Bad Boy Blues

The town is small, smaller than Princetown, but I like it. It’s cold here. Winter is in full force. There’s wind. Oh, and there’s a lake, too. It’s so blue that I fall in love with it the first moment I see it. Kinda like I fell in love with Zach.

The next day I arrive at the diner at seven and he’s there.

God, doesn’t he sleep? Take a day off or something?

The waitress who told me about this job walks me through everything and tells me which section is going to be mine for that day.

And whaddya know? Zach’s already sitting there.

I walk up to him. “What are you doing here?”

He tips his chin to the menu. “I love the coffee here.”

“You love the coffee.” At his nod, I continue, “You’ve never had coffee here.”

“I had some yesterday.”

“No, you didn’t. You had a hamburger and a slice of pie. I saw it.”

When he smiles, I realize I shouldn’t have said it. It makes me look like a creepy stalker. A stage-five clinger.

He folds his arms on the table and nods. “Yeah, you caught me. I’m just here for the pie.”

I rest a hand on the booth and cock my hip. “Are you going to watch me work all day?”

The rays of sun enlighten his jaw and criss-cross through his hair, making him look so handsome that I have to take a deep breath and compose myself.

Don’t cave, Cleo. Do not cave.

“No. But I can, if you want me to.”

“You know what I want.”

“Well, then I’ll just come back at lunch.”

Sighing, I stand up straight. “So what? Pie. Is that your order?”

“Uh-huh. And a cup of coffee with it.”

I make a show of writing it down on my brand-new pad. “A piece of pie and coffee with a side of spit, coming up.”

As I turn around, I hear him give a chuckle that melts like butter in my bones, and I know I need to be strong.

Much stronger, actually, than I had planned because after that, Zach shows up at seven every morning, orders the same thing and simply watches me bustle around.

It reminds me so much of when he first came back. He’d watch me run to the mansion in the morning or sometimes in the hallways, wearing my uniform.

He’s doing the same thing here.

He watches me work, taking down orders, delivering food, chatting up the customers, all in my uniform of a red t-shirt and a black pair of shorts. And like at The Pleiades, I feel his gaze on me right from when he sits down at the booth until he leaves an hour later.

I hate that he’s doing this.

I hate that he’s making it so difficult to stay away from him.

Every day that passes makes it harder for me to resist him. Resist his intense eyes, his singular focus on me. The things he says even when he’s not talking.

Damn it, I hate his fraught-with-intensity silences.

Sometimes I think I’m being stupid.

I love him, don’t I?

What does it matter if he doesn’t want that? What does it matter if he rejects my love at every turn and hurts me?

I’ll take it.

I’ll take it all if I can just walk up to him and touch those midnight, velvety strands. If I get to hold his hand or caress that hard jaw. If I get to kiss him, smell him, make love to him.

But then, what if he rejects me over and over and over, so many times that I become bitter? That I become angry and hateful. Exactly like I did back at St. Patrick’s.

I can’t do that.

I can’t hate him when I know how it feels to love him.

I can’t let him kill my love.

So I’m going to wait him out. He can’t follow me around forever, right? He can’t come to the diner every day for the rest of his life.

Turns out, I’m right.

After coming every day for about a week, he stops.

One morning, he doesn’t come in. Worriedly, I watch the clock and jump every time the door opens up and a new customer arrives.

Zach never shows up though.

I spend the day alternately worrying over him, thinking that something happened to him, and being angry that he gave up so easily.

Which is just stupid. I wanted him to give up. I wanted him to go away and leave me alone. It’s a good thing.

I can finally start my life now, without the past. Without him.

The next morning when he doesn’t show up again, I decide I’m not even going to watch the door. Nope. I’m not going to act like a junkie, no matter how much I want to. He won’t reduce me to that.

But then, I see him through the window.

He’s on the opposite side of the street, striding down the sidewalk. Hurriedly, I walk to my boss and ask her for a five-minute break, even though I just started. I’m already out the door, pulling on my jacket because Jesus Christ, it’s cold, before she even confirms.