What would our first date look like?
“Just because you’re hangry doesn’t mean you get to be mean,” he says with mock offense.
Taking in his wide eyes, downturned lips, and hand placed over his heart, I can’t help but laugh. I quickly lift my coffee mug to my mouth to hide my rogue lips from smiling.
“Very funny,” I whisper, rolling my eyes for the umpteenth time today. We’ve been together for what, an hour? I don’t think either of us have gotten a word in edgewise without teasing.
If he really liked me, he wouldn’t make fun of me so much.
That’s in direct contradiction with one of my dad’s favorite “no boys allowed” lectures. When boys tease you, that means they like you, Maren. But I shut his voice out of my head with a scalding sip of coffee. That’s only my subconscious, trying to salvage a crush that’s two decades stale. No, Dad. When a boy teases you, he’s just teasing you.
When a server appears, we place our orders. I ask for my usual French toast with a side of fruit, and Hayes settles for scrambled egg whites with spinach. We’re creatures of habit, so when Hayes asks for a side of pancakes, my eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.
“I’ve had a rough morning, okay? First, I practically got thrown out of a window. Then I discover that you’re deathly ill.” When I scoff, he levels me with a pleading glare. “I deserve this. Okay?”
His tone is stern, begging me to disagree with him. Not that I would. Eating a carb once in a while won’t kill him, despite what he might think.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you eat pancakes in a decade.”
Hayes is pretty vigilant about his physique, which shows to an annoying degree. Meanwhile, I could probably find room in my bottomless belly for both of our meals. Especially if I could lick the syrup off of his—
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Hayes mumbles into his coffee, his eyebrows waggling. He’s trying to be silly, but it’s undeniably sexy.
I cross my legs, self-conscious about the ache between my thighs. “Can we not do this for like five minutes?” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest.
Hayes lifts an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Play games. Tease, make fun, et cetera.” I’m the one mumbling now. I’m known to start a fight and then wave the white flag of surrender within the first round. I’ve always been a peacemaker. It’s just my personality. “Can we just be nice to each other?”
“Okay, we can do that. We can be nice.” Hayes sits up straighter and whips his cloth napkin off the table, the silverware inside clattering everywhere, just to tuck it into his shirt collar.
I snort with laughter, covering my face and praying that no one in this diner is staring.
He waves my napkin in front of my face. I snatch it with a giggle, tucking it into the neckline of my polo.
“Tell me, Miss Maren, how are you on this fine morning?”
“Is this supposed to make us feel proper? Because I just feel dumb.”
“You’ve never looked better. How’s work?”
I don’t have time to react to his compliment. My smile falls into a solemn frown. “It’s okay.”
“It doesn’t . . . look okay.” Whether he means to or not, Hayes matches my frown, his forehead furrowed with deep lines of concern. He pulls the napkin from his collar, then reaches to pull mine out too. Suddenly, the joke is over. “What’s wrong, dove? Talk to me.”
I sigh. I haven’t told anyone about this yet. I guess it’s fitting it should be Hayes. How can I say no to those honey-colored eyes?
“There was a meeting at Riverside yesterday morning. I guess one of the big donors we usually count on to make a yearly contribution decided to give it to the art museum instead. Which is, like, great for the art museum. They need money too. But . . .”
“Is Riverside going to be okay?” he asks, knowing how important it is to me.
I shrug, blinking back tears. “I don’t know. The meeting was so serious. Usually, Peggy brings coffee cake or something, but yesterday . . . she was wrecked. I could tell she’d been up all night, crying. They outright told us to start looking for other jobs.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Now there’s snot dripping from my nose, so I wipe it away with the cloth napkin.
Hayes reaches across the table, almost as if he’s going to take my hand. But his fingers halt inches from mine. Close, but not close enough.
Sadness stews deep inside me, ready to bulldoze right through me again.
In that moment, our server reappears with plates of steaming food that make my mouth water. I wipe my tears away with a sheepish smile, accepting my plate. It smells delicious, and as I inhale, my sadness fades.
“Note to self. If Maren is sad, bring her sweet things,” Hayes says with a chuckle.
I don’t even care that he’s making fun of me again, because these pancakes are amazing. And as concerned as I am about Riverside, I know worrying right now won’t solve anything.
But that place is so much more than just a job to me. It’s almost like a second home. And I do it all, whatever needs to be done . . . answer phones, return emails, follow up on insurance claims, the list goes on. But my favorite thing to do is to talk with the residents. Find out their stories.
“Hey,” Hayes says, pulling my attention from my plate until I refocus on the man across from me, whose expression is strange. Beneath the concern, there’s something like . . . determination? “We’re going to figure this out. I’ll help you save Riverside.”
I blink back my surprise. “Are you actually going to help me?”
“I said I would. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“This isn’t going to be like that time you ditched me at the movies to go get some with Missy Carter?” I smirk at him.
“Okay, I did ditch you, but back then, seventeen-year-old me
