Soldier Mine (Sons of War #2)(5)

A customer enters. I spot him in my peripheral.

“Take a seat anywhere you like,” I call automatically.

“Thanks.”

Male, great physical shape, walks with a slight limp. I don’t bother looking at him directly; I keep my senses honed to detect anything about those around me that’s suspicious, so I can spot danger before it finds me. I’ve become a spy novel enthusiast of sorts, and use what tips I pick up to remain always cognizant of my surroundings and anyone new.

Grabbing a menu, napkin with utensils rolled within it and a glass of water, I neatly skirt the counter and go to the booth. “Just you?” I ask and set down the contents of my hands.

“I’m expecting company.”

“One more?”

“Hopefully.”

At the wry amusement in his gravelly tone, I look up and meet striking blue eyes in a cleanly shaven face with chiseled cheekbones and a heavy jaw. His crooked nose shows signs of having been broken more than once, and there’s a scar down one cheek. The combination on another man might make him rough, but on this one, it renders him charmingly roguish. His look is direct, eyes sparkling with mischief, intelligence and … awareness. Like a cop or soldier. The town has plenty of both. He’s wearing a dark sweater and jeans, and his brown hair is in a high-and-tight. His woodsy scent is too faint to be cologne. Aftershave probably, high end.

I can’t recall the last time I noticed a man. It’s been at least four or five years, since the madness that is my life began.

It registers that I’m openly staring at him. “I’ll get you another menu,” I say finally.

His gaze drops to my nametag. “Thanks … Claudia.”

I hurry away. My heart is beating quickly, and it’s not because I’m scared for once. Knock it off, Claudia. There’s no way.

I’m struck by the power of my yearning for a chance to have a normal, boring life again. Gathering up another menu, silverware and water, I return to the table.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask the handsome stranger.

“Water’s fine, thanks.”

Before I wind up staring again, I walk away briskly and return to my safe spot behind the counter. Todd is in his usual booth in the corner with his iPad and notebook out.

Several minutes pass before a gorgeous brunette, dressed for a swanky club rather than a diner, steps in and heads towards the booth with the handsome stranger. My stomach sinks. She’s definitely the kind of woman I’d place him with: sophisticated, attractive, and decked out in designer clothing.

I give her a moment then cross to them to take their orders.

“I’ll have a house salad and bottled water,” she says with a quick though tight smile.

“Cheeseburger, fries,” the handsome man replies.

The woman raises an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think that was on your diet.”

“Make that double fries.” He winks at me.

I turn away before smiling. The air between them is charged, and not in the way of two people in love. If appearances are any indication, she’s not pleased to be there and his calmness is hiding a great deal of emotion.

Placing their order, my eyes are drawn to them once more. I tell myself it has nothing to do with the handsome stranger, that I’m simply envious at witnessing a normal couple probably talking about normal things in a diner, but I’m fantasizing about what it’d be to sit with him. What do people even talk about anymore? It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten.

Then again, judging by the body language of the two, I’d probably rather skip this conversation.

By the time their food is ready, the woman has left.

I feel kind of bad about it. Not sure what to do about her salad, I take it to the table.

“Um, will she be back?” I ask awkwardly.

“Nah. You can take the salad back,” he replies. He smiles, though I see sadness in the depths of his warm eyes that surprises me.

It’s not usual for me to connect with anyone, and certainly not a stranger, but I feel it with him. A kindred sense of shared sadness, disappointment and longing.

And I’m staring again. What is wrong with me today? “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

“I’m not.”

Setting down his plate, I pick up the salad, feeling as though I should say something else. “Enough fries?”

Now that was lame. Not that it matters what the attractive man thinks of me, but it bothers me to see others in pain.

“Perfect,” he replies. “What kind of pies do you have today?”

“Apple, peach, coconut cream and pecan.”

“I’ll take a slice of pecan.”

I whisk the offensive salad and any sign of his failed date away. It’s the one thing I can do to help.

“Claud, can you help me with the freezer?” the cook calls.

“Sure!” I join him in back. He injured his shoulder last weekend, so I’m doing the heavy lifting for now. Several frozen boxes of food later, I return to my post and am about to make my rounds to check on the customers when I see Todd seated in the booth across from the sad man with the pretty eyes.

They appear to be in deep conversation, and Todd’s features express his fascination about whatever the stranger is saying.

But Todd with a stranger … it disturbs me. I’m terrified of something happening to my little brother, and my ex has used all manner of schemes and tricks to try to get to me, including sending strangers to befriend me and lure me somewhere where my ex can get me.