I feel color rush to my cheeks, and I look away, taking a strand of hair and twisting it between my fingers.
“How’s, uh, Dexter?”
Logan shakes his head. “The little shit pulled a carton of eggs off the counter this morning and ate half of them before anyone noticed.”
I laugh. “Have fun smelling those farts tonight.”
Logan laughs too and plows a hand through his hair. “I’ll put him in Owen’s room.”
I smile, and it would be easy to tell myself things are going back to normal, but there’s still a distance in Logan’s eyes that’s tearing me up inside.
We both go back to work, getting ready to open. With the exception of our regulars, Mondays are pretty slow until about five or six in the evening. Though today, we did get a handful of people coming in, confused as to why we’re not open for lunch on weekdays when we are on weekends. I keep track of it all to use to prove to Logan and Owen that turning this place into a full-on bar and grill will be more than worth it. There are a few other restaurants in Eastwood and only one other diner. We’re on opposite sides of the town, and a decent amount of highway traffic comes through our doors. We’d do really well serving food during the day.
I’m jotting down an informal business proposal when the overwhelming smell of Chanel No. 5 wafts through the doors. It’s breezy today, and every time the front doors open, a warm summer wind comes through. I’m sure it’s annoying the people at the tables near the door, but I find it refreshing, especially when you consider that the few regulars glued to their barstools aren’t the cleanest.
I look up just in time to see my sister step away from Peter’s side, heading to the bathroom. Peter looks around the bar, and his eyes settle on me. He brings his hand up in a little wave, and I do the mature thing and drop down to the floor, crouching behind the bar.
Maybe if he can’t see me, he’ll go away.
“Danielle?” His voice comes from above me. I’ve never wished for a cream pie more than I do right now. I’d stick my face in it and pop up, speaking with an accent Mrs. Doubtfire style. I don’t have a pie, but I can still pretend I don’t know him…right?
“I’m sorry,” I say with the worst British accent in the world as I stand up. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”
Logan, who’s at the other side of the bar, looks up. “What the hell?” he mouths, and I only respond by wrinkling my nose.
Peter tips his head, looking me up and down. He’s checking me out, and he’s not trying to hide it.
“You look good, Danielle.”
“I told you, I’m not Danielle. I’m, uh, Kasey, and I’ve never heard of this Danielle before.” My accent is starting to sound Scottish. And now, both Peter and Logan are looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. Truth is, I did a long time ago.
“Dani!” Diana calls, coming out of the bathroom. She must have just gone in to check out her hair or something. She’s beaming, but the smile isn’t genuine.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt.
“Nice to see you too.” She presses her lips together and adjusts the strap of her Louis Vuitton purse over her shoulder.
“Of course it’s nice to see you.” It’s not good to see Peter, and they both know exactly how I feel. “I just wasn’t expecting it. At all.”
“Peter has business in Chicago tomorrow, so we came a day early and thought we’d drive down and see how you’re faring in this little town.”
“I’m doing all right. I like it here.”
She raises her eyebrows. “It seems like it could be relaxing with that slower pace of life. And I have to say, it’s nice to see that you’ve stopped caring what people think of you.”
“What?”
Her eyes drop to my crop top. “Oh, never mind.”
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“A hot water with lemon, please.”
I’m positive no one has ever walked through the doors of Getaway and ordered that before. “Uh, sure.”
“So.” Diana slides into a barstool. “Mom said you told her you’re bringing a date to my wedding.”
“Uh, yeah. I am.” Is it just me or is the temperature rising in this place? I can see Logan watching me out of the corner of my eye.
“And that’s not all she said. So, let me see it.”
“See what?”
“Your ring, silly! You’re bringing your fiancé, right?”
Now I need some hot water with lemon because my throat is suddenly dry. “I, uh…”
“Did you make it up?” Diana’s lips curve into a smirk, waiting to bust me. “Because I wouldn’t blame you. I mean, your big sis is getting married, and it will be the wedding of the year. A little lie wouldn’t be a surprise.”