Page 21 of What We Break
"You are terrible," she says, brushing past me.
"I am delightful," I counter, falling into step beside her. God she smells good. "Ask anyone."
5
LAINE
"This place looks like it hasn't been updated since 1975," I say as Reid holds the diner door open for me.
"I know, right? It's perfect." He's practically bouncing on his heels. "Wait until you try the pancakes. Life-changing. I'm talking spiritual experience. You're going to want to hug the cook."
The Sunrise Diner is exactly what you'd expect from a place called the Sunrise Diner. Red vinyl booths, black and white checkered floors, and a waitress who looks like she's taken absolutely no crap from anyone since the Reagan administration. The whole place smells like bacon grease and maple syrup and something fried that I can't identify but already want.
I love it immediately.
"Honey, you two want a booth or counter?" the waitress calls from behind the coffee station.
"Booth, please," Reid says.
She leads us to a corner booth, drops two menus on the table, and fills our coffee cups without asking. No pleasantries, no chitchat, just caffeine delivered with military efficiency. "I'll give you a minute."
Reid slides into the booth across from me, immediately grabbing the little container of creamers and stacking them into a pyramid. Hisleg is already bouncing under the table — I can feel the vibration through the floor. Does this man ever stop moving? Even sitting down he's got the energy of someone who's late for something.
I catch a blurry reflection of myself in the window and wince. My hair clip gave up hours ago. What's left is a dark blonde, wavy explosion around my face. Mascara? Migrated. Not full raccoon, but close enough to be concerning.
I shift in the seat, wiggling to get comfortable, and feel suddenly very soft and rumpled next to his sharp, buzzing energy.
You look like you lost a fight with your own shift. He looks like a recruitment poster. This is fine.
Not ideal for a first date. But the man watched me deal with fourteen hallucinating festival casualties and still came back to ask me out. So I'm going to do what I do best and pretend I'm not thinking about it.
I take a sip of coffee. It's strong enough to wake the dead, which is exactly what I need. My body is convinced it should be horizontal. My brain won't stop buzzing. And my stomach keeps doing this stupid fluttering thing every time Reid looks at me. Which is often. Because apparently he's really into eye contact.
And every time he does it, my cheeks get hot. Like a middle schooler. Like someone who has never been looked at by a man before. Very cool, Laine.
"So," I say, "do you bring all your first dates to places that smell like bacon grease and existential crisis?"
He grins, knocking over his creamer pyramid with his elbow. Doesn't even glance at it. "Only the special ones. Also, I'm starving. Like, genuinely concerned for my survival. If the pancakes don't come soon, you might have to perform CPR."
"Not a chance. I'm not filling out the paperwork for that."
"Cold. But I'd still trust you with my life." He says it lightly, but his eyes hold mine for a beat too long.
This man is dangerous. "Good to know I'm special."
"You are." Simple. Matter-of-fact. Like he's reporting the news.The sky is blue. You are special. More coffee?
I know it's dangerous. We've known each other one night. I'm notgoing to buy into the charm. I'm not. I swear. But is it so wrong to just want to enjoy it for a while?
"How long have you been a paramedic?" I ask, because if I don't change the subject I'm going to do something embarrassing like blush.
"'Bout five years. Took me a bit after I left the Marines to figure my shit out."
"That's why you handled alien guy so easily." How did I not pick up on that right away? I've worked with military medics in disaster zones — after the earthquake in the Philippines, after the flooding in Honduras. They move a certain way. Controlled and calm and deliberate, like their body already knows the plan before their brain catches up. Reid had that exact energy when Jake lunged at me.
Must have something to do with his beautiful hazel eyes that I was too busy staring into.
"Yeah. The skills come in handy sometimes." Reid takes a sip of his coffee. There's a scar across two of his knuckles. Faded. Old. How did he get that? I want to ask about it, but what if the story behind it is bad? I don't really want to step on any landmines this morning.
