Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
The subway rumbled beneath Midtown as I walked the last block. My shirt clung to me by the time I shouldered through our glass door, and the deli’s blessed AC hit me.
Twenty-six hours after I’d walked out of The Tight Line, half drunk on the sound of her laugh, and I was back again. One of the other servers I’d briefly met when he was hired, Derek, waved from the host stand, but my eyes had already found the only thing that mattered.
Rylin.
She was wiping down a four-top near the window, her hips swaying to the beat, and the sight of her punched warmth through my chest. I tracked her every step, my eyes sweeping over her, not missing a thing. The cheap, threadbare sneakers were patched with silver duct tape at the sides and across the toe, where the sole had started to separate. The way her ponytail swung even though it was already drooping loose from the morning rush. That stubborn smile pushed against the tired. Her makeup was freshly done, but it didn’t hide the shadows that still smudged the skin under her eyes.
When she noticed me, hesitation flickered behind her hazel eyes. One day wasn’t enough to erase her caution. I wasn’t deterred, though. I raised a hand, nothing more, and slid into the same booth as yesterday. She finished busing her table before approaching, a pen already in hand.
“Back already?” A hint of amusement colored her voice, but the guardrails were still up. Obviously, nobody got close to her without earning it. Which would make it all the more special when I finally breached those walls of hers.
I grinned, sinking into the vinyl booth. “I’m starving. And how could I own a place where I didn’t crave the food?” Winking, I added, “And the service.”
Her mouth quirked like she wanted to argue, but didn’t have the energy. “What’ll it be?”
“I know I shouldn’t, but I had a hell of a workout today. So, I’ll take my Monster Melt, extra pickles. And you,” I added, leveling my gaze on her, “grab something for yourself. I know your shift ends in twenty minutes, and I’d bet my next paycheck you’re working a double tonight.”
Rylin huffed. “I told you, I—”
“Policy,” I cut in, gentle but unmovable. “You’re going to eat, Rylin.”
A sigh slipped past her lips. “Fine.”
The small victory felt huge.
While I waited, I pulled the deli’s profit-and-loss statement up on my phone, pretending I cared about the uptick in cured-meat costs when all I really did was steal glances at her. Every time she slid a tray across a table, I found new details—the way her knuckles whitened when she lifted a bus tub that weighed half what she did, the soft sweep of freckles across her cheekbones, and the elastic hair tie at her wrist holding an extra pen.
When she finally set my sandwich in front of me, the scent of melted provolone hit me like play-action. My stomach growled loud enough to make her laugh.
After I took a moment to let the sound wash over me, I picked up the melt and took a bite, then sighed happily as the flavor of black pastrami, caramelized onions, provolone, horseradish cream, and grilled rye filled my mouth.
“Good?” she asked with a small smile.
“I’ll let you know once I come up for air.” I took another massive bite, closed my eyes, and hummed. “Lionel outdid himself.”
She eased a water glass onto the table, and her fingers trembled just a little. Probably low blood sugar, which happened when you skipped meals. I swallowed and nodded toward the pass-through. “Order in for yourself?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Yes. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
That almost coaxed a laugh again, but she turned away too fast. I let it go and continued eating my sandwich. When Rylin disappeared into the kitchen, Tammi slid into the booth opposite me, arms crossed.
“You’re hovering,” she said without preamble.
“I prefer ‘strategic observation.’ Sounds less stalkery, more executive.”
“Uh-huh. Let me know when your executive duties involve inventory instead of heart-eyes.”
I scowled. “No one’s seeing heart-eyes. I’m being subtle.”
“Yeah, right. Nobody’s buying this undercover routine.” Tami snorted. “You’re a six-foot-five freight train in a crowded station, Micah. Subtle left the platform three stops ago.” Then she leaned in, her voice softening. “She’s good people, Micah. Don’t spook her.”
“I have no intention of spooking her.”
Tammi arched her brow, unconvinced, but before she could say anything else, I glanced at the pass-through to the kitchen and spotted Rylin carrying a chicken-avocado wrap nearly as big as her arm. She was walking toward the hallway that led to the employee break room. I quickly slid out of the booth and jogged over to the door, entering the back just in time to intercept her. “This way,” I said as I steered her back to the front and over to my table.