Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
We started to separate, but then we gravitated right back together again. Our next kiss was wild. I threw my arms around him, and he picked me up and kissed me like his life depended on it.
By the time he put me down, my head was spinning. Tory grinned at me before turning and heading for the small terminal. I caught my breath as I watched him walk away. When he reached the door, he glanced back at me and waved before disappearing into the building.
I whispered, “Holy shit.” My legs felt shaky, so I climbed into my truck. I was still sitting there about five minutes later, when Tory sent me a selfie. He was smiling at the camera and sitting on the plane with the eggplant sticking out of his pocket.
I chuckled at that and started the engine, but I only drove about a hundred yards before pulling to the side of the road. A tall chain-link fence stood between me and the wide tarmac.
While I waited for his plane to take off, Tory sent me two more photos, about three minutes apart. One was of the eggplant posing with a glass of champagne. In the next, it was sitting in its own seat with a seatbelt on. I grinned and muttered, “That could’ve been me.”
A few minutes later, a sleek little jet appeared from behind the terminal, rolling down the runway before smoothly lifting off. I kept watching it grow smaller and smaller, until it was too far away to see it anymore.
I started the engine again and sighed as I put the truck into gear. Tory was going to be home in about an hour and a half. Me? Not so much.
The drive to San Diego should have taken about eight hours. Instead, it took nine. I only stopped once to fill up the tank and grab a sandwich to go, but a three car pile-up along the way had slowed traffic on the I-5.
Even though I was exhausted, I drove to the diner instead of my apartment and got there ten minutes before closing time, which was nine p.m. on Sundays. I parked around back, same as always, and let myself in through the kitchen door.
Javier was hard at work scrubbing the grill. He looked up and exclaimed, “Hey boss, welcome back! When did you get in?”
“Just now.”
He stopped what he was doing and frowned. “You mean you haven’t been home yet?”
“I came straight to the diner, so I could close up and you could go home. I thought I’d get here sooner.”
“You must be exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
His frown deepened. “You always say that.”
“Go home, Javi. You must be tired too, after working all weekend.”
“Yeah, okay. It’s been dead for the last two hours, so I went ahead and closed out the register,” he said, as he gave the grill a final once-over. “Everything else is shut down, too. If I hurry, the girls might still be awake, and I’ll be able to say goodnight.”
“Say hello to your family for me.” He and his wife had two adorable daughters, who were nine and ten.
“Will do.” Javier washed his hands as he said, “I want to hear all about the wedding next time I see you. Kit looked so happy in the photo you sent. I was showing it to everyone.”
“For sure.”
He crossed the kitchen and pulled his denim jacket from a hook beside the back door. “Want me to open tomorrow, so you can get some rest?”
“No. It’s your day off, and you already had to cover for me today. Thanks again for that, by the way, and for stepping up this entire weekend.”
“Happy to help. It was fun getting to run things on my own.”
“Want to do it again next Saturday?”
His face lit up with a big smile. “Of course! I hope that means you’re actually going to start taking days off for a change. Nobody should work seven days a week, especially with the kind of hours you put in every day.”
I really hoped seeing Salvatore on the weekends was going to turn into a regular thing, so I said, “Yeah, maybe.”
Which reminded me. As soon as Javier left, I sent Tory a text, which said: Told you the truck would make it back home.
While waiting for a reply, I went into the dining room, locked the front door, and flipped the sign from open to closed. A moment later, a message popped up: I need proof. Send me a photo.
That made me grin. I held my phone at arm’s length and snapped a picture. Right after I sent it, a video call popped up on my screen. When I answered it, he said, “You’re not home, you’re at a restaurant. How far did you make it before breaking down, San Jose?”
“I’m basically home, and the truck made the trip just fine. This is my diner, which is close to my apartment here in San Diego.”