MONDAY AT THE diner is the same as every other morning. The oil workers come in, stare at their phones, order food, watch the commodities ticker, eat, and leave. A couple in matching Roswell alien hats sit at table five, Boone’s table. He hasn’t shown up yet. After his cold behavior at Pete’s on Friday, maybe he’s decided to get his breakfast somewhere else.
I’m busing a table when a familiar dirty, gray truck pulls into a spot right in front of the windows.
Boone strolls in, glances over at his regular table, then takes a seat at the counter like he did last week.
No baseball cap or trucker hat today. He removes his sunglasses and sets them next to the placemat along with his phone. Screen down. And he doesn’t stare at the television. What’s even more unsettling is he’s staring at me, tracking me as I move through the tables.
“Morning, Lucy,” he says when I stop in front of him to fill his cup.
“Boone.” I’m not sure where we stand.
“What are the specials?” He meets my eyes with a small curve of his lips.
“It’s Monday. Blueberry pancakes, smothered breakfast burrito, or biscuits and gravy.” I set the coffee pot back on its warmer and pick up the pitcher of water. “Or you could just have pecan pancakes like you normally do.”
“Trying to break out of my routine. Be open to new things.” His smile spreads as he fiddles with his knife.
“Don’t go too crazy.” I don’t return his happy expression.
“May I have the blueberry pancakes, please?” He glances down and then meets my eyes. “With a side of apology for my behavior on Friday.”
“Sure.” I’m half turned to give his order to Tony when the second part of his sentence clicks in my brain. I set down the water pitcher next to his coffee. “Excuse me?”
“Blueberry pancakes, please?” He taps his finger on the knife like he’s nervous.
“Got that part.” Staring at Boone, I ignore a man making a check sign across the room.
Focusing on his hands, he inhales and blows out his cheeks like apologizing isn’t something he does often. “I’m sorry for being rude to you at Pete’s. I thought Shari was meddling and let my annoyance at her spill over to you.”
“You accused me of stalking you.” My eyebrows draw together in confusion.
“It was a shock to see you away from the diner. And with Shari,” he says, meeting my eyes.
Over his shoulder, the impatient customer snaps his fingers. Snapping is one of my biggest pet peeves.
Searching in my apron, I find the check for the rude man. “Be right back.”
I put in Boone’s order, drop off the check, and clear a table while processing Boone’s apology.
Whenever I glance over at him, he’s watching me, cautious optimism in his eyes.
“Can I get some water?” a woman at table six asks me when I walk by.
“Sure thing.”
Only the water pitcher isn’t in its spot when I go to grab it. Wanda’s standing with a group of regulars and has one of the waters, but we should have two. Confused, I stare at the tray where it should be.
“Looking for this?” Boone asks, pointing to the pitcher in front of him.
“Thanks,” I tell him, and quickly walk away.
Boone sitting at the counter, being nice, and apologizing is throwing me off my routine. He’s table five. Grumpy, silent, handsome lover of pecans. Not the man who’s occupying a stool and ordering blueberry pancakes. And asking for forgiveness.
Tony calls out his order and I’m forced to face Boone again.
“Pancakes.” I set down the plate and a bottle of syrup. My eyes flick to his. “And apology accepted.”
His face crinkles with a genuine smile that makes his green eyes sparkle. “Really? You’re not going to write me off for being a jerk?”
“You sound like you’re surprised. Maybe I should change my mind.” I lift my eyebrows, challenging him to tell me I’m making a mistake.
He touches my wrist, sending sparks of warmth up my arm. “No, please don’t. I’m not always an asshole.”
“Part-time asshole? Or do you have a timeshare on being a jerk?” I ask, not quite ready to let his behavior go even though I’ve accepted his apology.
“More of a lease option.” He grins at me.
Tony slaps the bell in the window, announcing orders are waiting.
“Good to know. I have customers.” I step back and he drops his hand. Walking away, I can still feel the sensation of his palm on my skin.
Wanda and I meet up at the drink station. With our backs to the room, she bumps her hip against mine.
“Now that was flirting and don’t you try to deny it.” She winks at me.
Ignoring her shimmy, I fight my smile as I fill an order.
“He’s a handsome one. Although I think he’s better looking with the mustache. Reminds me of a lover I had in the eighties who looked just like Tom Selleck. Hubba hubba.” A smudge of pink frosted lipstick shows on her teeth when she laughs.
“You have a little lipstick.” I pretend to rub my finger over my teeth.
“Oops. No wonder those young oil guys were staring at my mouth. I thought they were flirting with me.”
Apparently, everything is flirting to Wanda.
Boone’s doodling on a napkin when I walk by with the coffee pot. For a brief second, I fantasize he’s writing his phone number for me. After his cold behavior at Pete’s, he’s done a one-eighty this morning. I’m not sure where we stand, but I think Wanda’s been right about the flirting.
Glancing down at his hand, I bobble the pot of coffee I’m holding. I feel it slip from my grasp and attempt to catch it with my other hand. This only causes me to slam the bottom and change the trajectory of the liquid from down to up, and out.
With my eyes closed, I cringe and wait for the inevitable splash on Boone. Except the yelp of pain I expect from him comes out as deep laughter.
Slowly peeling open one eyelid, I squint at him in dread. Mentally I’m prepared for his back to be doused in coffee. Instead, he’s spun his stool sideways, his large hands gripping the side of the coffee pot. There’s not a splash or a drop of liquid on him, the counter, or the floor.
“How’s that possible?” I ask the coffee pot.
“What?” he asks, a grin shining on his too handsome face.
“I felt the pot drop and was sure it would splash all over you.”
“Must’ve caught it in time.” He sets the pen down and continues to smile at me.
“You were facing the other way. I—” I have no words. Staring at his doodle, I nearly drop the pot again.
“Maybe you should set that down.” He lifts the pot out of my reach, refills his cup, and places the coffee on the counter. “You feeling okay?”
“What is that?” I find my voice and point to the group of symbols he’s doodled on the napkin.
As if seeing it for the first time, his eyes widen and he sweeps up the paper before folding it. “Nothing. Random Minkowski diagrams.”
Opening his wallet, he tucks the napkin inside and pulls out cash. Holding it out to me, he waves it to get my attention. “Here you go.”
I’m still staring at the spot on the counter where Boone was doodling the same symbol I drew on my boob. I have no idea who Minkowski is, but I make a note to look up the name when I get home.
There’s no way he saw it through my shirt at Pete’s. Gotta be a coincidence. Has to be. I glance down at my chest to double-check the drawing is gone. No trace of black ink peeks out from my V-neck.
It’s not a complicated design. Kind of like a ship’s wheel, only missing a couple of lines. I’m sure a lot of people draw circles and spokes coming out of them. Like a kid’s drawing of a sun with an extra circle.
“Earth to Lucy.” His voice sounds far away.
Blinking a few times, I bring myself back to the present. “Sorry. Uh, thanks for the tip.”
Accepting the bills, I stuff them into my apron. I don’t bother checking the amount. Because like every other time, he’ll have tipped twenty percent.
“Gotta get to work.” He pauses. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod, still lost in figuring out if it’s the same pattern.
“I, uh . . .” He stops speaking.
Glancing up at him, I find he’s staring at me, concern all over his face.
“Maybe we can hang out some time? Other than here.”
His eyes are more green than amber today. As I focus on his eyes, his pupils widen and I swear the color of his irises shifts more to green. Must be the fluorescent lights in here mixing with the sunlight.
“Sure?” My voice turns my answer into a question.
Tony’s voice yelling, “Order up,” snaps me out of my brain haze.
“No rest for the weary.” I pick up the coffee pot and head toward the kitchen.
“See you tomorrow, Lucy.”
Something about hearing my name formed by his lips ignites a blush on my cheeks.
“You too, Boone.”
He flashes his too beautiful smile at me right before he walks out the door.
I’m in trouble.
Falling for him is not part of my plan.
When Mom died, she left me alone in a house filled with ghosts and a mortgage we took out to cover her medical care. No way I could pay for student loans and a house on a retail job. Selling became my only option.
Turns out the real estate market in a forgotten town isn’t hot. Took me almost a year to sell the house with three price drops. When the realtor finally presented me with the lowball offer that wouldn’t require me to declare bankruptcy, I took it. First thing, I paid off all the remaining debts. Her small life insurance went toward my student loans.
Essentially, I’m broke again, but out of debt.
I guess that’s a silver lining.
With just enough to make a rainy day fund, I packed up and drove out of town in my dumpy old car stuffed to the roof with the few possessions I wanted to keep.
Among them, Dad’s beloved copy of the Zane Grey book. I can picture it sitting on my bookshelf in my apartment.
After finishing my shift, I drive home, thinking about the symbol and possible reasons why Boone would doodle it.
Dropping my bag on the kitchen counter, I head straight for the worn binding of West of the Pecos in the bookcase.
I slip the book off the shelf and curl up in the corner of my old red velvet love seat I bought at a garage sale when I first moved here.
Apologies to Mr. Grey, but I’m not interested in reading his western tale. I’m looking for my old doodles. The ones I drew in Dad’s collection to make the books pretty when I was four or five and thought all books were coloring books.
Resting my palm on the cover the way someone who is about to swear an oath on the Bible would, I calm my breathing. The colorful dust jacket is long gone and the binding is loose enough the book wobbles in my hand as I hold it.
It’s impossible that Boone was drawing the same pattern I used to doodle.
Has to be.
Flipping the pages, I spot my messy pen drawings. Most are of people, probably portraits of my family. A few oddly shaped animals float above them.
There, in the middle of the title page, is a messier version of the symbol from the Center. A child’s version of what Boone drew on his check.
With shaking hands and a twisting feeling in my stomach, I close the book before I drop it.
It must be a common scientific symbol I’m not aware of. When I got home from the Center last week, I snapped a pic of the drawing on my chest. I can upload the pic and do a reverse image search on Google.
The first result is the radioactive symbol with its familiar three triangles in a circle.
Close, but not quite right.
A captain’s ship wheel also shows up in the results, but it has too many lines.
A shooting target has too few.
The closest to my drawing is a radar symbol.
Radioactive captain’s wheel radar target.
That doesn’t make sense.
While I’m searching, I enter “earth symbol” and click on the first link, which takes me to a Wikipedia page.
The graphic is a cross inside a circle. Next to it is a circle with a cross on the top, like an upside down symbol for a woman.
The circle encompassing the cross definitely matches the mystery icon.
Still doesn’t explain why this combination is something I drew as a kid, someone added in the margin of an article about crop circles, and Boone doodled.
I can’t make the connection.
Next I enter Minkowski in the search bar and find an article with an illustration of his spacetime diagram. It’s similar, but doesn’t have the circles. I try to understand his idea of four dimensions, but my brain glitches when I get to the formulas.
Strange thing to doodle on a napkin while eating pancakes.
Trusting my gut, I slip West of the Pecos between the family Bibles on the lowest shelf—more tucked away and out of sight than it was before.