My fingers still trembled, but now it had nothing to do with the creeps in the car. Ronan's big hand reached out, took the key and opened the door. "I was unloading bricks across the street. They've been here for an hour," he explained. "They didn't look like the blueberry pancakes and cheese omelet types."
He opened the door and handed me back the key. It took all my courage to peer up at him, and even though I did it with caution, my breath was once again swept from my lungs. It took me a few seconds to find my tongue. "Thank you. I'm sure they probably just stopped there to get high or something. Just bad timing on my part." The conversation was stilted and dry as if we were two strangers, but Ronan felt like anything but a stranger. "Guess I'll head inside." I smiled weakly and slipped into the diner.
By the time I found the courage to look back toward the door, he was already crossing the street. His big shoulders strained the work shirt he was wearing. He flexed his right hand a few times, and I remembered that he'd had it bandaged the last time we saw each other. It was the last time, literally.
I hurried to the door and pushed it open. "Is your hand better?" I yelled.
He looked back and held it up. "Good as new." He continued back to the worksite, and I walked to the locker room to put my things away. Hank was busy chopping vegetables.
"Oh no, is Kyle sick, too?" I asked.
Hank nodded his big head without looking up. Given the speed at which he ripped through the onions on his block that was probably a good call. "Where's Carol?" he asked.
"She sprained her ankle at line dancing."
Hank stopped and looked at me. "You've got to be kidding? So it's just us?"
"Yep and Peggy."
"Right, so it's just us?" He chuckled and returned to his chopping. "Guess it's good the flu wiped out half that construction site. We don't need a packed house right now."
I stopped and looked around the locker room doorway. "Just don't get sick, Hank, cuz I can't chop onions like that, and my omelets are a sight to behold and not a good one." I put away my purse and tied on my apron. The last few minutes kept replaying through my mind. It was hard enough not talking to Ronan at all, as if we'd never met, but it was even harder having a conversation where we acted like strangers. He'd scared the car away with crossed arms and a glower. I was glad he showed up when he did.
"Hey, Hank," I said as I stopped to grab a tray with clean coffee cups. "Did you see that green car that was parked in front of the diner?"
"I rode my bike to work and pulled straight down the alley to the back." He paused his knife again. "Green Chevy Impala? Old and rusty?"
"That's the one," I said.
"I saw them out there last week. I figured they were lost or getting wasted or something. They never came inside. They just sat out there and then took off eventually."
"Yeah, today, too. Oh well, I'm sure they're just passing through." I carried the tray out to the front of the restaurant. Across the way, I spotted Ronan wheeling some bricks around ina wheelbarrow. I watched him for a few seconds, seconds I didn't really have, but I found him fascinating to watch.
I was startled by someone coming up to the door and knocking. "We're open in twenty minutes," I called.
The young man smiled coyly and held up a bouquet of red roses. "I have a delivery for Rachel," he yelled through the door.
I walked to the door and opened it. "Delivery for Rachel," he repeated.
I took the flowers. They were a lush red and had a perfume that was almost overwhelming. "Thank you." I locked the door and carried them through to the locker room. Roses were wonderful, but no one wanted to smell them when they were eating ham and eggs. I didn't need to look at the card.
"Another gift from your rich lover boy?" Hank teased.
"He's not my lover boy," I quipped as I passed through.
"No but he sure is trying hard."
I walked into the locker room and put the roses on the sink counter. I pulled out the card.
Just thinking about you,
Evan
Evan had bought the house, my dream house, but I had not committed to living there yet. I was shocked at how persistent he'd been. I was sure he would have moved on, found someone else to enter into his dreamy little pact by now, but he was still calling and sending gifts and flowers. Mom had mentioned last week, when he sent an expensive bottle of perfume, that I was going to have to decide soon. She had been hesitant about the idea at first, but as we struggled to pay the bills, the whole notion of our own house had started to sound just a little too tempting.
I pushed the card back into the flowers. I didn't have time to daydream about flowers, pretty houses or men with green eyes and impossibly broad shoulders. I had a diner to run today.
Hank and I were left to close. Peggy had sweetly offered to stay and help, but it was actually easier without her help. I finished mopping the dining room floor. As predicted, the day had been slow. Like everywhere else, the construction site had been ravaged by the flu. They were down to half the usual work crew, so we had half the usual lunch customers. Unfortunately, the dining room had been a chorus of coughs and sneezes, and the usually boisterous conversation had been tired and weak. There just wasn't any way I was going to avoid this flu bug.