Two from the Heart(38)

Late twenties. Long legs and a short black skirt. Dark blond hair pulled back into a ponytail with a few crazy-wild tendrils. Dark eyebrows that almost meet in the middle. And bright blue eyes.

He’d have a harder time describing the feeling in his gut. Hunger pangs? Nope. Something else.

Bron watches as she picks up the plates and quickly delivers them to the wrong booth. Then to a second booth. Wrong again. Finally, she gets it right. Third time’s the charm. Shaking her head and blushing, she heads back to Bron’s table and pulls out her order pad, which sends her pen flying onto the napkin holder. Bron hands the pen back to her.

“Thanks. Sorry. So sorry. It’s only my second night.”

In a movie, this is where Bron would have a witty comeback—a charming remark to make the pretty waitress feel that she’s found a kindred spirit, a fellow outcast, some relief from the loneliness in this empty one-horse town.

But that doesn’t happen. Not even close. Because Bron can hardly put two words together. This whole time, he hasn’t even looked down at the menu. Because he’s been looking at her.

“I… well,” he stammers, “what do you recommend?”

She leans close, pretending to write on her pad. “Is he looking?”

“Who?”

“Kevin. The cook. Is he looking?”

“Nope. He’s cooking.”

She talks fast in a low voice:

“Okay. Listen. You seem new. And I want you to come back. So I’ll give it to you straight. Burgers are fine. Stay away from the baked ham, which I think is actually Spam. Avoid anything with red sauce unless you like leftovers. Fries are so-so. Milk shakes are great. Pies are excellent, especially the coconut cream. If you want dessert, I would order it with your meal, because I might forget to ask you later.”

“Fair enough,” says Bron. He orders a burger, fries, a milk shake, and the pie.

When his food arrives a few minutes later, it’s just as she promised. The burger is juicy and tasty. The fries are fine. The milk shake is creamy and smooth. And the pie—well, he’s never had better.

He finishes his dinner and sips his water. He thinks about ordering coffee. But he’s not about to add more pressure. This girl looks like she could crack at any minute.

“How was everything?”

Now she’s reaching across him to clear his plates. Up close, he can see a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks. Her arm accidently brushes his shoulder. She smells like lemons. He’s searching for something memorable to say.

“Compliments to the chef,” is all he can come up with. Weak.

“Let’s not give him a swelled head,” she says.

“No thanks. I’m good.” Give it up. Cut your losses.

She rips the check from her pad and puts it face-down on the edge of the table.

“Order up!” The pirate calls. And she’s gone, backing away. “Have a good night,” she says.

Bron turns the check over. Under the item prices and circled total, there’s a scrawled signature, “Sunny,” with a little smiley face.

Sitting alone in his booth, Tyler Bron actually smiles back at it.





Chapter 15


Ten miles away


Nailed it. Enough for one day.

I switch off the Selectric and roll back in my chair. The view on the monitor cuts from the diner to the street as Bron heads for the motel. The techs are bored and yawning, ready for the end of their shift.

I have to admit, giving Bron a physical job was pretty smart. It wears him out early. And once he’s in his room, away from everybody, I get some time to think.

This write-me-a-life stuff is not easy. I’m basically making it up as I go. In every writing class, they tell you to start with an outline—work things out in advance, so you won’t be surprised. But the truth is, I’ve never had the patience. And I kind of like being surprised. So I just wing it. Which drives Daisy nuts. On the other hand, watching her and the minions scramble is half the fun.

I pop two beers and walk outside. Once I close the door behind me, the only light comes from the moon—and from Daisy’s laptop screen. There she is, about twenty yards out from the hangar in a lawn chair, just clicking away. I pick up another chair, carry it out and plunk it down next to hers. I hand her one of the beers.

By coincidence we’re each wearing a baseball cap with an S on it. Only mine is from Salem State—and hers is from Stanford.

I guess she’s just going to keep tapping away at her keyboard unless I say something. So here goes…





Chapter 16


ENLIGHTEN ME,” I say. “Ten miles away there’s a town that’s stuck in the Middle Ages. And out here, you’ve got perfect reception.”

She doesn’t even look up. “Do you really want me to explain it to you?”

I think for a second. Actually, I don’t.

I pull a pack of Marlboros out of my jacket. I take one out and light up.

I’m expecting a lecture from Daisy about damaging the ozone layer. Instead she gets a look like I’ve never seen on her before. She’s staring at me—actually, at the cigarette. I raise my eyebrows. She raises hers.

I hold the pack out. She takes a cigarette and puts it between her lips. She leans over and places the tip of her cigarette against the burning end of mine until hers catches.