Delaney James seemed to have it all-a Manhattan townhouse, a thriving career as a fashion journalist, and a handsome, high-powered husband, but when he announces he's leaving her, Delaney's picture-perfect life unravels. Heartbroken and in need of a...
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"Greyson attacked him?" Jo asks as she places a chicken salad sandwich in front of a customer.
"I mean, technically yes, but..." I swivel around Jo and grab a plate containing a patty melt and a mixed green salad, and a cup of chicken noodle soup from Chuck's hands and set them in front of Mrs. Waldie, my high school cheerleading coach who has long since retired. "I don't condone violence, but Will asked for it. He's good at reading people, so he knew exactly what to say to get Greyson to lose control, and it worked."
"What did he say?"
"Long story short, he said all the terrible things Greyson already thinks about himself. Then he said some stuff about me I'd rather not repeat in public, and Greyson snapped." I refill Mrs. Waldie's sweet tea and give her a friendly smile, hoping to God she hasn't been paying attention to our conversation. "I think anyone would have."
Jo and I move around each other like a choreographed dance, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think we've been working at this diner together our whole lives.
"Was it scary?" she asks. She rests one hand on the metal shelf separating the kitchen from the dining room and cups her mouth with the other. "Paint a bow-wow red and burn one, take it through the garden and put a rose on it! Oh, and give it shoes!"
"Josette." Chuck sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his chubby fingers. "Just say you need a hot dog with ketchup and a burger with everything on it, to go! No one understands your diner lingo!"
She giggles and waves him off as she grabs more plates than I'll ever be able to carry, easily handing them off to eager and happy patrons. "I keep offering to give you lessons, Chuckie."
"Is it weird if I say it was hot?" I ask, answering Jo's question.
"Not at all." She stops in front of me and places her hands on my shoulders. "I read Mafia erotica. I know exactly what you mean."
I pile used silverware and dirty napkins onto empty plates and carry them into the kitchen, dropping them into the sink and smiling to myself as I remember the way Greyson protected me in a way Will never had. He stood up for me when Will degraded my character. He took care of me. He took a risk when he threw the first punch, but he's reiterated that he doesn't regret it and he'll accept whatever consequences may come, because, and I quote, 'No one fucks with his girl.'
"Is Will going to press charges?" Jo asks, the minute I step back into the dining room.
"I have no idea. Will's vindictive and his ego got bruised, but we're in the middle of a divorce where I'm claiming there was adultery. Does he really want to take on an assault case? Plus, my parents' ring camera picked up the conversation, and the way he grabbed me, twice. He can try and claim Greyson was unprovoked, but the video will say otherwise."
"Good." Jo rests her elbows on the counter, taking advantage of the first lull in customers we've had since we opened. "What was it like seeing him?"
What was it like? Awkward. Irritating. A little upsetting, but not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. Maddening that he not only had the nerve to show his face, especially after the way he ended things, but also demanded I go back to New York without even having a conversation about it.
