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Marlon

I grip the steering wheel of my truck, staring out at the hotel parking lot as the morning sunlight glints off the windshield. The plan was simple: one night in Cherrywood Village, just enough to catch some shuteye before hitting the road again. I’ve been bouncing from town to town along the East Coast, keeping myself loose before the next fight season. Nothing serious, just a way to kill time.

But last night changed things.

I didn’t expect her. Grace. Sweet as hell but sharp enough to hold her own, with a laugh that sticks in your damn head. I can still see her standing there, trying to play it cool while her cheeks flushed every time I so much as smiled at her. It was...different. Real. Not like the fake-ass smiles I usually get from people who know who I am.

I lean back in my seat, running a hand over my face. I’ve been doing this long enough to know better. Pretty faces come and go, but this—this felt like more. Enough to make me park my truck and stay another day in this nowhere town. Enough to make me wonder what the hell I’m going to do when it’s time to move on.

Enough to make me wonder if I will even be able to move on when the time comes.

Before I can think too hard about what the fuck I’m doing, I grab my jacket and step out into the crisp air. Vito’s is just down the street, so I hoof it, hands stuffed into my pockets. I tell myself I’m just here for another good meal, but we all know that’s bullshit.

The bell over the door jingles as I push into the restaurant, and the smell of garlic and fresh bread hits me like a punch to the gut. I pause for a second, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

“Welcome to Vito’s!” The hostess perks up behind the podium, her smile plastered on thick. She’s young, blonde, and wearing a dress that’s trying way too hard. Her eyes widen a little as recognition kicks in. “Oh my God. You’re Marlon Henderson, aren’t you?”

I nod, used to this routine. “Yeah.”

Her smile sharpens into something predatory as she leans closer. “Well, I’m a huge fan. You’re even bigger in person. Got some time to show me some moves later?”

I smirk, but it’s automatic, empty. “Appreciate it, but I’m just here to eat.”

Her expression falters for a split second before she recovers. “Of course! Right this way, Mr. Henderson.”

I hold up a hand stopping her from walking in the opposite way of where I’m looking to go. “Actually, I’d like Grace’s section.”

The hostess’s face drops just a touch before she plasters on her smile again. “Oh, Grace? Let me check if she’s available.”

“Thanks,” I grunt, stepping aside as she disappears into the dining room.

I glance around the place, tapping my knuckles against the wood of the podium. It’s quiet for now, but I can feel the energy ramping up as the lunch crowd trickles in. A few people glance my way, some whispering behind their menus, but I ignore it.

The hostess comes back, her smile a little tighter this time. “Grace will be right with you. Let me show you to your table.”

I follow her to the same damn spot as last night, that corner table in the back. Perfect. Settling into the chair, I can’t help but wonder if she’ll be happy to see me.

And then I see her. Time stands still just like it did last night when she first approached my table. My heartbeat picks up and I want to curse myself out for acting like a lovestruck teenage boy. But goddamn , she’s so beautiful it hurts.

Grace glides across the floor like she’s got all the time in the world, but there’s a bounce in her step that tells me she loves what she does. Her curves can’t be hidden, even in her waitress uniform. When her dark brown eyes land on me, the world clicks back into place. She looks shocked to see me and—if I’m not just being wishful—it looks like there is a healthy dose of excitement, too.

“Hey there,” she greets as she finally reaches me. She swipes a lock of curly brown hair out of her face and I can’t help but wish it was me moving it for her.

“Hey, Grace,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I mean it to. “Didn’t think I’d find myself back here so soon.”

“Neither did I,” she replies with a small laugh.

And just like that, I’m hooked all over again.

I glance at Grace, the corners of her mouth tugged into a smile that’s as bright as the restaurant’s dim lighting allows. She’s confident but not overbearing, her warmth natural and effortless. It’s refreshing—something I don’t see much in my world.

“So, Mr. Henderson—”

“Marlon for you,” I correct without thinking. A pretty blush climbs up her neck and I have to fight to keep the grin off my face.

“Okay, Marlon , what can I get for you for lunch today?”

“Hmm,” I muse, pretending to actually look at the menu. “I’d like your second favorite menu item for today.” I hand her the menu without ever actually looking through it.

“You’re putting a lot of trust in me,” she teases, tucking the menu under her arm, her playful tone making me chuckle.

“What can I say? Your recommendation yesterday was great,” I reply casually, picking up my glass for a sip of water. “I told you last night that I thought you had good taste. I stand by that.”

Her laugh is light, bubbling up like she can’t help it, and she taps the edge of the table with her fingers. “Alright. I’ll have your food out to you soon. Can I get you anything else while I’m back there?”

“Not right now,” I respond, but a thought hits me. “Actually, could you bring me out a salad with whatever house dressing you have?”

“Yep, I got it,” she says, her words punctuated with a little bounce as she turns away. I find myself watching her for a second longer than I probably should.

After she disappears into the kitchen, I lean back in my chair, soaking in the atmosphere of the restaurant. It’s quieter during lunch, but still buzzing with the low hum of conversation. When Grace reappears, she’s carrying my salad with an easy poise.

“Here’s this,” she says, setting the plate down in front of me. “And the dressing is a lemon vinaigrette.”

“Sounds delicious,” I reply, grabbing the ramekin and pouring the dressing over the greens.

“Anything else for you right now?” she asks, her tone as professional as ever, but there’s a sparkle in her eye that makes me grin.

I spear a piece of lettuce with my fork, hesitating for a split second before asking, “Yeah, I actually had a question for you.”

Her brow arches, her teasing grin widening. “And I have an answer. What’s up?”

“Are you a big movie fan?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow. I can’t help but be curious about her, about the person behind that effortless charm.

“Well, it depends on what movie,” she says with a soft laugh. Her reaction feels genuine like I’ve just opened a window into her world.

I throw out the name of one of my favorite series, watching her face light up. “Oh yeah, I love that movie series!” she exclaims, nodding eagerly. “The new one—”

“Came out recently, I know,” I interject, matching her enthusiasm. “I’m thrilled, too. Have you seen it?”

She shakes her head, and I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

“Good,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “I was wondering if you’d want to come by sometime and watch it with me.”

Her answer is immediate and unguarded. “I’d love to. I have a family dinner tonight, but I could tomorrow night after work?”

“Great,” I say, warmth creeping into my voice. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” she replies. Her lips part like she’s about to say more, but a clatter from another table interrupts her. She glances over, her expression a mix of professionalism and mild exasperation.

“I should probably go take care of that,” she says, half-apologetically.

“Please do,” I reply, chuckling as I bring my fork to my mouth. “We can talk tomorrow night.”

“You’re right,” she says, nodding with a grin. “I’ll be back when your meal is ready.”

As she strides off, I settle back into my seat, finding myself already looking forward to later. There’s something about Grace—something refreshingly real.