His expression blanks. “For what?”
Slowly taking the money and ticket, I give him a side-eye. “You know.”
He shrugs, fumbling a toothpick from the dispenser and slipping it between his teeth. He turns for the door. “Hey, don’t lock me out yet. I’ll be right back.”
Toothpicks are so not classy, except…in this case, kind of charming.
Watching through the glass as he walks to his truck, I make change from the twenty, comping the cost of the pie, although I suspect I’m about to be told to keep all of it. I lay the money next to a ceramic Christmas tree with multicolor peg lights. The years have made it a classic, and it was the one decent decoration I salvaged from the rest of the tired décor in last night’s box.
I strain to see through the glass while pretending I’m not looking. All I can make out is Knox at the end of his crew cab work truck, sliding something large from its bed.
The front door whooshes open, blasting the stuffy dining room with frosty air. Knox sets a box down in the spot where I intended the tree to go last night.
A brand new Christmas tree box.
“What’s this?”
“Exactly what it looks like.” Tucking his hand into his pocket, he grins. “You said it yourself. This place could use some cheer.”
I stare. “You can’t buy me—” I swallow. “You can’t buy the diner a Christmas tree, Knox.” More, why would he?
The toothpick still pokes from his mouth, ridiculously, unnaturally, adding charm. “You were right the first time.”
“First time?”
“I bought it for you.”
My heartbeat trips, uprights itself. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
His khaki-colored work shirt hangs untucked over his jeans. Dark hair at the crown of his head pokes up as if caught and harassed by the December wind. Faux innocence rounds his, um…hot cocoa…eyes.
“Why? You don’t even know me.”
“That could change.”
I clutch the edge of the counter. My pulse sprints. “Knox…”
“My motel room is incredibly lonely at night.”
Oh. I backpedal into the wall, my shoulder brushing the curled up edges of Uncle Charlie’s sales tax license taped to the dark paneling. “So, Knox, I need to say—”
He squeezes his eyes completely shut. “That came out really, really wrong.” He drops his face to the floor like he can’t bear to look. “What I meant was…if I have to spend another evening staring at that TV screen or at my stupid phone, I might just lose my mind.”
Pieces click into place. The fist of disappointment that clenched in my chest releases. “How long have you been in Chandor?”
“About a month now.”
“Hmm. It’s been pretty gloomy around this neck of the woods the last few weeks.”
He dashes his head. “Tell me about it. Evenings are long, and the rain isn’t helping my days much, either. Apparently, back home, the weather is unseasonably warm and sunny.”
I grin. “Murphy’s Law.”
“Exactly.” He scratches his cheek, eyes twinkling like they’re lights on a string. “So. The tree…”
I act like it’s a tough decision. “I suppose I could make an exception to my no-gifts-from-strangers policy just this once.”