Worth Any Risk

Ch. 14 Ex-Sister-In-Law

*Cole

The waitress sets down two coffee cups the second we slide onto the booth seats. "Regular or decaf, hon?" she asks me.

She pours regular for Jordan without asking, and I notice a sly wink, which means the waitress approves of Jordan bringing me to her favorite diner for breakfast. Good.

"Regular, please," I say and set my jacket on the seat next to me. "And keep 'em coming, all right?"

"You got it. Do you need a minute with the menu to decide?"

Jordan answers, "That would be great, Carmen." She passes me one of the grungy, laminated page menus and taps on the second item in the breakfasts. "I recommend the pancakes, eggs and bacon combo with free all-you-can-drink coffee, but if you go for the waffles and fruit spread, I wouldn't be offended."

"And if I go for the toast and blood sausage sandwich and grits?"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to speak to you anymore, but you should choose what you want, and live out the rest of your life alone." She lifted her eyebrows innocently and sipped her coffee.

I noted mentally that she takes her coffee black and she is adorable with her hair piled messily on top her head after a night of good fucking. "Then I'll take your word for it and have the pancake combo."

She smirks, and I stretch my hand out on the table for her take. Hesitating, she glances reflexively around the small diner and then very deliberately puts her hand in mine.

She's still afraid to be caught doing something wrong by these people. I don't let my anger show on my face—I'm not angry at her.

The diner is a bit shabby at the corners, obviously its glory days are long gone, but someone is maintaining the cozy, family atmosphere. A jukebox is in the corner, but I'm not sure if it works. The seats are an avocado green that reminds me of my grandmother's kitchen when I was a kid, and the speckled grey lunch counter has a row of gleaming stools. The only other customers here this early are several elderly gentlemen, sitting alone and one couple in their fifties, who look like they might be tourists passing through.

The waitress stops by to take our order from Jordan and she refills my cup, even though it was only down half an inch. I love it here already.

Too bad I won't be staying. I woke up to seven messages on my phone asking about progress on different cars, and it's the weekend still. When Monday hits, customers will be hunting me down. Part of me wishes things could be different, but I don't see how.

"She's nice," I say, hitching my head towards the retreating waitress.

"Carmen? Yeah, she's great. I've been stopping for coffee on my way to work since I started at the Children's Center, and I come in for a big breakfast at least once a week."

"How's their lunch?"

She takes her hand back. "It's good. Burgers, fries, some mixed salads. I don't come for lunch or dinner, though. Too many other people."

I don't press the subject. Silence settles between us, but it's a strained, uncomfortable one. I sense there is more, but she doesn't want to talk. I watch the cars on the road through the large windows across the front of the diner, drinking my coffee.

Jordan clears her throat. "What day are you leaving town again?"

A chill spreads in my chest. I intend to take her with me, but haven't found the right moment to ask. What if she says no? "I need another couple days at least to finish things up. I'd like to spend a little time with Roberta, too, to make sure she has the legalities squared away and is handling things all right."