It had been way too long since he’d gotten laid, that was for sure. And the thought of remedying that in Hartson’s Creek made him want to laugh. Gossip flew through this place faster than the speed of light, and he was way more concerned about Aunt Gina finding out than any gossip rag that might pay for that kind of information.
“Okay, I think I’m ready to order. I’ll take the pancakes, maple syrup on the side. And do you have strawberries?”
“Sure do.”
“I’ll take some fresh ones cut up in a bowl on the side.”
“You want any eggs?” she asked him.
“Nah.”
“Good call. We had a food critic from the Stanhope Daily come here once. He called them inedible.” She shook her head and leaned a little closer. “That’s kind of a lie. What he actually said was ‘eating fried eggs at Murphy’s Diner reminded me of the first time I gave my boyfriend some deep affection. Readers, I advise you to spit, not swallow.’” She wrinkled her nose.
Gray burst into laughter. God, she was cute. He really wanted to see if those lips felt as good as they looked. Wanted to run his fingers through that hair and see if it was as silky as he imagined.
“Definitely hold the eggs,” he told her. And as she turned to walk into the kitchen, he averted his eyes and stared out of the window onto the square. Yeah, she was pretty, but he was used to pretty girls. The one thing he didn’t need was a complication like that.
* * *
After he demolished two plates of Murphy’s finest pancakes, Gray walked out of the diner, his long, denim-clad legs covering the distance between the counter and the door in a few strides. Maddie’s face heated up as soon as the door closed behind him. Through the glass, she saw him adjust the woolen beanie on his head then stuff his hands into his pockets as he headed down the sidewalk. His cheeks were pulled in, his lips pursed as though he was whistling. She grabbed the empty plate and let out a big sigh.
“Murph?” she called out.
“Huh?” He was sitting on the chair in the corner, reading a newspaper, a goofy smile on his face. Which was weird because Murphy never smiled.
“What are you reading?”
“The funnies.”
“You look like you’re enjoying them.”
“They’re crap.” As though he’d just realized he was smiling, Murphy’s brow pulled down and he rolled up the paper and threw it across the room. “Don’t know why I buy that rag anyway.”
Maddie bit down a grin. Murphy had been cultivating the grumpy-old-man look for years. “I’m going to take a break. There’s nobody in the diner, but I’ll keep an eye out and come back if we get any customers.”
“Huh.” He nodded and slid his eyes back to the paper on the floor.
Taking that as a yes, she poured herself a mug of coffee, adding extra cream, before making her way out to the bench set at the center of the town square. It was her favorite place to take a break, especially when there was nobody else here. In the summer, she’d close her eyes and smell the scent of the rose garden carried up in the warm breeze. And in the winter, she’d zip her padded jacket up tightly and huddle around her mug as though it was a warming fire.
“I forgot to ask your name.” The smooth, deep sound of his voice made her jump.
Maddie looked up to see Gray standing over her, his tall body blocking out the early morning sun.
“My name?” she repeated, her brows knitting together.
“Yeah, I want to write a Trip Advisor review. Tell all the readers that you told me to avoid the jizz eggs.”
Maddie bit down a smile. “In that case, my name’s Cora Jean,” she told him. “You want me to spell that for you?”
“You don’t look like a Cora Jean.” He tipped his head to the side, his dark blue eyes catching hers. She’d forgotten how magnetic he was. How he drew everybody toward him. She curled her free hand around the wooden slat of the bench in case her body decided to throw itself at him.
“What does a Cora Jean look like?”
The corner of his lip twitched. “I’m kinda screwed here, aren’t I? If I tell you Cora Jean looks about sixty years old with nicotine stained fingers and a better moustache than I could ever grow, and your name really turns out to be Cora Jean then you’re going to want to hit me.”
“And if my name isn’t Cora Jean?”
His voice lowered. “Then I’d say I’m not surprised, because you still have a way to go with that moustache.”