Page 18 of Hutch (Minnesota Raptors #2)

Hutch

Honestly, I’m lucky she agreed to go to breakfast with me.

She completely shut down when she started to say something about her ex, Joseph.

The name leaves a sour taste in my mouth simply because of how it affected her.

Christa said it wasn’t her story to tell, but it wasn’t a good one.

One day, I’ll get Daisy to tell me about him and why he put that look in her eyes.

It was haunted. I want to understand the pain there. To make it better if I can.

And that starts with me being her friend.

I texted her good morning as soon as I woke up.

I knew she’d be passed out since it was four in the morning, but I’m determined to be the first person she speaks to every day.

I made my mind up last night and texted her good night as well.

I’m going to start scouring the internet for funny memes I can send her too.

I want her to get used to seeing me in her DM’s.

I’m going to wear down those walls of hers with sheer kindness and goofy, silly things.

As I pull into her driveway, two of the baseball guys are just coming out.

They throw their hands up when they see me, but otherwise ignore me as they get in their cars, probably headed to class.

They’re good guys at least. I know Jenny hosts a lot of parties here, but the guys who have girlfriends that live here tend to make sure people keep their shit together and don’t harass the women.

I can’t stand that shit. Drunk or not, be respectful.

I get out and go in the house. It’s not locked, but then it rarely is during the day. She’s not in the living room, so I swing my attention to the kitchen where she’s sitting at the island yawning with a cup of coffee in front of her. It’s already 10:30. Did she just get up?

“Heya sleepy head. You ready to go eat?”

She glances at me and then at her coffee. “I just poured this. Didn’t think you’d be here until eleven.”

I shrug. “I thought we’d get a jump on it since you have class at one. You got your stuff ready? I can drop you at your building when we’re done.”

“I thought I’d drive myself since I need my car…”

I shake my head before she can finish. “Nope. I told you I was driving. I can pick you up after class and bring you back to the house. It’s not a problem.”

She frowns but doesn’t argue. I chalk it up to my bubbly personality.

“Are you always this happy in the mornings?”

“Sure am. Aren’t you?”

“No. I hate early mornings.”

I make a point to look at my watch. “It’s 10:38. It’s not early.”

“I woke up fifteen minutes ago. It’s early for me.”

“I’ve been up since four.”

She scowls. “ Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Hockey practice.”

“Sucks for you.”

I laugh. “Yeah, but I love it so I don’t mind the early hours.”

“I guess.” She gets up and pours her coffee out before putting the cup in the dishwasher. “Where are we going to eat?”

“Little place right off campus. A hole in the wall basically, but they have the best breakfast in the city. At least I think so.”

“It’s not just a grease machine? There’s food you can actually eat?”

“Yup. Most of us hockey players eat there. The school keeps them running on athletes. Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of greasy, sugary, fatty food too, but they keep us in mind as well.”

“I’m guessing more than just athletes eat there from the school then?”

“Yeah.” I open the car door for her and she raises a brow. “My mama taught me right. You open doors for ladies.”

“She did good then. Nana always said if a man doesn’t open a door for someone, then he wasn’t raised right.

I remember her telling our next door neighbor if he couldn’t open his man’s door, then he needed to go learn some manners.

He was terrified to tell Nana he was gay since she was so religious, but she accepted him with open arms when his own family disowned him. ”

“She sounds like an amazing person.”

Daisy gives me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “She was and everyone loved her. Every friend I had called her Nana Caldwell. I miss her all the time and I hope I can do her proud.”

“All things considered, I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job of it.”

“You can’t know that since you barely know me.”

“I know enough to make some damn decent assumptions.”

“You know what they say about people who assume…”

“Yeah, yeah, but I stand on what I said. You’re a good person who does her best with the hand she’s been dealt.

My mom is like that. She raised me by herself after my dad walked out.

Sometimes I saw her maybe ten minutes a day because she was going from job to job to keep a roof over our heads, food on the table, and my hockey camps paid for.

She had a shit hand dealt to her and she made it work. ”

We’re both quiet for a while after that. I glance over at her and she’s staring out the window, a thoughtful expression on her face. I wonder what she’s thinking about.

It’s not until I’m pulling into parking lot of my favorite breakfast place that she interrupts the silence. “It’s hard to keep yourself afloat when things are bad, let alone someone else. Your mom sounds like an amazing person herself. I’m glad I got to meet her.”

“She wants you at the house for supper.”

“Uhh…why?”

I shrug. “She likes you. Come on. Let’s go while they’re not busy.

Their lunch rush will be starting soon and I want a good table before that happens.

” Best to distract her from dinner with my mother.

I’m hoping I can get her to dinner with Mom by next Sunday. Fingers crossed as my cousin would say.

Ellie’s Biscuits and Fixins, as the place is called, is one of the best kept secrets in Minneapolis.

Only the locals go here and the tourist visit the fancier places.

Which is fine with all of us. Ellie’s is only open until 3pm so it’s always busy.

Even as we walk in, the tables are still full.

I take Daisy’s hand and make a beeline for the one window table that’s open.

I see two guys walking toward it and run, making it to the table a few steps before them.

“Was that necessary?” Daisy asks when she catches up to me.

“Yes,” all three of us guys answer.

She shakes her head and slides into the booth. “Stupid.”

“But we got one of the best seats in the place.” I can’t hide the pride in my voice for beating out two of the college basketball players. They might spend half their time running, but I spend most of my time skating and running. I’m faster.

It’s not long before our waitress comes over with menus and a complimentary carafe of coffee and mugs.

“See, I told you not to worry about coffee.” I grin as the waitress laughs.

“I’m Casey and I’ll be your waitress today. Do you two want creamer as well?”

“Please,” Daisy murmurs.

“I’ll be right out with it. Can I bring you some juice or water?”

“Water for me.”

“Water’s fine.”

“You know you can order OJ or something. It won’t bother me.”

“Lies. You’ll want it and I’ll end up feeling bad. Now, what’s good here?” she asks.

“Everything.”

“That tells me nothing.” She flips the one page menu over. “Eww, grits. I hate grits.”

“My mom loves them.”

“Nana loved them so I learned how to make them. Still don’t like them, though.”

“Let’s see…for your first time, I’d try one of the specialty waffles.”

She looks up. “Nah. You can’t eat them so I don’t want to eat that in front of you.”

“I’m used to it. I’m getting steak and their egg white omelets. Trust me, get the waffles, I don’t mind.”

“I really want to try the cinnamon roll waffle.”

“I had them over the summer. They’re my favorite.”

“Nope, not getting them then.”

Mom is going to love this girl.

When Casey comes back, I give her my order and Daisy decides on fresh strawberry crepes.

“What are crepes?” I ask when the waitress leaves. I think I’ve heard of them, but I can’t be sure.

“They’re like thin pancakes folded over and stuffed with all sorts of things. You can make breakfast, lunch or dinner crepes.”

“Never had them. I’m strictly a pancake kind of guy.”

“Do you eat Keto pancakes through the season?”

“That’s a thing?”

Her lips purse. “How often do you eat clean for sports?”

“I eat okay, but I really locked in this season because I want a spot with the NHL.”

“Did you live off burgers and fries when your mom doesn’t cook for you?”

“Busted.”

She smiles ruefully. “I’d live off pizza if I could.”

I groan. “I love pizza, but I can’t eat it!”

“Sure you can, just use a non-wheat crust and low fat cheese.”

“Isn’t that nasty, though?”

“I’ve never tried to make one, but I can experiment a little to see what one would taste like. As far as cheese…cheese is cheese. It tastes good no matter what.”

This is why I know she likes me. She wouldn’t be thinking about trying to find recipes that might taste good and still be healthy for me. Same as I’m always trying to feed her. It’s weird but it shows we both care. Mom always said food is a universal language and I guess she’s right.

“I would appreciate it, thanks.”

She looks around and I do as well, trying to figure out what she’s thinking.

The place is a literal hole in the wall.

A long counter with stools go from one end to the other with a small space at both ends for the staff to come in and out of.

The floor is concrete and the booths are wood and the cushions a brown leather.

The walls are a mint green and the place reeks of bacon.

There’s barely enough room in here for the booths that line the wall opposite the counter and the few tables crammed together in the remaining space. It’s a miracle anyone can walk around.