Distinguished Service

“Sure,” he said instead.

“Tell me when …”

She began spraying …

And spraying …

Covering what remained in all of the pie pans.

“When?” she asked.

“Huh?”

She stopped spraying and laughed. The sound was deep and husky … and made him want to kiss her all the more.

“I was waiting for you tell me when.”

He chuckled and switched his attention to the cherry pie, taking an extra-big bite to assuage the growing desire to run his fingers up her knee, which was left nicely bare by her skirt.

“So tell me about the other guy,” he said.

She held a hand under her cream-dripping fork as she moved it toward his mouth. “What guy?”

He began to refuse the bite of chocolate marshmallow pie, or rather her offering of it, then did the opposite by opening his mouth instead.

“The one at the counter panting after you all night,” he said with his mouth half full.

“Dustin? Dustin doesn’t pant. He moons.” The smile eased from her face and she suddenly avoided his gaze.

Then she appeared to make her mind up about something and her expression opened up again.

She brushed her hands together then went to the register, taking out a handful of change. The jukebox had gone silent while they talked.

“Any requests?”

“B-17.”

She laughed.

He liked that she got the reference.

“Who sang that song?” she asked. “No, wait … don’t tell me. I’ll get it.”

“I’d tell you if I knew. Female, I know that.”

“Olivia Newton-John.”

“Yeah … yeah. I think you’re right.”

She made her selections then came to sit down again. “I know I’m right. B-17 is the song.”

They shared a laugh as she picked up her fork again.

God, but he couldn’t remember a time he’d enjoyed an evening more. Her easygoing demeanor, sexy smile and revitalizing openness made Geneva great company.

And, he hoped, great in bed.

“So, does it always get that insane in this place?” he asked.

“You’d be surprised by how popular Meat loaf Mondays are.” She smiled and licked her fork. “It’s usually pretty busy all the time, but right now the flu is knocking down a few more staff than usual.” She sipped her milk, reminding him of a kitten lapping cream. “Well, that and blind dates.”

“Excuse me?”

“One of the missing waitresses had a blind date, I guess. At least that’s the rumor.” She toyed with a bit of crust. “I hope it’s not true or Trudy might fire her.”

“Can she afford to?”

“Afford to or not, she will. Trudy’s funny that way. You could break every glass in the place, but if you’re honest and here on time, she’ll keep you on.”

“I’m thinking honesty is important in a business of this nature.”

“Yeah.” The song changed from an upbeat to a slow tune on the jukebox. “So how long are you in town?”

“A week.”

The reminder of why he was back here was enough to loosen the fit of his pants a bit, but not much.

“You staying with family?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Bunking at the motel on University. You?”

“I live here.”

He chuckled. “Right. Sorry.”

“My mom and I did live together for a while, though …”

Something in her voice captured his attention.

She cleared her throat. “She passed a little over two months ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Damn. Talk about a pants-loosening change in conversation.

“Thanks. She was sick for a long time. Lymphoma. She was diagnosed shortly after she moved here.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

They ate in silence for a while.