He walks right up to me behind the counter, hooks an arm around my waist, and plants a solid kiss on my mouth.
“Merry Christmas, Sunshine,” he mumbles, rubbing his nose along mine.
“Merry Christmas, honey.”
The endearment slips from my lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and it is. It doesn’t go unnoticed as Gray’s light-blue eyes flare before they crinkle with a smile.
“Barring any emergencies, I’m hanging around until you’re done and then I’m taking you home.”
Now I’m smiling too, forgetting where I am as I lift up on my toes and press my lips to his. The promise in his words making my skin tingle.
“You’ll get bored,” I warn him, but he shakes his head.
“Not a chance. I’ll be watching you.”
“First order coming up!” Jason calls out, and slides a plate on the pass-through from the kitchen.
“You better take a seat,” I tell Gray. “I’ve got dinner to put on the table.”
I grab the plate Jason left and walk to Mrs. Chapman’s table, watching from the corner of my eye as Enzo calls Gray over to their table.
“Here you go, Mrs. Chapman. Bon appétit.”
“Thank you, dear.” She smiles up at me and covers her lap with the paper napkin like it’s the finest linen.
The service bell rings and another couple of plates appear on the ledge.
“Add one more full order, Jason. Gray just walked in.”
“Sure thing.”
I grab the plates and turn to serve Eddie and Enzo when I notice Gray is not sitting with them, like I expected, but is sliding into the booth across from Mrs. Chapman. The glow on her face is unmistakable.
As if I needed another reason to fall for the man.
Gray
“About time you come to see me, Gray Bennet.”
She says it in the stern voice I remember so well.
Mrs. Chapman, my high school English teacher. It was well over thirty years ago, yet I still remember the first time I walked into class. The short, middle-aged woman had looked like a sure pushover for the cocky, rebellious little shit I was back then. Boy, did I get it wrong. She ruled that classroom with an iron fist and actually got me reading my first book.
1984 by George Orwell.
I’ll never forget my surprise when I finished the novel in one weekend. I devoured it. When I brought it back to her on that Monday, she just smiled knowingly and told me I shouldn’t hide my light under a bushel. I had no fucking idea what she meant until much later.
I started reading everything I could get my hands on in high school. Thrived, got great marks, made it on the honor roll in my final year and was accepted to the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. It was supposed to be my way out, but my father soon put a stop to that.
Things had been shit at home for years. Mom tried, but there was little she could do to please my father, especially when he’d been drinking. She’d been so happy for me when I got my acceptance letter, but my father thought it was a waste of time. It was the first of many on that subject. Mom wasn’t one to provoke his anger but she went to bat for me on that. Until one day I came home to him beating her, and I had to drag him off her.
She wouldn’t think of leaving, though, so needless to say I didn’t go to college.
“Lost your tongue?”
Her voice snaps me out of my head and into the present.
“Sorry, Mrs. Chapman.”
“As you should be,” she says, but she does it smiling. “How have you been? Since coming back to town, I mean.”
“Adjusting.”
“I noticed,” she says with a meaningful look at Robin.
“Your dinner’s getting cold.”
My attempt to distract her is futile. The woman may look meek, but she’s sharp as a knife.
“It’s not polite to eat until everyone’s been served,” she reminds me, just as Robin walks over.
She slides a steaming plate it in front of me and gives my shoulder a little squeeze before she moves to the next table.
“Now we can eat. Merry Christmas, young Mr. Bennet.”
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Chapman,” I rumble, returning her smile.
We eat in silence, aside from a few comments about the amazing meal. I’m done first and let my gaze drift over the diner. Someone made an effort to make it look homey, with a candle in a small centerpiece on each of the tables, garland with clusters of balls along the edge of the counter, and soft Christmas music playing in the background.
I catch the eye of Enzo, sitting two tables over, who nods when he sees me. When I came in he invited me to sit with them, but then I saw Mrs. Chapman sitting alone and decided to sit with her. Robin crosses my line of vision, and I can’t help but watch her make her way from table to table, the soft sway of her hips like a magnet.
“She was watching you earlier.”
I snap my head back to my old teacher, who places her cutlery neatly side by side across her empty plate.
“That so?”
“You’re both smitten,” she concludes.
“So it would seem.”
She tilts her head to the side and scrutinizes me.
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
“For?”
“That woman deserves it all, Gray, are you ready to give her that? Because I know that’s what she’ll give you.” When I open my mouth to answer she lifts a hand to stop me. “You don’t owe me an answer. I just wanted to you to think about it.”
“I don’t have to,” I grumble, but that only makes her smile. She’s still not impressed by my attitude.
“Now,” she suddenly changes the subject. “Read anything good lately?”
We spend a few minutes discussing books when the
