I pushed myself hard during the last mile of my run. The morning air filled my lungs and sweat rolled down my back. “Good boy, Loki,” I called out to my dog as we rounded the last corner of the trail. He loved to run, but what dog doesn’t?
The clouds broke away and the sun rose from behind the mountains spilling yellow and orange hues through the trees. I wiped the sweat from my brow. “We’re almost home, boy.” The words came out through broken breaths as we jogged down the walkway to the back patio.
Once inside, Loki lapped up the water in his bowl and I stripped out of my sweat soaked clothes tossing them into the hamper in my laundry room. “A big drink is a good idea, buddy.”
As I guzzled down half a bottle of water, I scanned the schedule checking the times for the pre-season games. I trekked upstairs to the master suite making my way into the walk in shower. I flipped on the spray, rolling my neck under the hot water, relaxing the tense muscles in my shoulders.
It had been thirteen days since the inked woman with the best pair of legs that I’d ever seen showed up on my football field. I grabbed the bar of soap and ran it over my chest and arms thinking about her mouth. She was a woman who was tough, fiery, and in control. She was also the mother of one my players, and possibly future student. And that made her off-limits. I sucked in a breath, as I smoothed my hands over my wet hair.
I’ve had what felt like one-hundred of the same Saturdays. On this Saturday, I decided to do something I hadn’t done in a long time—change my routine. After my shower, I pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Instead of sitting in my house eating a bowl of cold cereal, I was going to treat myself to a Denver omelet and a hot cup of coffee, maybe two cups.
After grabbing my keys, I let Loki out to relieve himself before driving into town. I maneuvered my car through the small downtown and then pulled up to a locally owned diner that made the best omelets this side of the Mississippi river. At least that was my opinion.
“Hey, Coach,” Davis called out from his seated position at the counter.
“Morning, Davis,” I said, before grabbing a newspaper from the hostess stand. I walked over to where he was sitting with his parents and said hello. Brandt Davis was one of my most promising players and my star quarterback. If he continued to work hard, I envisioned that he’d end up playing in college at a top football program.
The hostess led me to a small booth in the back. Various patrons called out my name as we trekked through the small dining room. Nodding, I greeted each one of them with a cordial good morning or nice to see you.
The scent of apple-cinnamon and griddle fresh pancakes swirled around the room. “Wyatt Hamilton, welcome back to Mel’s,” Goldie, the head cook called out to me over the ringing bells signaling to a server that her order was up. Mel’s Diner was a local hot spot, and had been around since the late nineties. She pushed through the swinging saloon doors and greeted me with a warm hug. Her thick auburn hair smelled of syrup and bacon.
Minimal creases appeared around her blue eyes, when she smiled, it lit up the entire room. Squeezing my arms, she gave me a once over. “Haven’t seen you in here in a long time,” she asserted, lifting the coffee pot from the server’s station.
Before I could think of an excuse or formulate some response, a steaming mug was placed in front of me. “Are you doing okay?”
“Honestly, I have my days, but today I’m good. Thanks for asking.”
“Of course, I need to get back to the grill. I’ll get Hannah over here to take your order.”
“No rush, I’m going to read the paper and drink my coffee.”
“You got it.”
I scanned the diner, sipping my coffee slowly. I used to come here from time to time, but then I got stuck. Rarely wanted to leave the house unless it was for work or the things I had to do to function. I wasn’t living. I was existing.
The place was nearly the same as it was last time I was here, it had a comforting feeling. Feelings. I’d been analyzing my own feelings lately. I was beginning to realize that I wasn’t consumed by loneliness. Loneliness was the feeling that no one cares. No, I was alone. I’d been alone so long I was accepting loneliness as the norm and it was easy—too easy to become addicted to those feelings.
Returning my focus to the paper, I traced the rim of the mug with my finger.
“I see you got your coffee, now what can I get you to eat?”
That voice, I’d only heard it only once, but I knew it belonged to the blue-eyed beauty that made my heart hammer in my chest.