I backed away before he got out the last stilted and overly formal sentence.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”
The media attention had finally died down, but I should have remembered it always seemed to rise up again on the anniversary of the day she left. Otherwise known as my freaking birthday.
“You know that I am like you. I can help you.”
Relief collided with fear like an explosion inside me as I realized I wasn’t the only person in the world like me. I turned and ran for the galley.
The galley of Arden’s Family Diner was as dead as the rest of the small town restaurant. Nobody eats at two in the afternoon in Foresquare. Nobody does anything out of the ordinary. Oh, except for me and the stranger. The one named Colton.
Trisha Briggs leaned across the steel counter in front of the empty food window and pulled her long brown hair into a ponytail.
“What’s with that hot thing?” she asked. “Can’t believe someone that smokin’ comes in here asking for you.”
Men came in and asked for Trisha, not me. No doubt she was shocked. And, bored. The afternoon shift sucked.
I rolled my eyes and tried to control my shaking hands. I slammed the glass coffee pot onto the warmer a little too hard. A hairline crack zipped up the side. Hot liquid dripped out. When something upset me I forgot how strong I could be.
“Good lord,” Trisha said. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She grabbed the cracked pot and headed for the dish room.
It wasn’t the first time I’d broken something in a hurry or a mood, but it was the first time I’d done it at work in front of someone.