I’m happy for her, but there’s more to it. Something under the skin that doesn’t sit right. Maybe I’m jealous, which is awful and unfair. Kimberly deserves everything.

I’m butterfingers all afternoon. Feel it all slipping from my fingers.

When the door bell jangles, I know without turning who it’s gonna be.

Noodle. He had to choose tonight to drop by. It’s like he’s got some kind of radar for when I’m lonely, when I’m sad, when I’m vulnerable. How does he do that? How does he read my mood from all the way across the neighborhood? When we were together, he couldn’t read my mood from across the room.

“What are you doing here, Noodle?”

“I came to see you, baby. I missed you.”

Maybe. It sucks how much I want it to be true. “Then why don’t you ever text me back?” He’s hurt me too many times. I’m supposed to be strong. I am strong.

“I’ve been busy,” he says. “This girl who died, all the chaos. Haven’t you been busy, too?”

“Sure, of course.” I wave at the rest of the diner. “In fact, I’m busy right now.” If I walk away, maybe he’ll go. Not so much.

“Table for one,” he says, following me.

“Why don’t you just sit at the counter?” I suggest. Noodle doesn’t pay his check, let alone tip the way Brick does. I don’t want him taking up a whole table when it’s about to be the dinner rush.

“Nah.” He tosses himself into a prime booth that could seat four. “This is cozy.”

I pull in one big breath, gather my courage. “If you’re gonna sit there, you gotta spend at least fifty bucks,” I inform him. “It’ll come out of my tips, otherwise.”

Noodle grins. “Sure, sure. You know I’m good for it.”

“Up front,” I insist.

He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a fifty. “Most expensive cheeseburger I ever ate,” he says, grinning.

“Well done with fries and a shake?”

He grins. “I haven’t changed.”

Lord knows that.

As I return to the kitchen, my cell vibrates in my apron pocket.

This is me, texting you.

And then, while I check on my other tables.

You look hella sexy in that apron.

And then, while I’m refreshing the coffee.

Do that hair flippy thing that I like.

And then I stop looking. The phone vibrates six more times.

“Order up,” Troy calls.

I march back to Noodle’s table with the burger. He’s all smiles, all surface chill.

“What, you don’t write me back?” He pouts. “After giving me all that grief?”

I push the plate over to him and smack down a bottle of ketchup. “Stop it. I’m working.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me if there’s anything else I need?”