Nick, who’d been about to pull open the door, frowned at her. “I’m not grumpy.”
“You’re scowling at me right now.”
“Because you called me grumpy.”
She sighed. “You haven’t smiled a single time since I met you.”
“You met me maybe a whole twelve hours ago, when a strange woman who doesn’t like bologna and tomato sandwiches had broken in and woken me up.”
He’d clearly taken her rejection of his sandwich choice personally. “I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked.”
“Lesson learned,” he said mostly under his breath before yanking the door open and waving for her to enter.
Pete’s Place was small, but it was a lot nicer than the exterior had led her to expect. The pale blue walls and light wood tables and booths were welcoming, and a coffee counter ran almost the length of the dining room. There were several men sitting there, as well as a few in booths.
They all turned to look when the door opened. The man behind the counter, who might or might not have been Pete, nodded. “Morning, Nick.”
“Morning, Pete.”
Pete, along with several other guys, looked curiously at Lucy, but Nick didn’t introduce her. She didn’t mind at all and followed him silently to an empty booth. He chose the one all the way in the back, farthest from any other diners. Breathing a sigh of relief when he chose to sit facing the front, she slid into the booth with her back to the room. With her hood up, nobody could see her, and she took off the sunglasses.
Pete walked over and set two mugs of coffee on the end of the table. “You want coffee, or do you want something else?”
“Coffee, please.”
“Menu’s behind the condiments. I’ll give you a minute.”
She pulled one out and studied the offerings, suddenly famished. “What’s good here?”
“Everything. Best breakfast in Maine.”
“How many different places have youhadbreakfast in Maine?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say.”
Lucy assumed that was a grumpy man’s way of admitting he was working with a small sample set and returned her attention to the menu.
Nick cleared his throat. “Is there an angry ex or almost ex who’s going to show up on the doorstep looking for you?”
“No,” Lucy said, but she lowered her gaze to the spoon she was fiddling with as she wondered if she should warn him no angry exes were going to knock on the door, but paparazzi might. Or a sobbing mob of Faith Lincoln fans. Or maybe angry football fans.
Telling him was probably the right thing to do, but that confession came with the risk he’d toss her out the same way her roommate and then her mother’s boyfriend had. She was out of places to go.
“You can tell me,” he said, and she startled before realizing he was still talking about angry exes. “Youshouldtell me, actually, because if there’s a possibility I’ll have to defend you in the middle of the night, I’ll wear sleep pants with a stronger drawstring.”
Was that humor? His expression hadn’t changed, but she laughed and shook her head. “No exes. No almost exes. No need for combat sleep pants.”
An image of him last night, wearing the sweats with the weak drawstring so low on his hips, flashed through her mind, and she had to set down the menu so she wouldn’t use it to fan her face.
Pete appeared about thirty seconds after she dropped the menu. “What are you having?”
“I think I’ll have whatever Nick is ordering,” she said rather than admitting she couldn’t make a decision.
“Usual?” he asked, and Nick nodded.
“Be right up.”
Lucy shook her head, putting the menu back in the stand behind the condiments. “Are we getting something good?”