Page 25 of Hard Check
“I look like I slept in my car.”
Dawson’s gaze traveled from Leo’s hair to his wrinkled collar and back up. “Nobody in there’s going to care.”
“I care.”
“I know you do.” Dawson was already walking toward the entrance. He hadn’t changed either, but Dawson was the type of guy who was comfortable in a t-shirt that accentuated every muscle and faded, stained jeans. Leo fell into step beside him and tried to stop touching his hair.
Maria’s was small. Eight tables, four booths along the windows, a counter with a register, and an empty glass case that probably held slices during the lunch rush. Red-and-white checkered tablecloths. A jukebox in the corner, likely original to the building and older than anyone working there. A woman behind the counter called out, “Sit anywhere, hon,” without looking up from the pizza she was boxing.
Leo headed for a booth near the window, then changed course to a two-top against the wall. Smaller. Closer. He sat before he could think about why he’d made that choice, and Dawson pulled out the chair across from him without comment. The table was small enough that their knees bumped underneath, Dawson’s leg solid against Leo’s, and neither of them moved.
Dawson picked up the menu, scanned it for about two seconds, and set it back down. “The margherita’s good. So’s the sausage and pepper.”
“You didn’t even open your menu yet.”
“It hasn’t changed since we started coming here when I was twelve.”
Leo glanced at the menu again. Half the items had names that felt like inside jokes: the Lakeshore Special, the Packer Backer, something called the Full Pull that was just a pizza with everything on it. “What’s the Full Pull?”
“Everything. It’s a lot.”
“I’m hungry.”
Dawson’s mouth twitched. Not a smile, but close, on a face that didn’t give them away for free. “Then get the Full Pull.”
The woman from the counter came over. She was maybe sixty, aproned, her gray hair pulled back in a clip. Her eyes landed on Dawson, and her whole face changed. “Dawson Mercer. Haven’t seen you in here on a weeknight in forever.”
“Been busy.”
“Well, your brother’s keeping us in business with the calzones, so at least one Mercer’s showing up.”
She patted his shoulder and turned to Leo. “I’m Maria. Don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”
“Leo. I’m, uh, new in town.”
“I figured. I know all my regulars.” She pulled a pen from behind her ear. “What can I get you, boys?”
They ordered. One Full Pull, two Spotted Cows. She went back to the counter, and the quiet settled in.
This was the part Leo was bad at. Not the talking—he could talk to a wall and make it interesting. The part where he wanted the other person to talk back. Dawson sat with his forearms on the checkered cloth, fingers laced, at ease with the quiet. Leowatched the tendons shift when he moved his hands. Grease in the creases of his knuckles that soap couldn’t reach.
“So,” Leo said. “You’ve really been coming here since you were a kid?”
“It was a family tradition. Mom and Dad used to bring us after church on Sundays.”
Leo waited for more. Dawson took a sip from his water glass that had appeared at some point and didn’t elaborate. Right. This was going to be work.
“What’d you get? When you were a kid.”
“Pepperoni. Every time.” Dawson set the glass down. “We took turns picking. Wyatt always got sausage, I always got pepperoni, and Ethan changed his mind every week and then spent the whole meal saying he should’ve picked something else.”
Leo grinned. “Let me guess—middle brother.”
Interest flickered across Dawson’s face. “How’d you know that?”
“Only child. I spent a lot of time watching other people’s families.” He hadn’t meant to say that, and he covered it with a drink of his beer. “Ethan sounds like every middle kid I’ve ever met.”
He’d meant it to be light. It came out with an edge he hadn’t intended, and he watched Dawson register it. Those brown eyes held steady, and Leo could feel the next question forming, the obvious one, the one that would open a door Leo kept bolted shut.
