. But I've also never really felt proud of what I do. It's just a job. A job that sort of pays my bills. It's not what I used to see myself doing. Not what I'd planned. It's more like what I'd had to do to survive.

I close my eyes and drop my chin to my chest. I'm about to tell Mel—for about the millionth time—how thankful I am that she never gave up on me, that she gave me a chance, put me to work so I could earn my keep, helped me put a roof over my head when I really had nothing. But she starts talking again before I have the chance. And this time, her voice has softened even more—a tone I've heard maybe less than a handful of times from her in all the nine years I've known her.

"I know you don't think so, but your mama would've been proud of you, kiddo."

My heart does something a little funny in my chest, mixing with that nausea that's still lingering.

"No chance, Mel," I say, and my words are accompanied by somewhat of a twisted laugh. Her heart's in the right place, but she's just fucking wrong. Mom loved me. I know that. But she wouldn't be proud now. She couldn't be. I'd abandoned just about everything that she'd ever been proud of me for. I look down at my hands again, now clasped together in my lap. "My mom always had these huge dreams for me. Wanted me to go places. Do something important with my life. Then I didn't even fucking graduate high school. And now I'm suddenly twenty-five years old, and I can't even pay my fucking rent on time. There's nothing there to be proud of."

Mel laughs, though it's wheezy and sounds a bit tired. "I don't think I've ever heard you say anything so fuckin' wrong before, Coop. You must be more exhausted than I thought."

Why she needs to bring this up tonight, I'm not sure. And I'm not really in the mood to argue about what my dead mother might or might not have been proud of.

"Mel—"

"No, you listen to me, Coop. I don't know whatever's been in your head today, but this is one thing I'm not gonna let slide." She pauses just long enough for me to close my eyes and shake my head again. "I didn't know your mama for that long before she passed, but she looked at you like you were just the only thing the sun shined on. And it wasn't because you were book smart or anything else like that. It was because of the man you'd become—honest and hardworking and caring, even when things got real tough at the end."

Fuck, she's gonna make me cry. I don't need this tonight.

"Mel . . ."

"Now, I'm not your mama, but I sure as hell know you. And I appreciate you, 'specially on days like today. And I'm proud of you. And fuck, now you've gone and got me all cryin' too. Dammit, Coop." She sniffles and wipes a tear from her eye and then waves a hand toward the door. "Get the hell outta here and get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

I can't speak—either to argue more or to accept what she's trying to tell me. And I'm fighting this ridiculous urge to jump up and give her a hug. Mel doesn't do hugs, and I'm pretty sure that wouldn't go over well. So instead, I just nod and push myself stiffly to my feet.

"Good night, Mel."

"Night, Coop."

My chest feels tight as I turn to leave. I'm just at the doorway when she speaks up again.

"And Coop?"

"Yeah?" I pause and turn back toward her, but she's looking down at her ledger again, scribbling away.

"If I catch you trying to pay me back for those broken plates, you're—"

"—fuckin' fired. Yeah. I know."

***

My drive from the diner to home usually only takes about six or seven minutes, most of which is along Route 6, the main road that runs through town. Like all nights, it's quiet, and I pull out onto the highway, heading west.

I'm starving—I think the last time I ate might have been on my much-too-short lunch break around two thirty. And I know I've got next to nothing at home. Maybe a bottle of ketchup in the fridge. Probably some expired milk. And that leftover pizza from a few days ago. I think it's still sitting out on the coffee table.

Yeah. Totally got my shit together.

So, I take a short detour and pull into Amy's Gas and General Store to grab something. Even this late, Amy will usually still have at least a few slices of pizza. Or I can grab a frozen burrito or something. Meal fit for a king.

Yup. Shit totally together.

I park my truck and head inside. Gerry, Amy's husband, sits at the cash register, and he greets me with a short nod and a scowl before going back to his crossword puzzle. I head straight over to the display case where the pizza should be, but it's empty.

"Some teenagers came through about a half hour ago and cleaned us out. Sorry, Coop." Amy comes up behind me and then walks around to the other side of the counter.

"Oh, yeah, no problem. I'll just grab something else," I say, hooking a thumb toward the other side of the store, where the frozen foods and drinks are.

Amy smiles and nods, but then quickly offers, "You know, I can make you a sandwich if you want to wait just a few minutes. I've still got some roast beef in the fridge."

Ahh, roast beef. She knows me just a little too well, and when I glance back up at her with a hopeful grin, she winks.

"I'll be right back. Just give me about five minutes. 'Kay?"

"Yeah, thanks."

She disappears back into the back room, and Gerry grunts some sort of disapproval—yeah, not everyone likes me, I guess, or he just really wants to close up and head home soon. I can't fault him for that.

I turn around to go grab a bottle of Coke and bag of chips or something to go with my sandwich. Just as I set the items down on the counter to pay, Gerry scowling at me the whole time, the bell above the door chimes, and a voice I'd really, really hoped I wouldn't hear again echoes through the small store.

"Yeah, babe, how about you grab a few bottles of water, and I'll—"

The door closes with a thud, but I can feel him behind me, not more than five feet away. I can fucking feel him. Why?

Fuck.

I hold my breath and don't move, and he's not moving either.

"Should I just grab two? Oh, and maybe, looks like they have—" The woman's voice stops just as abruptly as Josh's had.

I'm gonna be sick.

Gerry clears his throat. "Seven fifty including the sandwich," he says, and he starts putting my chips and pop in a plastic bag.

Behind me, two sets of footsteps retreat, heading to the other side of the store, and I let out the breath I'd been holding. I see Gerry eyeing me and then casually glancing past me toward where Josh and "babe" must be. Probably wondering what the fuck is going on with me. Wondering why I'm suddenly frozen and pale and tense.

And god, all the fucking warmth is gone. It was there, and now it's gone and—

"Here you go, Coop! Roast beef on sourdough."

Amy steps up next to Gerry and hands me a sandwich wrapped in white butcher paper. Right. Food.

Shit.

"Th-thanks. I-I, uh, really, uh, thanks. Um, seven fifty? Sorry, Gerry, one sec."

Shit. Shit. What's wrong with me? I shove my hand deep into my pocket and pull out a few bills from the tips I'd gotten. I hand Gerry ten dollars, stuff the rest back in my pocket, and mutter, "Thanks again, Amy. Keep the change." Then I grab my shit and spin around toward the door.

I'm gonna fucking throw up again.

My head is pounding and my hands are shaking by the time I get to my truck. And just as I'm reaching out to open the door, I hear him again.

"Coop, hey, uh, w-wait a—wait a minute, will you?"

Fuck no. That's what I think. But then I don't move. My hand remains frozen on the door handle to my fucking beat-up old truck, and my eyes close as I hear him jog up behind me and stop a few feet away, his feet scuffing into the gravel of the parking lot.

"Uh, I just . . ."

I hear some sort of plea in his voice, even though he hasn't really said much of anything. And it tugs at me, this pull deep in my chest. Fuck. I can't do this. Not tonight. I just want to eat my sandwich and go to sleep. Fuck.

I turn around slowly, and our eyes meet for just a split second before I can't really stand it. I force my eyes down to the ground as that pull in my chest turns to icy daggers. Painful and sharp.

"What do you want?" My tone is neither warm nor nice, and I almost flinch at my own words. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Mel. Kind and caring me isn't being too kind and caring right now. You still proud?

He doesn't answer, but I hear him let out a short breath, and I glance back up. He's rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and his eyes are on the ground again. Dammit, why does he have to look so... so hesitant? Fuck.

"Sorry. It's been a long day, and I'm fucking tired," I say. "What's up?"

That's about the best I can do. And it feels mildly better.

Then he looks up at me. It's a good thing the lighting here in the parking lot is absolutely terrible. Otherwise, he'd probably see just how much I'm affected. Because I can feel it as my chest tingles and my cheeks heat up. God, he's just fucking gorgeous. I mean, I knew that from seeing him yesterday and earlier today. But now, standing this close to him again, I can barely keep myself from moving closer.

Would his lips feel the same as they had? Would he taste the same? Would his touch feel as warm? I still remember his hand on my back and that moment—fleeting as it was—when I just... knew.

God, I loved him.

He clears his throat, and I tear my gaze from his lips so I can look at him again. His eyes seem clouded with some deep emotion. I don't even wanna know. I don't wanna fucking know. Because it doesn't fucking matter. Why is he even still here?

"I, uh, I just, um... Brenna's got something planned with her mom tomorrow afternoon. Any chance you're, uh, free to, you know, hang out? Or—or something?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure that sounds great." No, it doesn't. What the fuck, mouth? Why do you keep saying the exact opposite of what I mean? Fuck it.

Josh looks about as surprised as I feel, but his uncertainty quickly morphs into a smile, and my knees almost give out on me.

Fucking. Gorgeous.

I shake my head a bit, trying to regain control. "Brenna?" I ask. I mean, I have assumptions, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been trying to get a glance at his left hand to see if there was a ring there.

"Uh, yeah, Brenna's my, uh, fiancée. Her parents live out at that really big farm near Dove Lake."

"Oh, the Richards," I say, nodding.

Everyone knows Bill and Tina Richards. They're nice people, I think. I remember when they'd moved to town last year; Bill was brought in to take over as head medical director at the hospital when Dr. Pigelli retired, and Tina sometimes fills in to teach at the elementary school.

"Yeah. That's why we're here. Um, visiting them and so Bren and her mom can sorta finish up with the wedding planning and stuff..." Josh trails off, and he reaches up to rub his neck again.

My eyes follow his hand, and I have a terrible fleeting thought about how I'd like to touch him right there. I bet his skin is warm and smooth and.. .

I cough roughly and drag my eyes away. "Uh, yeah, makes sense."

There's a silence for a moment, and then he clears his throat again. "So, um, tomorrow afternoon?"

Right. Fuck.

"My shift ends at two." More words are coming, and I'm not even sure how. "There's, uh, a bar just down the street from the diner. Sarge's. They've got pool and darts and stuff. Wanna meet there at three?"

He nods. "Sounds great."

His eyes linger on mine a moment, and I'm trying, but I can't really look away. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I not even in control of myself anymore? Somehow, I manage to break the gaze, and I back up a step and reach behind me toward the truck.

"Alright, well, see you tomorrow then." And I spin around, open the door, and shove my bag of food over to the other seat. I'm pretty fucking sure I'm not going to have the stomach to eat my sandwich now, roast beef or not. Dammit. Thanks, Josh. I fake a smile at him—still standing there, his hands now shoved deep in his pockets—and he gives me a half-smile back as I start up my truck. It decides to start on the first try again—the wonderful little devil it is—and I secretly thank it for not completely embarrassing me as I pull out of the parking lot, resisting the urge to watch him in the rearview mirror as I drive away.