“Okay,” he said, waving a hand. “Men who aren’t hitting on women always swear they aren’t. It’s the oldest trick in the book. But look, I’m at loose ends until Saturday and am driving around exploring stuff. Got any local recommendations?”
“What kind of stuff?” Her face relaxed a little. Though she still looked tired, he could tell that curiosity had caught hold of her.
“Anything, really. I’m between jobs for a while and packed my winter with sightseeing and skiing. I came to Idaho to see some cool things, so maybe you know of some cool things.” God, he sounded like an idiot. Several million dollars in the bank and technology articles about his work hadn’t done anything for his ability to talk to women. Confidence in one didn’t mean confidence in the other.
“You came here to see cool things? In the winter?” Her head jutted forward, and her brow furrowed. He’d had a full-sized poodle as a kid and she’d had the same look whenever he’d asked her to do something ridiculous. He hid his smile at the thought. His waitress probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison, even though he’d loved that dog.
“Technically, it’s still fall,” he corrected. “For another week or so.”
The sanctimony he could hear in his own voice opened her mouth completely, either in confusion or disbelief, he couldn’t tell. But the only sound that came out was a huff. He’d knocked the words right out of her.
Smooth, as always. Correcting strangers was his most charming move. Worked . . . never. It had never worked.
“Sorry,” he said, trying for as much sincerity as he’d had smug correctness. “I can be a pompous ass. I’d say ignore me, but I wouldn’t be able to ignore me, especially when I’m at my worst.” He paused and then changed the subject. “But yeah . . . It’s cold, but I couldn’t help the timing, and I’ve never been to Idaho. There’s got to be something around here I can check out. The biggest ball of yarn. A Jolly Green Giant statue. Something.”
Finally, she shook her head. “Well, if you are hitting on me, you’re doing a terrible job of it.” She sounded amazed, so there was that. He’d leave an impression, and sometimes that was all he could hope for.
He laughed at himself and his own failures. “What’s even more sad is that this would be one of my better efforts. If I were hitting on you right now, that is. Which I’m not.”
She laughed with him, their connection from earlier reestablished. Then she turned her long neck to yell over her shoulder. “Hey, Babe, is the submarine museum open?”
“Now? No,” came an incredulous voice from the kitchen. Babe, he gathered, was the diner’s namesake and the woman responsible for the amazing smells.
“Submarine museum? That sounds cool.” He hadn’t expected anything so interesting when he’d made his plans.
When she shook her head, he caught sight of little red bows at the top of her bell earrings. “It’s a museum in an old Navy jail. They did training up here back in World War II. And they test submarines there, if you can believe it. But the museum is closed in the winter.”
“What about the Wolf People?” Babe called out from the kitchen.
“Wolf People?” He liked technology, but he’d been staring at computers for too many years. Animals would be a nice break. “Now that sounds interesting.”
“I guess. We went there every year on field trips, same as the submarine museum, so it seems like an old hat to me.” She nodded her head toward his plate. “You should eat your food. It’s going to get cold.”
Obediently, he cut some pancake away from the rest with the side of his fork. “Tell me about the Wolf People. I’ll eat. You talk.”
She shrugged, looking both less irritated and less tired than she had when he’d first sat down. Maybe not chipper, but her face was no longer drawn and she’d lost the wobble he’d seen in her when she’d gone back to turn in his order. “The Wolf People is an organization north of here. There are some twenty wolves in a closed park. You can take a tour, and there’s a gift shop.”
Marc nodded and swallowed his food. “These are delicious. Good pick.”
His waitress inclined her head to the kitchen. “It’s Babe. She’s such a good cook.” The rest of the sentence went unsaid, but he heard it. Babe’s talents were wasted on this tiny town in the middle of nowhere and—maybe he heard this in the waitress’s tone, too—so were the talents and interests of his waitress.
He wondered what her talents are. Was she happy in this small town? Did she want to leave? He’d desperately wanted to leave his own small town, but not everyone he’d gone to school with had felt the same way.