My heart thundered in my chest as if a herd of wild horses were stampeding through it. I pulled the pen and notepad from my apron pocket averting my gaze from the smolder in Wyatt Hamilton’s green eyes. “I see you got your coffee, now what can I get you to eat?”
Smirking, he leaned back into the booth, drawing his arm across the back. “What no greeting?”
This man did strange things to me. I tapped my pen to the notepad, heat rolling down my spine like lava. “Hello, Mister Hamilton. Now can I get your order, please?”
His eyes darted to my nametag. “I’d like the Denver omelet with toasted sourdough and a side of Mel’s famous hash browns, Hannah.”
I cleared my throat. “Oh, sorry, we don’t serve omelets after eleven.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean? I thought Mel’s served omelets until four in the afternoon.”
“Um, they used to, but that changed when the menu did a few months back.”
“Well, tell Goldie the omelet is for me,” he said, tapping his finger to the table. “I’m sure that she’d be happy to accommodate me this morning.”
This guy, I didn’t have time for his jokes. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that and tell a woman who’s been on her feet since four a.m. to prepare an omelet just for you. Now, tell me what you really want because I have a table ready to pay.”
He narrowed his eyes, his dark brows pinching together. “I already told you my order. Goldie will bend the rules for me, I’m her favorite customer—a regular.”
“You’re incredible,” I mumbled. What I really wanted to say was that he was arrogant.
“Thank you. I see that you’ve been working your social skills.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.” I leaned down so that we were face to face. “I’m sure that Goldie doesn’t make the rules so that you can break them. If you really wanted an omelet you would have been here before eleven. If you were a regular, you’d have known about the menu change and we wouldn’t be in this current predicament. You can either place a different order, or you can sit here and starve.”
Wyatt’s eyes flared and turned dark. Yeah, I told him and it served him right. I knew who he was, and after my son told me he was a big deal, I Googled him. Wyatt Hamilton, the former NFL player, quarterback—the golden god of Indianapolis. He’d taken the team to the Super Bowl, won the town’s second title and then left the sport. Under tragic circumstances, this man prevailed. He was a champion, but right now he was acting like an entitled asshole.
“Everything okay here?” Goldie asked, wiping her hands on a red towel.
Wyatt’s eyes never left mine. “It’s all good. Hannah was telling me about the menu change, but she insisted I order an omelet even if she had to make it herself.”
I clamped my teeth together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the shock I felt inside painted on my face. Instead, I carefully positioned my middle finger against the back of my notepad sending him a signal.
“Oh, that was so nice of you to offer, Hannah,” Goldie said, lopping her red towel through her apron string. “I think I can make that omelet happen for you, Wyatt.”
After scratching down his order, I tore at my notepad and handed the paper to Goldie. The tight-lipped smile painted across his face irritated me. Wyatt Hamilton was a guy who expected everything to go his way.
Smug bastard.
“You should come out to the Silver Saloon tonight, my boyfriend’s band is playing,” Sharon commented as she continued marrying the bottles of ketchup. Which, I found to be one of the grossest things that restaurants did.
As I sat at the counter rolling the silverware, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out on a Saturday night. When we could, Carter and I would pencil in a date night, but Luke and Logan’s sports schedules took up a lot of our free time. We had loved it all. I rarely did a girls’ night, but when Ryleigh was in town, we’d pop over to the local winery for some food and share a bottle of wine.
A hundred excuses rolled through my mind, but I needed to start building a life here and become part of the community. The job was the first step. Being social was the second. “I need to check in with my son, but if he doesn’t need me, I think I could manage a night out.”
“Great,” she chirped wiping off her hands and cleaning up her station. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
Yeah, great. Part of me hated going out. If I stayed in my house, I wouldn’t be subject to falling awnings, black ice on the roads, or speeding cars with inattentive drivers. However, it was August, and I’d been hiding for far too long. Time to live again. Really start living. Carter would want this for me.
It was just after three in the afternoon when I arrived home to find Luke shooting hoops.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, before taking his mark to shoot a three-pointer. Swish.
I rounded the front of my truck and asked, “Hey, did you have a good day?”
He dribbled the ball and then tossed it up in the air. “It was okay. I mowed the yard and cleaned my room.”
“The yard looks great. I’ll inspect your room later.” I tossed him a wink.
Dribble. Dribble. Swish.
“I’m sure that it won’t be up to your standards.”
“Probably not,” I joked, as I trekked along the walkway and up the stairs to the front door. “Did you have lunch?”
He tossed the ball up towards the hoop. “Yeah, I made a sandwich.”
“Good,” I said, leaning my hip against the railing. “I was thinking about going out tonight.”
Luke stopped, and the ball bounced off into the yard. “Do you have a date?”
“What? No,” I answered, feeling my brows pinching together. “Sharon, from the diner, asked me to meet up with her at the Silver Saloon.”
Luke stared at me for a beat. “Okay, can I go out to see a movie? Some of the guys from the team are going.”
“Guys go to the movies together?”
He laughed. “Yeah, unless you would rather I steal some beers and go into the woods.”
Waving him off, I shook my head. “The movie is fine.”
Luke gave me all the details of his night out. Once we’d squared away our plans, he went to his very clean room, and I tossed my clothes into the washing machine.
Opening the app on my phone, I started to read about the Silver Saloon. It was a local hot spot with basic bar food and live music every Saturday night.
Sighing, I frowned at my reflection in the mirror. Creases appeared underneath my eyes and I had a few grey hairs around my temples. I made a mental note to make a hair appointment and remember to use my eye cream nightly.
What was the point? Who would care if I had lines, wrinkles and grey hair?
Wow, Hannah pessimistic much?
I needed to brush off my salty mood or wash it away.
After my very hot shower, I slipped into a pair of jeans. I opted for a white tank and layered it with a glittery gold vest I found at boutique online. Finally, I added my favorite silver jewels and black boots. I was totally rocking this mountain girl chic vibe.
As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I talked myself out of going at least a dozen times. Luke was already out the door with his friends, and it seemed stupid to stay in like a loner.
Enough. Live. Remember?
Seated at the bar later, I realized I was out of my element. Moms of teenage boys didn’t drink beer from a bottle and listen to live bands. Did they? My eyes scanned the bar for familiar faces. Maybe someone I’d met at the diner. The barstool shook beneath me and it was so loud I couldn’t hear anything the bartender said.
“Hey there.” A man with a beard for days wearing an Aerosmith t-shirt appeared beside me. “I’m Clive, and it’s my birthday.”
Smiling politely, I wished him a happy birthday.
“I blew out my candles earlier and I wished for an angel to appear,” he drawled out. “Must be my lucky night because here you sit—a gorgeous woman wearing a white tank top.”
Was he serious?
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
I raised the bottle in my hand. “I’m all good, as you can see.”
He edged closer to me. “How about you dance with me, then?”
“No, thank you.”
“You can’t say no, it’s my birthday,” he reminded, as the smell of beer on his breath twirled up my nose.
This was what I had to look forward to being single—men not listening to a word I say and unable to take no for an answer.
“I’m not one for dancing.”
He trailed one thick finger down my arm, making the hairs on my neck stand on end. “That’s no problem, I can teach you.”
The arrogance of this guy! Slowly I stood and said, “Look, I told you nicely that I am not interested. Let me be more direct. I don’t want to dance with you.”
I braced myself for the worst, for him to call me a fucking bitch or some other colorful word. Nothing happened. Picking up his beer, he tossed me a scowl as if I had the audacity to reject him and walked away.
Easing back down onto the barstool I swiveled back towards the stage. I blew out a deep breath and took a sip of my beer. I gained a huge sense of satisfaction in telling that guy to buzz off, but it didn’t leave me with the same rush I had putting Wyatt Hamilton in his place this morning at the diner. I only wished he wasn’t so smug about getting what he wanted. To my surprise, he left me a nice tip.
Another guy took a seat next to me and started babbling on about the difference between IPA’s and craft beers. Ignoring him, I refocused on the band and their cover of “Rock with You.”
“Don’t you work at Mel’s?” he asked, placing a napkin on the bar and dusting it with salt.
“I do,” I answered tightly.
“I keep telling Goldie to put beer on the menu.” He lifted his bottle and took a long swig. “I work at the brewery.”
“Beer and omelets, sounds appetizing.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of the lunch menu, burgers and such.”
I smiled. “Of course, much better pairing.”
“My friends are here,” he pointed out. “Nice chatting with you.”
He was gone before I had a chance to reply. My gaze swung around the space as more people filtered inside. Sharon waved to me and cut through the crowd towards where I was seated at the bar.
“Hey there,” she chirped. “I’m so glad you came out tonight.”
“Hi, this place is cool. Thanks for the invite.” I motioned for her to sit down on the recently vacated barstool. “Do you want a beer?”
“Yeah, I usually have the Smooth Particle, but tonight I think I’ll go with the Slippery Fist pale ale,” she replied, sliding her red hair of over her shoulder.
I couldn’t help but laugh, I nearly snorted. “What in the world?”
Sharon signaled the bartender and ordered her beer. “I know. I can deal with a clever pun, but some of these names are downright odd. Yolo Buzz is the worst name.”
“I am sure there are more terrible names.”
She paid for her drink and then clanked her glass to mine. “I am sure you are one-hundred on that fact.”
My brows bent. “One-hundred?”
She laughed. “Yeah, one-hundred like percent.”
“Ah, I see.” I sipped my beer and listened to Sharon as she pointed out various patrons around the bar filling me on the who’s who of our little town. There was the thirty-five-year-old former wresting coach who married the prom queen—the prom queen who graduated high school four years ago.
There was the mayor’s son who decided to race cars instead of following in his father’s footsteps in the political arena. And finally, the middle school custodian—she was a retired FBI agent. I knew more than enough about this town and its residents after an hour of conversation with Sharon.
“I saw that you waited on Wyatt Hamilton today,” she commented, before taking a drink. “What’s he like?”
Where to start? He’s an arrogant asshole. He’s a good tipper. He has the sexiest smirk and a jawline that could grate cheese. My thighs pushed together thinking about the shirtless photos of Wyatt scattered online. Mouthwatering visions came to mind and I imagined wandering my fingertips along his abdomen and his hands on my body. Jesus Christ.
“Hannah, did you hear me?”
Shaking the sinful thoughts from my mind, I refocused. “He likes sourdough bread and is very passionate about the Denver omelet.”
“Passionate about Denver omelets . . . that is interesting.” She laughed and tipped the cool drink to her lips. “Did he moan while he ate or something?”
“No, he was very specific about how it should be prepared.”
I felt the tension sliding back into my body recalling the earlier encounter with Wyatt. My phone vibrated and the screen lit up with a text from Luke.
Movie is over. Going for milkshakes at Jinky’s Café.
I swiped the screen to type my reply letting him know that it was okay with me if he stayed out longer. As for me, I was ready to call it a night. The band announced this was their last song of the set and I took it as my opportunity to say goodbye.
As I walked out the door the warm summer air swirled around me. Tonight wasn’t too terrible. I opened the door to my truck and chalked this evening up as a win. Maneuvering my car out of the parking lot my gaze fell to a couple walking hand in hand along the sidewalk. She wore a gauzy floral print dress, and he was dressed in black pants and a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. They looked happy and in love, much like Carter and me. Turning onto the highway Kelsea Ballerini’s “I Hate Love Songs” piped through the speakers. I had to laugh at the timing.