“Stout. Michelle Stout. She’s still around.”
“Noah is still in town. I know that because I saw him at the hardware store. He said he’s doing remodels and building now. He’s still around. And he was cute.”
“So you’re suggesting I should date Noah or Michelle?”
“Either one you want,” I said with a shrug. “Although Noah was more your type. Since you liked boys the last time I checked.”
“Still true. Unfortunately. It’s not like there are a lot of choices in Rockford Falls. It’s like I hang around here, waiting for the diner to come up for sale so I can buy it—and hope that some handsome, cold-hearted businessman shows up from the city threatening to shut something down so I can go Hallmark movie all over his ass and live happily ever after or something.”
I snorted, “That is the best. And really specific. I wouldn’t probably count on it though.”
“Are you kidding? It has happened hundreds of times. Mostly to that girl from Wonder Years and the one that was on Party of Five. Cute, thin has-been TV stars get all the sexy Scrooges.”
“My has-been brings all the rich boys to the yard?” I teased.
“Yeah, pretty much. But I’ve got dark hair, and if I develop really stupid optimism pretty quickly, we could have a cozy Christmas romance around here.”
“Do you have a lot of oddly flattering red holiday sweaters? I’ve watched a few of those movies and you have to have red sweaters and mistletoe.”
“How about thong underwear and vodka?”
“Wrong channel,” I said, “they’d never wear thongs on Hallmark. Not even bikinis. Maybe like a full brief, or just long underwear because it’s so cold in the converted barn that’s now a bakery employing half the town.”
“You’re right. Only Land’s End long underwear. Red, of course, because of Christmas cheer.”
“And it matches the sweaters,” I pointed out. “God I missed you when I lived in the city.”
“They say there’s no place like home,” she grinned.
“Rach, I liked it there, truly. But I feel like I’m ready to slow down again. It’s just—this feels like the right fit for me at the right time. How often do you get that in life?”
“Not very damn often, I can tell you,” Rachel said.
The back of my neck prickled with an unpleasant awareness. Even lulled by pie and conversation, my cop’s alertness was always humming. And something was pinging on my radar. I felt like I was being watched, like if I were on the street, I’d think somebody was following me. Somebody who was up to no good. After a few years on the force, it’s an instinct you develop for survival, a sensitivity to something being off in an otherwise normal situation. You may not be able to put your finger on which detail is amiss, but you can sense it. And I sensed it crawling up the back of my spine like fifty centipedes.
I said something to Rachel and casually bumped my spoon, knocking it to the floor. When I dipped my head to pick it up, I stole a glance behind me as I brushed my hair back out of the way. Some guy in a back booth was looking right at me. He didn’t seem out of place, but he was setting off my spidey senses for sure. I turned to Rachel.
“Who’s the guy in the back?”
She shrugged, “I never saw him before this week. But he gives me the creeps a little, if I’m honest. He turned up about four days ago. Came in Monday, skipped Tuesday, then he was here Wednesday and now today. He shows up at different times, too. Not just a lunch person or a coffee and pie customer. He doesn’t tip worth a shit, and he doesn’t care much what he orders, just stares at the menu and then orders soup or the special, whatever’s easy. I don’t know. I’ve been doing this a lot of years and I know my business. He’s not your typical diner customer.”
“If he was a trucker he wouldn’t be here all week,” I said.
“Right, and he didn’t order breakfast. Those guys—the women too—always want a big old breakfast with biscuits and gravy and ham and everything, no matter what time of day. Just hot, home food and plenty of it. I love to feed them. And he didn’t come in with anybody, so he’s not visiting friends. So my question is, why the hell come to Rockford Falls?”
“Maybe he’s a scout for that Diners show on the cooking channel. You could be famous.”
“That grouch? No way. He’s not slick, he’s not curious. He doesn’t even finish his food,” that seemed to disgust her more than anything.
“Does he stay long?”
“Yeah, that’s the other thing. People come here to visit and have a good meal. If they’re by themselves, they usually just eat and leave. He hangs out forever when we could use the table. He may take a refill on water or something, but he doesn’t want anything, just wants to sit here and freaking loiter.”