Jules fumbled with the sugar packets she was refilling as she tried to watch without him noticing. She had to admit that he was gorgeous. In her old life—her other life—she might have flirted with him. Now, she looked at the uniform and all she could see was the prison time it represented.
“Seriously?” Megan muttered, making Jules jump and scatter sugar packets across the counter. “He’s here again? Why can’t he just keep his cranky ass at home and stop ruining everyone else’s day?”
Her laugh came out as more of a gasp, drawing a sharp look from Megan.
“You all right? Don’t you let him bother you, okay? He’s surly to everyone, so it’s nothing you did. He didn’t used to be this bad, at least not until… Well, let’s not talk about that. Want to do rock-paper-scissors to see who has to take table four?”
Jules’s laugh came easier that time. She was relieved that Megan thought Jules’s reluctance to be around Theo was because of his crabbiness, rather than the fact that he was a cop. The last thing she needed was for Megan to be suspicious of her. “Sure.”
Under the cover of the counter, they held their fists out and counted under their breath, “One, two, three!”
Jules sighed at her smothered rock. “Shoot. Well, thanks for the offer.”
“If I were a nice person, I’d take Pissy Cop’s table anyway.” When Jules looked at her hopefully, Megan smirked. “I said ‘if.’ I’m truly not a nice person.”
Jules watched Megan walk toward one of her tables, a smiling older couple who were a striking contrast to the scowling cop four tables away. Her shoulders lifting and then dropping again in a sigh, Jules stiffened her spine. She just needed to be confident. A twinge of remembered embarrassment and fear made her frown. She also needed to not let the cop’s air of authority—as well as his muscled forearms and pretty dark-brown eyes—reduce her to the babbling idiot she’d become the last time he’d been at the diner. For goodness’ sake, she’d messed up her name. Her name. If she wanted to survive in her new life, she needed to step up her game. Firming her jaw to the point that her muscles ached a little with the strain, she picked up a coffeepot and headed to his table.
He watched her, his frown deepening with each step, and she fought the urge to slow or, better yet, turn tail and run.
“’Morning.” She turned the mug in front of him right-side-up with shaky fingers. His wary eyes—almost black and alarmingly perceptive—took in everything, including, she was sure, her obvious nerves. “Did you need a menu?”
Jules caught herself before he could respond.
“Sorry.” Her flush prickled her chest and moved up to her face to warm her cheeks. “Of course you don’t need a menu. You probably know everything on there by now. Well, I’m guessing you do. I’ve only seen you here once, but Megan mentioned you’re a regular.”
Abruptly, Jules stopped talking. More of the nervous babble pressed on her lungs, wanting out. Afraid to open her mouth again in case she started talking once more and wasn’t able to stop until she told this man—this police officer!—everything he shouldn’t know, she forced a smile and stayed quiet.
“Number four,” he said after another pause just long enough to make her uncomfortable. “Scrambled.”
“Got it.” Jules scribbled down the order, relieved to have something to focus on other than his too-intense gaze. He looked at her like he could see everything about her, and there were so many things she wanted to keep hidden—especially from a cop. When she glanced up, she kept her eyes away from his, focusing on his left earlobe, instead. “That’ll be right out.”
After picking up the coffeepot again, she began to turn around, relieved that she finally got to bolt. A sound behind her, something halfway between a masculine grunt and a throat-clearing, made her stop and reluctantly turn. Jules focused on his other earlobe this time, trying not to show her renewed panic. “Was there something else you needed?”
“Where are you staying?” He bit off each word, making him sound like he was angry he had to speak to her.
The mild, unfocused fear blossomed into terror. Why was he asking? Was he investigating her? His frown deepened when she took a beat too long to answer, and she rushed out her response. “Um…in Monroe.”
“Where?”
Her paranoia was feeding her panic, and she gave a vague wave toward the north. “On the edge of town.”
If he narrowed his eyes any more, he’d be squinting. “The blue house off of Orchard Street?”
“No.” Her feet moved of their own volition, and she took a step toward the door. This job was too important for her to run out on her fourth day, but the cop’s questioning was pushing her to the point where she just wanted to escape, paycheck or no paycheck.