Ugh. Thoughts of Trey kept me up half the night and without enough sleep, the warmth of the water from the shower spray isn't helping to energize me for the waiting day. I'd turn it cold if I had more self-control, but who in their right mind makes the decision to take a cold shower? Not even learning Trey's an asshole of epic proportions can make me that insane.Trey stalked away from our group and I spent the rest of the night being the perfect companion to Roger. I smiled pretty and shook hands like nothing was wrong. But Trey's look of betrayal before he turned and left played on repeat in my mind. By the end of the night, I regretted my final words to him. It was never about getting his account to Lowry, Lowry, and Fink, but in a time of weakness I played on his insecurities.I press my head against the cool tile of my shower as water flows over my eyes. I'm not sure why I'm even concerned with how he feels. Why do I feel miserable and guilty over what I said? The man has a gi

IT'S ONLY the first week of November, but there's an extra chill in the air as I'm the last to exit the car back at my parents' house for the post-funeral luncheon. The cold set into my bones as we stood outside at the gravesite and I worry I'll never be warm again. Of course I've been cold for more than the last month, so this might be my new condition. Cold. A little dead to the world.The three of us are silent as we walk in the house we once shared, but never will again. My sister continues to the kitchen while my father and I stop in the living room to our right. He sits in the old green chair he's called his for more years than I remember, and I take a place on the matching couch. It doesn't actually match, but its close enough in color that when my mother found it a few years ago she bought it on sight. Then sent me pictures and text messages for the next week about how amazing it was to find a piece of furniture the exact hideous pea green color of Dad's favorite chair. She l

I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose both my pinkie toes after today. Regardless of how comfortable your shoes look, they all hurt after six hours on your feet. I'm not sure what's worse — only having eight toes after I finish my first shift at Bonnie's Café or the possibility I may have to buy a pair of those ugly lunch lady shoes.I limp behind the black counter with my empty coffee pot in hand and start the task of making a fresh batch. In order to keep some weight off my aching feet, I switch from foot to foot to find a small amount of relief."You need more support in your arches," Jamie, my trainer and coworker for this shift, tosses my way when he comes to stand beside me at the coffee pot.Jamie throws the white towel he used to clean off the tables in the sink to our right and leans a hip on the counter, turning his body to face mine. His upper arm muscles bulge stretching his official black Bonnie's polos shirt at the hem of the short sleeve. It takes me a minute to pry my

"We're tag teaming lunch again?" Jamie's question comes from behind me, and I jump jerking the coffee pot but without spilling any of the hot liquid inside.By the time I turn around to face him, there's a genuine smile in residence on my face. "Yup, it's the dream team together again." I smack him on the arm with a move that's so reminiscent of my mother my breath hitches.My new coworker doesn't notice my slip and turns back to the other side of the counter to start our prep for the upcoming lunch rush. He balances on the heels of his feet and leans into the case, his muscles flex stretching his black polo shirt as he moves plates around. I might spend a few too many minutes watching him with my back against the opposite counter.The restaurant is peaceful now so my time isn't interrupted with a needy customer. It's the quiet time of day, the time that pays the least in tips. People stop in for a muffin or coffee — quick orders that don't require them to sit. Then as we get clo

Against all the wishes I made over the last five minutes, Trey is still here when I step past the counter into the main area of the diner. He still hasn't touched his salad and his eyes track my movements across the white titled floor — probably so he can intervene if I try to make a run for it. He's right to be concerned. I considered it while in the back."You're here."I sit in the wooden chair on the other side of Trey's small table and cross one leg over the other.He leans his body further over the table. "You promise to stay here?""Yes."Trey's eyes narrow for a fraction of a second. "Say you promise.""Fine," I blow out a breath in frustration. "I promise I'll sit and hear you out. Now talk."The legs of his chair scrape on the floor as he stands. "I need to take a quick break. I'll be back."He doesn't look behind him, but walks with deliberate and quick steps to the back of the restaurant toward the bathrooms. I laugh at him. I guess he's not a camel after al