How cute is she?
I could listen to that Southern drawl all day.
I can’t help a small grin. “I’ll take the apple a la mode.”
“Oh, how French of you.” She winks at me, taking the menu from my hand. “Comin’ right up.”
She kind of skips away from the table, and I’m surprised by how quickly I’m being enchanted by this girl.
She’s different from the ones I’ve spent the last few years around.
There’s a sweet playfulness to her. A purity you don’t find in the world I’ve been living in.
I’m attracted to it like a bee to nectar.
Too bad I can’t stick around and enjoy it for more than one night.
9
The Longest Night in History
The music from the bar continues to pump into the diner, but it’s not bothering me as much as it did before.
Mr. Cute and Quiet is still here. I can’t stop glancing over at him. It’s really bad, and I wish I could control my impulses, but I just have none right now.
Franks is laughing at me. I can tell every time I look her way and she starts wiggling her eyebrows and kissing the air.
Ugh. I need to get a grip.
I bus the table near the front window, trying not to be annoyed by the fact that the Turnballs paid with a card rather than in cash. I can’t pocket half, so I just have to lump it. Balancing the plates and cutlery, I head for the kitchen, glancing at the end booth on my way.
He’s only picking at his pie.
Damn, I should have suggested something else. Most people can’t help but love Ma Baker’s pies, but I guess I was wrong about the gorgeous, mysterious guy in Booth Six. The kitchen is about to close for the night, so it’s probably too late to offer him anything else. I’ve only got two more orders to serve, and then I need to start gently ushering people out the door so I can clean up.
With my hands full of dirty dishes, I direct myself to the kitchen but stop in the archway when I notice Billy and Franks getting up to leave.
Dumping the plates on the counter, I make a mental note to get back to them after I’ve said goodbye to my best friend.
She grins at me, gathering her curls and nestling them over her shoulder.
“Well, you, Annie Bird, enjoy the rest of your night.”
There go the wiggling eyebrows again.
I tip my head, trying to glare at her, but my expression folds into a smile instead. And I think I’m blushing too. Dammit.
Billy chuckles and wraps his arm around my shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of my head and subtly holding out a fifty-dollar bill.
“What’s this?” I gape at it.
“Your portion of the tip.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s more than the meal.” I push his hand away, but it comes right back at me.
“This is going straight into the Get Annie out of Dodge Fund. Don’t let him have one penny of it.” Billy’s nostrils flare, his brown eyes bright with anger. It’s a different kind of anger to Dean’s. I’m not afraid of Billy, but I know when I’ve lost a battle, so I wrap my fingers around that greenback and shove it into my pocket.
I try to say thank you, but my voice has stopped working, so I just have to settle for mouthing it.
Franks kisses my cheek with a loud smack, then lightly taps my butt before walking to the back entrance of the diner. “Have a good night, Annie.” She kind of sings the words, laughing as she wraps her arm around Billy’s waist. He encircles her with his big jock muscles, and all I can do is shake my head in wonder.
Fighting a grin, I clear their table, gathering up the money and not bothering to split the tip. I can almost feel that fifty in my pocket and start calculating how much it’s gonna boost my fund. I count my money most nights—when it’s safe and I’m sure Dean won’t catch me. I started it the day Dean told me I had to drop out of school to work the diner full time. Mama had only been gone a little while, and I was still depressed… lost. But that command ignited a spark of hate-fire in me, and it’s been driving me ever since.
Heading back to the kitchen, I gather up the dishes I left on the counter and walk around to the sink, stopping short when I notice my little brother elbow deep in dirty dishwater.
“What are you doin’ down here?”
“Dad told me to come help.” He looks across at me, his big nutmeg eyes wide and tired. When he’s sleepy like this, his face loses the tween look and goes full-blown little boy again. Those round cheeks, just starting to lose their soft edges, are still adorable, and I run my fingers through his fine hair—just like mine except for the fact that it’s dark brown.
“It’s past nine thirty. You should be in bed. It’s a school night, and you need your sleep.”
His forehead bunches as he glances over his shoulder, obviously looking out for Dean and worrying that he might get in trouble.
I cross my arms with a huff. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll deal with it. You just go on up to bed.”
“You sure Dad won’t get mad?”
“He’s in a foul mood tonight, but I can handle him. It’s more important you get your sleep. Now, go on.”
Jackson dries his hands and leaves without complaint, which shows how tired he is. I can’t believe this! How dare Dean drag him down here? The poor kid doesn’t even get paid!
I’m in a mind to find Dean and give him an earful, but when he lumbers into the kitchen, I lose my nerve.
He’s not scowling anymore though, so my shoulders relax a touch… until he points at me.
I tense, gripping the counter behind me.
“You’re locking up tonight.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got myself a date.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I wish for the millionth time that my mother had never married this jackass. We were fine without him, but Mama convinced herself that I needed a father figure in my life. With Grandpa gone and Gramma’s mental health in rapid decline, she latched on to the first guy to show her any kindness. Dean seemed sweet at first; I’ll give her that. It wasn’t until Mama finally passed away that he showed his true colors. But I’d seen through his shiny veneer before that, anyway. After Jackson was born, he developed a serious case of the grumpies. Mama used to laugh it off, but his growl was loud and terrifying. And then Mama got sick. And he just got worse and worse. I guess he probably loved her a little, and maybe his sadness showed up as anger. One thing I do know for sure: he’s never loved me.
He clicks his fingers, jerking me back into the moment. “Wipe that look off your face. I’m not allowed to be happy? You just expecting me to mourn your mama for the rest of eternity?”
I will be! Why can’t you too?
I’m smart enough not to say it, but figure I better explain my frown. It’s the perfect opening to tell him to stop treating his own son like a slave.
“I’m not annoyed about that,” I mutter.
“Oh really? And what’s got your panties in a twist tonight?”
I glare at him, hating how much he riles me. He’s such a freaking jerk!
“Jackson was down here washing dishes.” I point at the sink behind me.
“That boy needs to earn his keep.”