Spencer Hernandez is a kind-hearted firefighter in Haughville, Indiana. After working his long 24 hour shifts, he goes to diner where he spends time with her.
Between her gorgeous face and fast wit, Harper Kennedy is the woman of Spencer's dreams...
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"You look sad, Spence," Reed commented as he rubbed chalk on the tip of the pool cue.
"I'm okay," I replied as I walked around the table, gathering balls to rack.
"Still bummed about Harper, huh?"
"I guess."
"I'm sorry, man."
I didn't want to make a big deal of it. I worried if I did, I'd fall apart. It was one thing not to be able date Harper. I was used to that. To not see her, talk to her, laugh with her... that was hard.
"It's fine," I said.
"Not a word from her?"
Reed grabbed the white call and placed it on the table. He lined up the shot and pulled his arm back, then pushed it forward so his cue connected with the ball. I watched as the white ball scattered the colored ones across the table. The solid purple ball sat dangerously close to one of the pockets. I thought it would go in, but it didn't. I looked at the position of the white ball and smiled. I knew I could get it.
"To be honest–" I walked around to where I could get a good shot. "I haven't really tried to see if she will talk." I lined up where I wanted. "I figure space is the best thing right now." I hit the white ball, and it pushed the purple one into the pocket.
"I guess your solids," Reed said.
I smiled proudly as I strutted around and looked for my next shot. I noticed green and burgundy were in good positions. I lined up the shot.
"How did you do that at breakfast?"
I hit the green and burgundy balls, but neither went into a pocket.
"I didn't go," I admitted. "I already miss Dorothy's breakfasts.
"Go get them," Reed said. "The diner is a public place." He lifted his cue to the white ball.
I could tell his plan was to hit the yellow striped ball. It wasn't necessarily a guaranteed sink, but it wasn't a difficult one, either. The real problem for Reed was that he was a terrible pool player.
"It feels disrespectful," I said. "I–" I stopped talking to allow Reed to take his shot. He hit the ball he wanted and then, with a smug smirk, walked around the table with his chest out.
"What were you saying?" Reed asked.
"I want to give her space," I finished my sentence.
"That's fair," Reed said as he lined up another shot.
He hit and sunk two more. Was I so depressed about Harper that Reed Walton was playing pool better than me?
"I thought so," I replied as I watched him get ready to go again. "Of course, I'd love to have her back in my life in some capacity. I'm not about to force it, though."
