“Mine.” He saw her incredulous expression and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look humble. “I have quite a big following.”
“I bet you do,” she said, struggling to hold back laughter.
“I do.”
“I know. I’m agreeing with you.”
“You’re not.” His lips pursed. He shook his head. But his eyes were smiling down at her. “You’re making fun of me for being on Twitter.”
“I just don’t know anything about it.”
“You should be on it. You could do a tweet each day about your special, or something happening. People would love it. People would love you.”
“Uh-huh.” She smiled, trying to be kind even though he had no idea what he was talking about. People wouldn’t want to hear about the café, or their specials, and they certainly wouldn’t want to hear from her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”
“No.” Her lips twitched. “Not really.”
“Why not? Everyone else listens.”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know either. But it’s something we need to sort out. Have dinner with me tonight so we can discuss it.”
“No.”
“Wow.” He laughed, hard, and he bent over, still laughing, hands on his knees. “That was a rough no. Nothing apologetic about that one at all.”
Lauren blushed, face heating. “Maybe it was a little harsh.”
“A little? You’re mean. I think I’ll go have a seat at the counter and cry.”
Lauren’s cheeks burned, and her insides felt fizzy. “You’re ridiculous.”
He stopped laughing and reached out to sweep his thumb across her warm, pink cheek. “Okay, I won’t cry. But I will go sit and let you wait on me, hand and foot.”
Lauren giggled, and spluttered, “You’re beyond hopeless.”
“I’ve heard that,” he said, nodding earnestly.
She laughed even harder, her eyes watering at the corners. She wiped beneath her eyes, making sure they were dry. “This won’t work. I can’t possibly manage this restaurant, take care of my section, train Crystal, and handle you.”
“Sure you can. Just take a couple of nice, deep, cleansing breaths, and you’ll find your center. In the meantime I’ll grab a seat at the counter and I’ll eat whatever you bring me. Steak, corned beef hash, omelet. It doesn’t matter.”
And then he strolled to the one open seat at the counter, his faded denims so soft and worn they looked like a second skin, outlining his butt and hamstrings.
Thirty some minutes later Chris was finishing his breakfast, which he’d ended with a slice of her peach mango cobbler and then a second serving of cobbler.
“That’s good,” he said, nodding approvingly. “My grandma’s from Texas and she made cobblers, good cobblers, but this rivals her best.”
“I like cobblers, too,” Lauren said, removing the dessert plates and returning with another glass of milk. Chris liked milk. He drank two or three glasses with every meal. “Were you raised in Texas?”
“No. Phoenix. But I went to school in Texas. UT.”
“Ah. A desert boy.”
“Boy?” Chris gave her a look. “I’ll have you know I’m a man, Ms. Summer.”
He was teasing her, trying to be funny, and yet the sexual implication made her blush. “You’re thirty,” she said, having read his age and all his statistics in the A’s program when she attended the game with Karen.
“Is that not a man where you come from?”
She laughed, her cheeks suddenly impossibly hot. “No, it is.”
“But you don’t take me seriously, though, do you?”
“I, uh—” She glanced up at him, perplexed. “I do.”
He gave her a pointed look.
She frowned. “Don’t I?”
“No.”
“Order up, boss,” Bob called from the kitchen.
Lauren shot Chris a quick, troubled glance and went for the plates under the warmer, and yet as she served lunch to her table, and refreshed their drinks, and then the drinks at another table, she kept mulling over what Chris had said. About her not taking him seriously. As if he wasn’t a man.
She walked behind the counter, stopping in front of him to fish out his bill. “Maybe it’s because you’re younger than me.”
“By shoot, what? Five years?”
“How did you know?”
“Boone told me.” He held her gaze, his expression searching. “I guess you told him.”
“Can’t believe he remembered.”