The inside of the diner matched the outside perfectly: big, orange bench seats in the booths, cute orange stools at the counter. The walls were painted green and orange. Bright pictures hung on the walls of various objects: faces, landscapes, flowers, all in bold colors, outlined in black.

A cute, middle-aged waitress came to seat us. She was much older than me, but her body was still in great shape and she worked what God gave her, swinging her hips in her flared white skirt. Why they made servers wear white, I’d never know.

She handed us the menus and a smile, then swayed on back to her station. “Isn’t she hot?” I asked Dean, who was currently too absorbed in his menu to notice any females in a one mile radius.

He answered with a, “Hmm.” Whatever the heck that meant. Someday I’d get him to wake up and realize there were still women on this Earth.

“Is it bad that I want one of everything? This menu looks delicious.” And it did. Big, old-fashioned milkshakes, hamburgers, baskets of fries, fried chicken—pretty much everything a great ’50s wannabe diner would have. Yum. I kept flipping the pages, even though I already knew what I wanted. Dean didn’t seem so sure. He ate pretty healthy, and in this kind of place, good luck finding something to order that wasn’t covered in grease.

He eventually sighed loudly, shut his menu, and slammed it on the table in frustration. Poor guy. He took care of himself. One look at his body and anyone knew that. I was sure he worked out regularly, too. Many times, I’d seen him in the warehouse, picking up heavy stuff in a tight T-shirt. You could see pretty clearly how ripped he was.

Too bad he seemed oblivious to female attention. “She was practically throwing herself at you. Why don’t you throw her a bone?” I whispered loudly, shoving the arm he was leaning on. He frowned at me, shaking his head.

“You think every woman I walk by wants me,” he said, leaning back in his seat, more relaxed now.

“That’s because they do. You’re just too blind to see it.”

“You ready to tell me what happened?” he suddenly blurted out without warning. I felt my cheeks heat up. My heart started racing again. Get out, get out, get out, it pumped. Listening to my heart, I slid out of the booth.

“Be right back,” I told him with a fake smile before I dashed off to the ladies’ room.

It was way too bright for me in the restroom. The glare was painful. I squinted, covering my eyes while I found a stall.

The mirror taunted me as I washed my hands. I’d decided not to bother looking in it. What was the point? The meeting was over. It wasn’t like Dean cared what I looked liked. But it was just too tempting, so I gazed up, checking myself out.

Hmm, not too bad. Not too good either, but way better than I expected to look after what I woke up to. The swelling was nearly gone. My heart and soul were still crushed—anyone could see that—but at least I would no longer scare young children and pets. I did a touch-up anyway before heading back to our booth.

Dean gazed up at me skeptically. I knew he was waiting for a response. An answer I was not ready to give him. “I screwed up. Big time. Can I tell you about it on the way home? It’s just too colorful and happy in here. I’m still on a shopping high, and I really need to eat something. It feels like forever since I ate.”

He didn’t argue with me. Instead, we discussed the meeting. If Dean was one thing, it was positive. Even when the cards were stacked against him, he always found the bright side of a situation.

We spoke about work until a huge basket of fries with a juicy hamburger was plunked right in front of me. The fried smell drifted directly up my nose. Right on cue, my mouth immediately began to water. “But I didn’t order?”

“Ordered for you. Wasn’t sure you’d ever get out of the bathroom,” he told me as he picked up a fry, examining it.

“It’s a French fry, Dean, not a deadly weapon of mass destruction,” I sneered, a bit pissed off that he took it upon himself to order for me. Of course, it was exactly what I wanted, but still.

“Look,” he reached across the table and grabbed my arm, “you were starving to death, so I took a risk. If you want something else, I’ll get it.” Jerk. Being all thoughtful and nice.

“No.” I sighed. “I’m tired and bitchy. Don’t mind me.” I stared into his worried face. “Thanks for the burger.” No sooner had I taken a bite than the cute waitress was back with the biggest strawberry milkshake I’d ever seen. Anything could be cured by a good milkshake.

I sucked up one delicious mouthful, instantly feeling better. “This is exactly what I needed,” I said into the vat of pink, milky, rich goodness and took a few more sips. Delicious.

Dean smirked at me, French fry still in his hand. Finally, he took a bite, frowning. I’d never met anyone quite as averse to junk food as he was. Who didn’t like fries? He looked at me again, knowing I was watching him carefully.

“It was the closest thing to a vegetable they had on the menu,” he said, swallowing down the one bite of fry with his water. The ice clinked around in his glass, sloshing forward when he set it back down. The whole scene tickled my funny bone. If you added in the lack of sleep and complete starvation, well, that just spelled disaster.

I started laughing, really hard. Like can’t-breathe-your-ribs-hurt hard. Then the tears came and didn’t stop. While I was sobbing into my perfect milkshake, Dean got up and grabbed the waitress. He came back to our table, picked up my purse, then pulled me up and out of the diner in one fell swoop. Turning back, I gave my perfect milkshake one last longing look as he dragged me out.

Before I knew it, we were both in the back seat of his truck, his window down, me clinging to him like a monkey to her long-lost mother. “Honey, it’ll be okay. What happened?” He stroked my hair in a rhythmical motion. Damn, it was comforting. “I can help. We can fix this,” he murmured into the top of my hair, because he was a loving, caring person, and I was a terrible, awful, lying witch. The tears started to flow uncontrollably again. Dean handed me more tissues.

Just then there was a knock on Dean’s side of the truck. We both turned to the open window. There was our waitress standing with what I presumed was our food all packed up. What an angel.

“Thanks, we really appreciate it,” he said brusquely before handing her some cash. He leaned around me, setting the food on the seat. I didn’t know what I’d do without him.

I calmed myself down as much as I could. “I screwed up, Dean. Bad.” Then I gave him the shortened version of what went on yesterday, with a few sobs and nose blowings thrown in for good measure.

“Why’d you lie? That’s not like you at all. You’re as straight-up as they come,” he inquired, squeezing me tight.

“I figured it’d be easier than having to explain about Jared. We barely know each other. I didn’t want to complicate things.”

“And then he shows up with Mr. Wonderful, right on your doorstep,” he said, starting to chuckle, his chest bouncing my head up and down.

I raised my head up, glaring at him. “What the hell?” I snapped back, wondering why the heck the end of my love life was so freaking hilarious.

“You don’t see the humor in that?” He peered down at me with a questioning look in his eyes. I kept on scowling at him. “I guess not. Well, one day you will, trust me. One day we will sit down to a beer and laugh our asses off at it. But not today.”

“Not today,” I grumbled, leaning back in his arms.

“Look, all you need to do is talk to him. Grovel. Apologize your ass off and bake him some of your apple pies. No man can resist your apple pies, honey.”

“He won’t even answer my calls. How am I going to apologize? And I don’t have his address. How stupid. We always just—uh, hung out at my house.” Again, Dean started laughing. Louder this time. “What is your problem?” I asked, pushing off his chest. “This isn’t funny.”

He wiped his eyes and choked out, “You are hilarious. And if this idiot doesn’t see what a wonderful person you are, then that’s his problem.”

“Um, it’s kinda my problem, too, if I can’t even get a hold of him.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said, grabbing my shoulders. “Look, we all make mistakes and regret shit we’ve said and done. You’re human, too. You’ll find him, apologize...‘hang out’ and everything will be fine.”

I hoped he was right.

“Now, tell me about your appointment. You haven’t said a word about it.”

I sighed and then told him all about my appointment. Needless to say, I needed more tissues.