Cozy • An Embry Story

.3

Winnie's POV

It's Sunday again.

And right on schedule, Embry comes through the door in his usual cut offs. I meet him halfway at the counter as he lowers into the stool, ignoring his eyes against my cheek. Instead, I just focus on the four sugar packets and the mug.

"So," I start, finally chancing a glance at him. His black eyes hold me, all of me, and it's so much I have to let them dip back down. "What will it be today?"

"Three bagels. One with plain cream cheese. Then an onion bagel with eggs, bacon, hash browns, and cheese. Then a cinnamon bagel with cinnamon cream cheese. With a side of sausage." He rats off, his voice thick and heavy with exhaustion. I pause, the pencil still against my knuckle and pad. All that food is for him. The order is odder than his usual two dozen eggs. That's the equivalent of nine slices of bread.

Embry picks up on my pause, how could he miss anything with all the staring he does. One of his brows arches up in question, nudging his chin at me as if he wants to actually say something. I almost want to laugh at the meal, but I press my lips together into a firm line.

"Coming," I take a quick breath, trying to keep a straight face. "right up."

I don't mean to hurry away, but I try to make it into the kitchen to laugh in private instead. I almost think I hear infliction from him, like a dry chuckle or small scoff. Can he hear me? Am I loud? I risk a quick peak through the window of the door, and duck just as fast when I find him staring right at me.

Maybe he'll stop tipping me so much now.

When I bring out all of his food, he doesn't say thank you or anything as usual, but I give him a refill of coffee anyway.

"Morning folks." I hear myself say a beat after the door opens, still giving his mug my full attention. It's strong reflex. "I'll be with you in just a minute. Sit anywhere."

"Thank you, babygirl." I flinch at the man's cooing, trying to keep my face from grimacing. Then I jump back at Embry's sudden movement. He swerves around in his stool to shoot the group a warning glare. He's usually too tired. Doesn't say a word or move the slightest, calm and hushed like a statue. But his back is straight up, strained and taunt with exasperation. His hands clutch the counter so hard his knuckles are white. His shoulders hunched up by his ears, with his arms flexing their muscles like they'll crack skulls between his elbows. I haven't seen his face so knotted up in years.

He glares them down, then silently turns back around achingly slow as if he'll whip back around do something about it. His shoulders are still tense, but ease just the slightest when he looks at me. It's not staring anymore. The silent concern in his eyes almost feels as audible as him actually asking me if that bothered me.

I can feel the shock in my face, not sure if I'm spooked or grateful. None of my customers step in if someone gets a bit fresh. I just nod once, slow and unsure, but he accepts my nod and starts eating again.

The group of truckers still haven't seaten themselves, all of them just staring in annoyance at Embry's back. I don't move yet, waiting till they sit to give them menus. Embry ignores them, chewing on his bagel as if nothing happened.

"Boy, where's your shirt?"

"Isn't it suppose to be no shoes, no shirt, no service, doll?"

"No." I say simply, very calmly, but firmly. No.

"I don't want to eat in front of that." One of the men say purposely too loud, trying to get to Embry. He ignores them, but I notice him rip a chunk out of his bagel a bit too forcefully.

"Okay." I answer. The rest of my answer, (being: 'then leave') floating in the air. The group bristles at me, some of them shooting me heated looks.

"Tell him to cover up."

"Who walks into establishment half naked?"

"He's not bothering anyone." I state cooly. Embry doesn't join in, but his eyes reach up to find mine. Without thinking I press my hands defensively on the counter across from his plate, inching closer to him as if I'll take an order again.

"He's bothering us."

"You're whose disturbing the establishment." I say squarely, still trying to hold onto that professional manner. "Sir." I add, my voice going flat.

"Are you getting fresh?" One challenges.

"I know the owner." One of them warns.

"Me too." I say collectedly. They're out of towners if I've seen them. They don't know a single soul for the next thirty miles.

"Winnie," Finally poking his head out of the window, Joel the cook, shoots me a concerned look. "Is there a problem?"

"No," I answer straight forwardly. I'm not letting these guys bother me on my Sunday. I turn back to them, noticing Embry's shoulders tensing up again. "These gentlemen are just deciding if they'll be eating here or not. Will you be dining with us?"

"I won't be paying jack squat till that boy puts a shirt on or leaves!"

"This is a local restaurant. We're from a beach town. Most of our patrons who dine here dress casually." It's a bit of a white lie. Only Embry's friends, Sam Uley's group of weird locals come in half dressed like he does.

"Now girl listen here and stop being a bitch—" He never finishes his sentence. Without a word Embry rises to his feet, holding himself at his full height, which towers everyone in the diner. He says nothing, does nothing, with his hands at his sides, but his fists are clenched and muscles looking massive as he straightens up.

It's a silent support, as if he's backing me up.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." Joel says, charging out of the kitchen doors. He hates when people to talk us wait staff like that. Joel isn't big as Embry. He's middle aged with a bad knee, but he's dealt with rowdy customers longer than any of us has.

"There's a Burger King on the 101 highway." Crossing my arms over my chest, I finally put some pressure behind my words, my tone going from firm to absolute. They look like they want to do something, anything bad and violent, but they hesitate as they take in Embry, all muscle and meat and over six three.

They grumble as they leave, cursing under their breathes as they go back to their trucks. Embry doesn't sit back down till the last semi pulls out and drives out of sight. He quietly lowers back down, keeping his head down as he scarfs down his last few bites. He doesn't respond to Joel's apologizes for the unpleasantness, but I give Joel a pat on the back for trying.

"It's on the house today." I speak out of our usual ten minimum word routine, which makes him pause. He lifts his head, those brown eyes taking me all in. I hold his glance, but inside it makes the hairs on my body stand up on end. God, I wish he'd do anything else than stare through my soul, even undressing me with his eyes or saying something rude might be better, anything to get this tension to stop.

He shakes his head, then leaves the twenty five dollar tip before he's out the door.

I'm grateful he was here in the right place, at the right time. But we're still not even. Not even close.