Dear Heart, I Hate You
“You’re already here?” I looked at him with surprise.
He cocked his head to the side, his hazel eyes filled with mischief. “Nope.”
Smartass.
“I have your sweatshirt from last night,” I said, hoping like hell he didn’t want it back.
Yes, I had become that girl, the type who wanted to keep a piece of clothing because it smelled like him. If I was never going to see Cal again, the least he could do was give me a damn souvenir.
“Keep it.” He didn’t even hesitate. “You know you want to,” he added, seemingly unable to resist being a smartass tonight.
I sent a sideways look in his direction. “You’re sassy tonight.”
“And you like it,” he shot back.
Stopping short, I stared at him. When he realized he’d lost me, he turned and looked back at me with a smug smile.
I shrugged. “I do sorta like it.”
“And you wanted to keep the sweatshirt. Admit it,” he said as he reached for my hand.
Threading my fingers through his, I lied, “I wasn’t going to give it back to you anyway,” and Cal barked out a quick laugh.
“I might miss this a little,” he said as he dropped a kiss on top of my hand. “Our banter.”
A little? Hell, I was going to miss this a lot.
“Me too. But just a little.” I lied again, holding back my real feelings. Protecting myself, I shoved them deep inside for the moment and refused to let them escape. Because if I let them out, I couldn’t take them back.
“I know I’m a little early,” he said, “but I thought I could take you to my favorite diner before you left.”
“You have a favorite diner? They still have diners in Boston?”
What a charming notion. We didn’t really have diners in LA, not in the traditional sense like the ones you saw on TV.
“We have a few diners here. Why is that so hard to believe?”
“I don’t know. I guess I don’t picture you as a diner sort of guy.”
He frowned at me, actually scoffing. “I’m from New Jersey. Of course I’m a diner guy. And I’ll have you know that this particular diner serves the best burgers in all of Boston. Not to mention that it has the best waitresses who remind you to eat when you’ve spent hours in a chair studying for exams.”
I squeezed his hand. “All right, Cal Donovan, take me to your diner and feed me your favorite diner food.”
“You got it, lady.”
• • •
The diner was exactly how I’d pictured it, intimate and well-worn. Checkered cloths covered the tables, and swivel bar stools lined the front of a long counter.
Cal led us toward two empty seats, and when I started spinning on mine as soon as I sat down, he laughed.
“Jules.”
“Cal?” I said, spinning around one more time. “Okay, I’ll stop.”
“Don’t stop on my account. Or the guy sitting next to you.” He pointed at the burly man sitting on my other side.
“Sorry,” I said to my new neighbor, feeling silly.