“Mmmddrv…yuou…？”
I deduce that he’s offering to drive me, and a smile tugs on the corner of my mouth. “I’ve got Tracy’s car today. Go back to sleep if you want. I’ll be back around five.”
“’Kay.” His eyelids flutter and a second later he’s asleep again.
I make myself a cup of instant coffee in the kitchen and chug it to jumpstart my barely functioning brain. My gaze shifts to Allie’s bedroom door, which is wide open. The glimpse of her perfectly made bed worries me only for a second, because when I check my phone, I find a text from last night that tells me Allie spent the night at Sean’s frat house.
My shift at the diner is chaotic from moment one. The breakfast crowd arrives in droves and it’s a good two hours before the rush finally dissipates. I don’t even have time to take a breath once it clears out, because Della asks me to reorganize the supplies under the counter before the lunch rush hits. I spend the next hour on my knees, moving stacks of napkins and packets of sugar from one shelf to another, and switching the coffee mug shelf with the drinking glass shelf.
When I hop to my feet, I’m startled to find a man sitting on the stool directly in front of me.
It’s Garrett’s father.
“Mr. Graham,” I squeak in surprise. “Hi.”
“Hello, Hannah.” His voice is as chilly as the December air outside the diner. “We need to talk.”
We do?
Shit. Why do I have a feeling I know exactly what he wants to talk about?
“I’m working,” I answer in an awkward tone.
“I can wait.”
Double shit. It’s only ten o’clock and I’m not off until five. Is he actually going to sit around and wait for seven hours? Because there’s no way I’ll be able to get through my shift if he’s in the diner, staring at me the whole time.
“Let me see if I can take a break,” I say hastily.
He nods. “It won’t take long. I assure you, I only need a few minutes of your time.”
I don’t know if that’s a promise, or a threat.
Gulping, I pop into the back office to talk to Della, who signs off on a five-minute break after I tell her that my boyfriend’s father has something urgent to discuss with me.
The moment Mr. Graham and I step outside, I get the answer to that age-old promise vs. threat question—because his body language emits some serious menace.
“I bet you’re quite pleased with yourself.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
He shoves both hands in the pockets of his long black coat, and he looks so much like Garrett it’s actually kind of upsetting. But he doesn’t sound like Garrett, because Garrett’s voice isn’t this harsh, and Garrett’s eyes definitely don’t carry this much animosity.
“I’ve been with a lot of women, Hannah.” Mr. Graham laughs, but without an ounce of humor or a shred of warmth. “You think I don’t know what an ego boost it is for a woman when she has two men fighting over her?”
Is that what he thinks last night was about? That Garrett and Rob were fighting a duel for my love? Jesus.
“That’s not why they were fighting,” I say weakly.
His lips curl in a sneer. “Oh really? So the fight had nothing to do with you?” When I don’t answer, he laughs again. “That’s what I thought.”
I don’t like the way he’s looking at me with such blatant hostility. And I wish I hadn’t forgotten my gloves inside, because my hands feel like two blocks of ice.