Kat looked around. It had gotten a little busier since she had sat down. She nodded and shooed Malcolm away, who reluctantly left.
Jason immediately felt contrite. “I’m sorry, Katrina,” he said. “I shouldn’t have kept you like this when you’re working.”
Kat stood up and picked up her coffee pot, which had turned cold by now. “Please, call me Kat,” she corrected. She smiled and then added brightly, “And don’t worry. I never get in trouble here. I’m the boss’s favorite.”
A loud snort was heard from behind the bar. She made a mental note to give Malcolm a good kick in the pants at home.
Jason smiled but she saw that lingering hunger in his eyes. He was sad to see the conversation end. He had wanted more before he left.
And, surprisingly, she wanted more as well.
“I get off at nine,” Kat offered. “If it’s not too late, I can meet you around nine thirty for some late night pie and coffee. After all, I haven’t told you where my uncle’s tattoos are yet.”
Kat’s eyes twinkled.
Jason grinned. “It’s a date.”
Chapter Three
“It’s not a date date,” Kat explained for the third time in exasperation. “It’s just a date. Like two grown adults meeting each other in a friendly fashion.”
Malcolm grumbled to himself as he wiped down the empty bar. The diner was closed and most of the lights off. They were midway through their closing rituals.
“Grown ups can get very friendly when they meet,” Malcolm mumbled to himself as he wiped down the counter with more ferocity than needed. He suddenly stood up and pushed up his falling glasses with the back of his hand. He turned to the order window where loud banging and sloshing of water was heard.
“Don’t you think so, Uncle Do?” he called out.
Uncle Doughy’s large, bald head popped up through the window. “Eh?” he asked, his face scrunched in that look of slight annoyance he always had. A lot of the younger children in Peytonville were quite afraid of Uncle Doughy. And Kat didn’t blame them for it.
At six feet tall and nearly three hundred and fifty pounds, the man was huge. But unlike most heavy people who carried their weight like a burdensome stone, he carried his like a menacing force. With his broad face and crooked nose, he looked every bit like the old biker people rumored him to be.
Graying tattoos covered his arms and his chest. He had a husky voice that spoke of many chewed cigars in his past. And he had small, squinty eyes that always made him look like he was glaring.
But every time Kat looked at him, she couldn’t help but smile. She loved her Uncle Doughy. It was this mean looking man who had always made sure that she and her brothers had new clothes for school and enough presents at Christmas. It was this tough old biker who had teared up at his sister’s funeral and had promised at her gravesite to raise her children as his own.
And when Dillon had gotten sick, it was Uncle Doughy who had made sure that he received the best care possible.
In Kat’s eyes, no man was greater and more loving than her Uncle Doughy.
“Grown ups!” Malcolm called out. “Getting friendly!” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive way then jerked his head towards his sister. “At night!” he added as if that was the clincher.
Kat rolled her eyes.
“Are you meeting that grunt from table six?” Uncle Doughy asked, sharp and perceptive as always.
Kat turned to her uncle in surprise. “How’d you know he’s in the military?” she asked.
Her uncle looked at her in compassionate condescension. “You could smell those GI tags a mile away,” he said. He leaned a large forearm on the window. “Are you meeting him?”
“Yes, I am,” Kat said patiently. She put her hands on her hips and glared at her brother. “And I don’t understand why some people are putting up such a stink about it.”
“Because we don’t even know him!” Malcolm said. “Who goes out with a stranger after talking to him for fifteen minutes?”
Kat crossed her arms and looked at her brother sardonically. “That is literally how almost every date in the history of humanity starts.” Malcolm rolled his eyes. Kat continued knowingly, “It’s because we started to talk to strangers that we don’t still marry our fifth cousins and have babies with three eyes or no chin, little brother.”
“Oh good,” Malcolm muttered sarcastically. “A history lesson from my sister before she goes out and gets murdered. This will be a good memory to have at your funeral.”