Page 5

five

T he diner was steeped in eerie silence, a true ghost town. Hours dragged on without a single soul walking through the door. I sat at the counter, absorbed in my crossword puzzle, trying to distract myself from the relentless monotony. My pencil hovered over a stubborn clue when the sharp chime of the doorbell sliced through the stillness, breaking the quiet like a sudden breath.

Ezekiel walked in, exuding effortless confidence, once again dressed in a steel-gray suit that seemed to command attention. One hand casually buried in his pocket, the other lifted in a laid-back salute. Drawn by some invisible force, he headed straight for the back table, settling in with a familiar, almost territorial air.

I set my puzzle aside, abandoning the frustrating clues I’d been stuck on for hours, and walked over to him.

“Well, look who’s back,” I said, resting a hand on my hip. “Didn’t expect you again so soon.”

He settled back in his chair, completely at ease, as though he owned the space around him. “Came back for the outrageously good pancakes, obviously.”

I scoffed, shaking my head as I wiped my hands on my apron. “Figured as much.” I gestured toward the empty diner with a deadpan look. “You’re lucky to get a table today with how incredibly busy this place is.”

His lips curled into a near-smirk as he adjusted his tie with careless precision. “I was expecting a wait, actually.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Or worse—I thought I’d have to eat somewhere else. Can you imagine ?” His eyes widened in mock horror.

I tapped my notepad against the table, tilting my chin as I met his gaze, eyebrows rising slightly. I studied him for a moment, fighting a smile. “Guess the stars have aligned for you.”

He leaned in, his voice dipping low. The scent of his cologne, cedar and pine, washed over me, making my breath catch.

“Trust me—you have no idea,” he murmured, something dangerous curled through every word. He winked, slow and deliberate. Heat twisted through me—hot, reckless, and impossible to ignore.

My thoughts tripped, and I blinked fast, trying to clear the fog. “So…anyway…pancakes: blueberry or chocolate chip?” I blurted, my words tripping over each other in a nervous rush.

He stroked his chin, fingers trailing over the stubble as he savored the tension. “I think I’m feeling chocolate chip today.”

I jotted the order, the pen jerking slightly as I tried to keep my cool. “Coffee to go with that?” I asked, aiming for casual, but my voice came out a little breathier than I meant.

He leaned back just a fraction, his grin widening as he studied me. “That’d be perfect, thanks.” His voice was steady—fully aware of the effect he was having on me.

As I turned toward the kitchen, I caught Sleazy Sal’s gaze from behind the counter. He was slouched, lazily wiping down the surface, his eyes locked on Ezekiel and full of venom.

What was his problem with this guy?

Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, the horrifying thought illuminated my mind.

Oh God. Is this a mob thing? Did Sal owe money to some ruthless loan shark, and Ezekiel was sent to collect?

It wouldn’t surprise me. Sal always had a hand in something sketchy—backroom bets, mysterious deliveries, whispered conversations that stopped the second anyone got too close. Shady was basically his brand.

The unthinkable crossed my mind. Could Ezekiel actually be a real-life hitman? The name alone had a dangerous ring to it, and when you added the luxury and designer labels into the mix, it all started to make a twisted kind of sense.

His casual remark echoed in my head: I’m here on business.

Did that “business” involve cutting off a man’s fingers, one by one?!

I blinked, my mind briefly short-circuiting as the image flashed. I shook it off, telling myself to lay off the true crime docs. All I knew was, I definitely wouldn’t be the one on a crime special saying how Sal “lit up a room.”

I entered the kitchen, placed his order, and grabbed the carafe of coffee. My curiosity grew as I returned to his table, inexplicably drawn to him.

As I poured the steaming brew into his mug, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the head of his spoon, just as he had before. It was clear he had an obsessive need for cleanliness—something that likely bled into his work. A man who couldn’t leave a single fingerprint behind.

I tilted my head slightly, lowering my voice just enough to make it sound like I was sharing juicy gossip. “ See the guy behind the counter? That’s my boss, Sal,” I said, giving a small gesture behind me as I studied Ezekiel’s face. “Do you know him?”

He nodded casually, glanced over my shoulder, then returned his focus to his watch. “Nope, never met him,” he replied, his tone flat as if it were a perfectly ordinary statement.

I shot him a look, brow lifted as I planted a hand on my hip. “Really?” My voice dripped with skepticism. “That’s odd, considering he can’t seem to take his eyes off you.”

He’s lying. I know it.

His gaze flickered up to meet mine, confidence practically pouring off him. “Well, I am rather easy on the eyes. Can you really blame him for admiring the view?”

Oh, this guy. He couldn’t be serious.

I snorted, rolling my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself whiplash. “Your mom probably says that—but, you know, she’s contractually obligated.”

He grinned, a hint of playful arrogance creeping into his words. “She wasn’t the only one. Plenty of women have appreciated my…charm. Darling.”

I leaned in close, voice dropping into mock seriousness. “And let’s not forget, your grandmother’s opinion doesn’t exactly count either— darling. ” I dragged out the word, making sure he caught how much fun I was having .

I spun on my heel, heading back to the kitchen, but his laughter followed me. It lingered, light and easy, a thread I wasn’t quite ready to cut.

Moving into the prep space to grab Ezekiel’s meal, I was met with Sal’s sharp remarks while Larry weighed in from his station at the grill.

“Who does he think he is, coming in here dressed like that? C’mon, it’s a hole-in-the-wall diner, not the Ritz-Carlton,” Sal sneered. “A poser, flaunting a fake wallet to impress women.”

Larry let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he glanced up. Amusement danced in his eyes, and a smirk curled at the corners of his mouth. He leaned back slightly, the sound of sizzling sausage blending with the steady hum of the kitchen.“No doubt. I bet it works like a charm,” he said, his voice rich with dry humor as the crackle of heat filled the air around him.

Sal reclined against the counter, crossing his arms over his filthy, no-longer-white shirt, the amusement on his face darkening. “Worked on Bryn, didn’t it?” he mused, a grin pulling at his lips. “He was drooling over her dress, saying it looked—”

“Excuse me?” I cut him off, my voice sharp with annoyance. “I’m standing right here.”

Sal raised an eyebrow, his smile stretching wider when he saw me. He uncrossed his arms, giving a lazy shrug as if I were an afterthought. “Oops, my bad, Brynie. Didn’t see you there. My mistake. ”

The apology was as empty as a politician’s promise.

Larry met my gaze, color creeping into his cheeks. “Sorry, Bryn.”

I swung the doors open, spinning back to face them. “Grow up! You’re both acting like children.”

I set Ezekiel’s plate in front of him, the savory aroma of the pancakes wafting into the air. His eyes lit up with appreciation.

“Thanks, they smell amazing!” he exclaimed, already reaching for his silverware. As he took his first bite, he looked up. “So, about that nature you mentioned—where’s the best place to hike around here? Do you have a favorite trail?”

I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I do. But it’s not exactly beginner-friendly. The trail’s barely even there since hardly anyone uses it anymore. It's called Daisy’s Meadow...though the locals call it Dead Man’s Trail,” I added, keeping my tone flat and matter-of-fact.

He looked me over, sizing me up. “Dead Man’s Trail, huh? So, what—you’re an adrenaline junkie?”

I shook my head, a dry laugh escaping. “Definitely not, but the waterfall at the end—totally worth it.”

He narrowed his eyes, a subtle curve teasing the edge of his mouth as he shifted in his seat and leaned in, like he was about to ask me my deepest, darkest secret. “So, you’re not interested in the danger?” His voice dropped to a low murmur, the words shutting out everything else around us. “The unpredictability doesn’t excite you… not even a little?”

I tapped my fingers against my arm, letting the question roll around in my mind, intrigued by the thought. “Okay, maybe just a little,” I confessed. “But mostly, I like to imagine I’m on one of those survival shows—completely alone, roughing it in the wild, living off the land. Honestly? I’m pretty confident I’d make it to the end.”

He opened his mouth, like he was going to argue, but then gave a slow nod. “You know what? I respect that.”

I pointed toward the convenience store across the street. “If you’re looking for something less...risky, they probably have a guidebook for the easier trails. You’ll still get a great view, just minus the whole ‘possible death’ part.”

His eyes darted to the store, then back to me, expression brimming with self-assurance. “And where’s the adventure in that?”

This city boy’s way out of his league, but who was I to rain on his parade? If he wanted to tackle Dead Man’s Trail, more power to him.

I jabbed a finger in his direction, shifting my weight forward with a teasing lilt in my voice. “Exactly.”

His chin rested in his palm, fingers drumming lightly on the table as he looked at me. “Any words of wisdom to impart?”

I eyed him carefully, a touch impressed he was actually considering it. “I’d recommend bringing a friend,” I said cautiously. “Hiking that trail alone isn’t the best idea.”

He nodded, brushing soft curls out of his eyes with a lazy sweep before rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, of course. No-brainer.”

His bright blue eyes locked onto mine, holding me captive. Time seemed to slow—just the two of us, suspended in that moment. I couldn’t shake the feeling, like I’d stared into those eyes before, like the sky itself had opened up to me in the same way. There was something hauntingly familiar about him, a quiet ease that settled over me, as if we’d always known each other.

Sal’s booming voice shattered the stillness. “brYN!”

I snapped out of my daze, mortified. I’d been staring at him like an idiot. I flashed an awkward smile, said nothing, and quickly walked to the counter.

“Is it really necessary to shout across the diner?” I hissed, my voice loud enough to sting, but still trying to keep it as quiet as possible.

He sneered, dragging a hand through his greasy hair, leaving it sticking up in clumps. The sharp stench of sweat and cheap cologne hit me like a wall. “What, did I make you blush in front of your new friend?”

For a second, I hesitated. Had I? Heat crept up my neck, but that didn’t mean anything. It was just the stuffy diner. Nothing more. Sal was fishing, like always. I wasn’t going to bite .

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. “What do you want, Sal?”

He propped an elbow on the counter, smug as ever. “Just making sure you’re not neglecting your other customers.”

I glanced around the empty diner, my gaze sweeping over the vacant seats before locking onto him again. “Are we serving imaginary people now? He’s the only one here.”

He shot a quick glance at Ezekiel’s table, then chuckled, the sound low and almost amused. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

I was over it. He was just trying to get under my skin. And honestly? A hit on him didn’t sound so bad. It would definitely solve a lot of my problems. Okay, okay, I’m joking…

Mostly.

I headed back to Ezekiel’s table and casually placed the bill in front of him. “Here you go. No rush.”

He dug into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed me his black American Express. “I should probably get going, anyway.”

I tucked the card into my apron and gave him a quick nod. “No worries. Just give me a sec to grab your receipt.”

Once the transaction was wrapped up, I made my way back to his table. He was already standing, so I picked up the pace. “Here you go, sir. Just need your signature, and you’re all set.”

He pulled a sleek pen from his pocket, dark wood with an intricate engraving I couldn’t quite make out. Even his pens were fancy. With a quick flick, he signed and handed the receipt back.

I noticed how effortless he made everything seem, like he was used to being the center of attention, and somehow, it was working. He had that kind of presence that drew people in without trying too hard. I caught myself wondering if that was the effect he had on everyone—or if it was just me.

“Considering we keep running into each other, we might as well be on a first-name basis. I’m Zeke,” he said, extending his hand with a grin that flashed a bright, toothy smile. It was nearly blinding.

I froze.

Zeke.

The name stirred something inside me, a faint echo from somewhere. Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was just that it sounded too familiar—like a name I should know. I shook off the feeling, reminding myself this was just another polite exchange.

“Alright then, Zeke. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day,” I replied, shaking his hand. A flash of warmth shot through me at the contact, like an unexpected spark, but I kept my grip steady, matching his ease .

He gave a brief nod, his expression neutral. “You too, Bryn. Until next time.”

As the door swung shut behind him, my eyes caught a green corner of paper peeking from under the syrup basket. My heart skipped a beat. I pulled out another hefty $200 tip. Stunned, I felt a rush of excitement surge through me. At this point, I didn’t care if Zeke was a high-stakes operative or a saint. He was welcome to sit at my table anytime.

I slipped the bills into my apron pocket, savoring the satisfying crinkle. With renewed energy, I returned to my spot at the counter, my crossword puzzle waiting like an old friend.