Conceal

“No bets.”

We keep walking the rest of the block, and when we arrive at what looks like a beat-up and dirty diner, he stops.

“Here?”

“Yep.” He opens the door and leads me in.

The place looks like it’s failed over ten health code violations for the décor alone.

“Trust me,” he says. And I do. I let him usher me to a seat.

It doesn’t take long for a waitress to walk over to us and place two glasses of water down. She has a gigantic smile on her face as she looks at Jax. Then she looks me over.

“Jaxson, I haven’t seen you in so long. Are you cheating on me?” the old waitress says.

“Nope, just working, Mabel.”

“Is that grumpy old brother of yours still giving you a hard time?”

“Not that bad. He’s actually out of town most of the time, so I’m running the show. Mabel”—he looks over at me and then signals to her—“this is Willow.” Mabel’s lips lift into a mischievous smile. “Not like that, Mabel. We’re friends.” The fact he has to clarify that doesn’t sit well in my stomach.

“Very well. You can’t judge a girl for trying. It’s nice to meet you, Willow. Jaxson has been coming here for years, and he’s never brought a lady friend.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mabel. But we’re just friends. Jaxson tells me you’re the best diner in New York City.”

“That Jaxson,” she coos. “He sure knows how to spoil a girl.”

I smile at her and catalog all this info into my Jax memory box.

“What can I get for you kids?”

“After the lady.” Jaxson points at me. “And we’re hardly kids.”

“When you’re as old as I am, anyone under fifty is a kid, especially since you’ve been coming to eat here since you were in diapers.”

“This is true,” Jax says wistfully, and it makes me smile.

Mabel turns to me. Her face is weathered with age, and I wonder how long she’s known Jaxson.

“I’ll have a chocolate milkshake, and what’s your specialty?”

“They make a mean grilled cheese,” Jax cuts in.

“I asked Mabel, not you,” I chide.

“I like this girl. Keep her around.” Mabel laughs and her forehead crinkles further. “Our specialty is the barbecue brisket sandwich.”

“I’ll have that.”

“I’ll have my usual.”

“I didn’t ask,” she says while rolling her eyes.

“I like you too,” I say, and I do. Even without Jax in tow, I plan to come back here.

After Mabel takes our order, she leaves. We both reach our hand out to grab a straw sitting in the middle of the table, fingers touching. I try to keep a neutral expression on my face. But the contact burns through me. Lighting my skin on fire. Making me hyper-aware of the growing need inside me.

Shit.

I pull away, severing the feelings that swirl inside me.

Feelings I can’t have.

A stilled silence settles around us, I’m tempted to flip the cup of sugar packets and make shapes with them like I used to do with Maggie when we were kids. But that’s something Old Willow would do. I can’t be her.

Jaxson leans on the table, placing his forearms on the surface. A move my mother would have hated. My mother was very ladylike. My father humored her, but they raised me to be a lady too. She would roll over in her grave if she saw my current outfit. With sweats two sizes too big, I don’t look like the debutant she raised me to be, rather a homeless woman. Which isn’t that far from the truth, seeing as I am homeless and living on a couch.

“It was a nice surprise to have you stop by the office . . . two days in a row,” he says, breaking the silence.

“As I said before, I wanted to thank you. I figured you loved to eat cupcakes.” I grow silent. “And I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”

“One: no apologizing. Two: You made a superb choice. Those cupcakes were my favorites.”

I nod. Because what is there to say? The surrounding room goes quiet. Although we have been together before, it’s still awkward and stilted.

“Willow. Just Willow. Tell me something about yourself.” His husky voice cuts through the silence.

Biting my lip, I turn my head away from him to look out the window. I watch as people walk by with smiles on their faces. People with seemingly easy lives.

I was that person once. Before my life got too complicated to answer a simple question.

“I’d prefer not to,” I say, still looking out at the street.

“Shame.”

That makes me turn back toward him. “Shame?”

“Well, I want to get to know you. Be your friend.” He says the word friend playfully.

“It takes a long time to get to know someone. I’m not sure I’ll be in New York for that long,” I admit.

“You don’t live here?”

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

I shake my head. “Nice try.”