I know better than to paint myself as easy prey to anyone, so I take each of them in, one by one. There’s the curly-haired guy, a pale guy with a ponytail and ice-blue eyes that send shivers down my spine, and one with dark hair and eyes and a smirk that looks more wild than nice. I do my best to convey a solid you don’t want to fuck with me message.
None of them so much as blink as they continue to unabashedly stare me down.
Just as I start to question how safe I am in the middle of nowhere Colorado, Zara is back to set down a large water in front of me. As though she can sense my sudden unease, she follows my gaze to the booth with the three weirdos.
She pops out a hip and a whole lot of sass. “You boys drop your manners somewhere?”
Just like that, they look away, focusing back on their food and each other. She loses her glare when she turns back to me, shaking her head in exasperation. “Sorry. You’d think they’d never seen a beautiful girl before,” Zara huffs with a roll of her eyes and a click of her tongue.
I offer her a weak smile as she waves a hand dismissively, as if the guys’ aggression can be batted away like a bad smell. She waves off another table of men who are now watching us, shooing them like they’re a flock of naughty chickens.
My cheeks burn but I lift my chin defiantly, not sure what the hell is going on.
“Don’t worry about any of them, Noah. All the dens are a little rowdy right now. You know how guys get about a competition. You don’t have a thing to fret about.”
Before I can ask her what any of that means, the order bell rings and she’s off to pick up waiting plates, quickly dropping them at another table where a couple sits side by side holding hands. I look back over at the unsettling trio of guys and then at the other table of looky-loos I hadn’t noticed until she pointed them out. Zara’s admonition seems to have worked. Everyone is back to minding their own business.
Good. Maybe she’s right. Maybe my big-city paranoia has followed me here and I’m overthinking things.
I exhale a deep breath and try to relax, pulling up the GPS app on my phone to program my route from here to Ashwood Springs. The last thing I need is to get any more off track in the Colorado Rockies than I am now.
The map takes forever to load, but when it does, I pinch to zoom, only to frown.
What the hell?
Why isn’t Howling Rapids showing up?
It thinks I’m in the middle of nowhere. I reload the map, thinking it’s glitching again, but nothing changes. I guess this town is so small it doesn’t even have a dot on the map.
As I wait for my food, I figure out how to get back to the highway from here. If I get a big-ass coffee from somewhere, I should be set to do the final stretch.
Ashwood Springs, here I come.
Zara drops my food off in record time, and I dig in like the starved woman I am. Everything’s even better than I hoped it would be, and before I know it, I’m polishing off my second helping of apple crumble a la mode.
So damn good.
Zara doesn’t say a word about my appetite, and it makes me like her even more as I clean the plate and groan happily every time she checks on me or clears something away. I’ve found that most waiters, waitresses, ex-boyfriends, and former foster parents have something to say about how much I can pack into my five-foot-eleven frame at any given meal.
I’m not exactly built like a D1 athlete, lacking the height and overall muscle mass, but I do have the overactive metabolism to support my feeding frenzies. I used to feel so self-conscious about it. These days, I don’t give two shits. I feed the hunger instead of second-guessing everything or feeling ashamed.
The table of guys who lost our staring contest stand up, and my eyes flick to them, tracking their movements as they toss money on the table to cover their bill and head for the door.
Can’t say I’m sorry to see them go.
The one with dark curly hair and green eyes looks my way again, his stare intense and tinged with what looks like longing.
That can’t be right.
My head suddenly starts to throb, and I bring up a hand to rub my temples. I close my eyes against the ache and pinch the bridge of my nose. The headache starts to fade, strangely disappearing just as fast as it came on. Thank fuck.
When I open my eyes and look up, the group of guys is gone.
Zara hands me my card and a receipt to sign, once again apologizing profusely for not having takeaway cups of coffee.
“If you go right out of the diner and down a block, there’s an amazing coffee shop that can get you squared away. Hurry though because things are kicking off soon, and they’re probably getting ready to close,” Zara tells me excitedly, and I smile at her strange enthusiasm.
I’m almost bummed that Howling Rapids is nothing more than a quick food stop. I’m tempted to maybe stay the night and do a little exploring, but I know I’ll be kicking myself in the ass if I’m not thoroughly settled into my new place before my job starts. New beginnings might be epic, but unpacking is a bitch.
“Thank you,” I tell Zara warmly before she rushes off again.
I leave her a hefty tip and scoot out of my booth with a smile. If she hadn’t said something, I never would’ve guessed that today was her first day. She was a great waitress.
I spot her as I head for the door and wave goodbye.
“I’ll see you out there! Good luck!” Zara calls from behind the counter as she serves one of the elderly men there a massive slice of chocolate cake.
I step out into the cold night and find myself wishing I would see her around. I’ve never been the best at making friends, and she seems like the type who would make it easy and fun.
“The only thing you’ll be seeing is the open road,” I mutter to myself as I step onto the sidewalk. “But first, coffee.”
The sun is gone and the temperature outside is more frigid than it was before. My cream-colored T-shirt isn’t exactly up to the job, but I follow Zara’s directions and spot the coffee shop just where she said it’d be.
Bingo!
I scurry down the empty sidewalk toward the golden light like a pilgrim in search of the promised land.
Must have caffeine.
Especially after all the food I just scarfed down. Ideally, I’d go for a quick run to help burn everything off and wake up, but I’m already in for a late night of driving. Not to mention I’ve gotten lost once today. I’m not looking for a repeat.
I pass several cute shops that already have their lights off even though it’s barely six. Good to know. Small-town hours are not what I’m used to. I’ll have to look out for that at my new place.
Music plays softly through hidden speakers of the coffee shop, and there are a few groups sitting at tables outside as I pull open the door. Inside, there are three people scattered about, sipping from mugs that resemble bowls with handles.
Yes, please.
The barista glances up at me as she finishes taking the order of a pretty middle-aged woman with a stylish pixie cut, wearing a broom skirt. She’s accompanied by a younger woman who’s clearly attempting to impersonate Wednesday Addams with her braids and all-black ensemble.
“No. Whipped cream is disgusting.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“It’s like pure sugar turned into foam.”
“Not listening,” the older woman states firmly as she grabs a lid for her whipped-cream topped to-go cup and takes a defiant sip. This gives her a delightful little white foam mustache for a moment before her tongue darts out to erase it.