Page 132 of The Deals We Make

“Ma,” I say as I bend and kiss her paper-thin cheek. She’s the only one who uses my real name anymore. Everyone else calls me Wraith.

And I call her Ma because it was what Hallie wanted. Guess I’m now the only person who will ever call her that so to take it away and pretend we’re nothing to each other is cruel.

“Oh, you’re freezing. Let me get you a coffee. Barnabus made meatloaf. You want some of that too?”

“Sounds good. Just got back and don’t have anything in the fridge.”

Ma taps my sergeant at arms patch but doesn’t ask me any more questions. “Go take your seat.”

I head to the red booth, which I always take. It’s the only one not near the window. Other people come here for the view of Main Street. There’s no way I’m leaving my ass a sitting duck for any trouble that comes down the road.

Thankfully, there is no one there. I tug off my jacket and hang it on the hook and sit, wet road gear and all.

Can’t be bothered to get out of the waterproof pants only to have to wriggle back into them in an hour.

A cup of coffee slips in front of me. “Thanks, Ma.”

“I didn’t know how you take it. Do you need milk? Half ’n’ half?”

The voice isn’t Ma’s. It’s soft. Soothing.

I look up, and the black-haired beauty staring back at me catches me off guard. “Half ’n’ half, please.”

“I’ll be right back,” she says.

The diner uniform is laid back. But her jeans hug her ass, and the black T-shirt with the diner logo on it fits her perfectly.

First time I had sex after Hallie died, I almost fucking cried. Missed her softness and warmth beneath me. Missed the way she’d run her fingers through my hair as I lay spent, my head on her chest.

I kicked the poor club bitch out of my room at the clubhouse because I couldn’t face spending the night with a body that wasn’t Hallie’s.

Got better at it, because a man has needs after all.

Sex is sex.

But I never felt the connection to anyone ever again.

Two years on, I’m capable of acknowledging a woman is hot and getting the idea she’s worth fucking.

She laughs at something Ma says as she hands her the carton. It’s a pretty smile.

I let out a long breath as my bones ease.

“Margie said to hand you the whole carton.” She places it down on the table. “Guess you like your coffee sweet, huh?”

I add an exceptionally generous dollop. “Not a lot of sweetness elsewhere in life, sugar.”

She sighs wistfully. Her tits lift at the gesture. “That’s the truth.”

It must be the black hair that makes her eyes so blue. Or the pink of her lips. All cool colors and pale skin.

“Well, enjoy your coffee.” She heads to another booth and begins clearing the table as I wrap my hands around the steaming hot mug.

My fingers ache, a slow and steady throb, as blood finally flows back into them.

The new girl is efficient with her movements and her smiles. She’s graceful in the way her hips shift and her arms move, but there’s a tightness and tension in her shoulders that she isn’t as relaxed as she would like us to believe she is.

A bell rings as she hurries to the kitchen and a few moments later, she reappears at my table holding the plate with a generous serving of meatloaf and mashed potatoes that make my mouth water, and a side of mixed vegetables I could do without.