Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 106948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Right now we were experiencing a lull in business, but in two hours the breakfast crowd would start pouring in, and there was a lot of prep work to be done.
Only myself and two other servers were on the floor right now, and I scanned my tables with a practiced eye, looking for empty plates or someone needing a refill. The giggling group of college girls by the door, obviously drunk, kept sending flirty glances over at one of my other tables, a quiet man who sat by himself in the back, his square jaw tense and dark gaze locked on the hospital across the street. His nice black suit was slightly wrinkled and his dark silver tie hung askew from his thick neck. Even though he wore his golden-brown hair back in one of those man-bun things I normally hated, on him it looked Viking-warrior hot.
I hadn’t really paid that much attention to him earlier, too busy trying to divide checks among a group of eleven nurses, but now that I could take a breath, I found myself oddly fascinated by him, even though he wasn’t the type of guy I was normally attracted to. I tended to go for…well, if I was being honest, I went for weak men. Nonthreatening. Guys who looked like they spent their spare time screwing around with video games instead of hitting the gym. The man sitting at my table was sooooo not that. He was raw, visceral, and even in his obviously high-quality suit managed to look rough—like the kind of guy who would play a villain in the movies.
But I couldn’t look away.
Something about him was familiar, and I studied him closer.
A layer of light brown scruff covered his thick jaw and he had deep lines going across his heavy, prominent brow, as well as lighter ones bracketing his deep-set eyes. It almost gave him a caveman-like profile, but his high cheekbones and solid jaw balanced it off, giving him an intensely masculine vibe. He was staring out the window and it gave me a chance to go secret stalker on him, to indulge this odd, intense curiosity I had about him.
When I looked down to his large hands grasping the white ceramic coffee cup, I noticed what appeared to be faint dots of blood on his cuffs, and followed his line of sight to the hospital across the street.
Oh no.
I’d been admiring him when he was obviously worried about something, or someone. Shit, he must have brought a loved one into the ER, or was visiting someone at the hospital. Someone close to him or someone he knew was hurt or sick. That’s why he appeared so closed off from everyone else in the room, as if he were living in his own personal bubble.
I knew what that felt like, to lose someone close to you. My younger sister had died of childhood leukemia a little over ten years ago, and I can still remember feeling separated from the rest of the world, like I was alone and no one could ever understand what I was going through. My parents totally cut themselves off from me emotionally, despite my rather desperate efforts to be the perfect daughter and make them love me. When I’d moved away to college, they’d pretty much stopped all contact with me other than an occasional Christmas or birthday card. I never went home to visit and they never invited me. Hell, I saw my cousins in Michigan, halfway across the country, more than I saw my own parents.
So yeah, I knew what it was like to be alone with your grief, and I knew it sucked.
With these thoughts in mind, I made my way across the faded tile floor armed with a fresh pot of coffee. I’d go over, offer him a refill, and see if he wanted to talk. Sometimes people did, sometimes people didn’t, but I couldn’t see a gloomy person without wanting to make them smile. I’m one of those people who’re happiest when I’m making other people happy, and I feel their grief like my own. I realize this makes me vulnerable to the assholes of this world, that many would confuse my kindness for weakness, but I can’t change who I am.
Pasting on a bright smile, I approached his table and he totally ignored me.
Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
Up close, I could see the small web of fine lines around his eyes, the scars marring his skin, and my sense that he was dangerous was blaring warnings through my mind.
Yet that feeling of familiarity remained.
I had a job to do, so I forced my voice to be cheerful as I asked, “Can I offer you some coffee?”
His eyes, so dark brown they almost appeared black, flicked to mine and I nearly dropped the coffee pot when his gaze struck me like a physical blow. “Yes, please.”