Club Princess - Nicole James Page 0,28
is spaghetti, and it’s not bad.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I hate the stuff.”
“Well, the meatloaf is delicious.”
“Sold.” I push the menu to the side.
She looks at Memphis. “And for you, darlin’?”
“Same.”
She moves off and I look over at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who hates spaghetti.”
“It was a cheap meal I got served a lot as a kid. It’s amazing how bad it can be when its just pasta and cheap tomato sauce.”
I take a sip of coffee, feeling the need to change the subject to something less depressing. For a diner, the brew is surprisingly good. “Umm. That’s good coffee.”
Memphis pours some sugar in his and stirs it, then his eyes flick up to mine. “You sore?”
I grin. “Some.”
“Second day’s always the worst.”
“Is that so?”
“Yup. You should probably take some painkillers tonight. It’ll help you sleep.”
I yawn. “Don’t talk about sleep.”
He chuckles, and lifts his cup of coffee. “Drink up, then.”
A group of children skip past the window, balloons in their hands. Their parents follow, a sleeping toddler in the father’s arms, a bag of cotton candy clutched in his little hand. I lean closer to peer down the street the way they came, and spot the lights of a Ferris wheel between two buildings. “Oh, wow. Check it out; there must be a carnival in town.”
Memphis leans to the glass, and follows my gaze. “Yup. Looks like it.”
“I used to love going to the carnival when I was a kid. One would come to town every Fourth of July. My favorite ride was the Scrambler. How about you?”
“How about me what?”
The waitress comes back with two plates, sets them in front of us, and pulls two wrapped silverware sets out of her apron. “Need anything else?”
We both shake our heads, and begin unrolling our silverware. Once she leaves, I lean toward Memphis. “Which ride was your favorite?”
He forks off a piece of meatloaf, and shoves it in his mouth, meeting my gaze. “Don’t know. Never been.”
My mouth drops open. “You’ve never been to a carnival?”
“Nope.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
I frown. “Why not?”
He shrugs, not answering.
I press him. “But surely the carnival came to your town, right?”
“Sure, it came.” He pushes the food around on his plate, avoiding my gaze.
“Then why didn’t you go?”
His eyes lift to mine. “You want the truth?”
I nod, but pull my head back, my smile faltering, suddenly not sure I actually do.
He stabs another piece of meat, and drops his eyes to his plate. His other hand forms a tight fist, and I can see the tension running up his arm.
“I grew up in a series of foster homes. None of them were the kind that took us to carnivals. Probably didn’t have the money if they’d wanted. Pretty sure they used what the state gave them to pay their mortgage. They for sure didn’t use it for toys and fun outings for us.”
My heart breaks with every word that falls out of his mouth, but I can only key in on one word. “Us?”
“My sister and me. Well, until they split us up. Then I bounced from one group home to another.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He puts down his fork, and takes a big slug of coffee, and then, almost like the java fortifies him, his gaze meets mine. “For what?”
He suddenly sounds like we’re talking about anything else but his sad childhood. I want to answer, but anything that comes out of my mouth right now will be wrong. I have a million questions, but I feel like I don’t have a right to answers. Our relationship is too new. But maybe there is something that I can do. I glance out the window toward the lights of the Ferris wheel.
“When we’re through eating, can we go? Everyone needs to experience a carnival ride, at least once in their life.”
“Babe, I don’t need you tryin’ to make up for shit in my past. It’s done.”
“I know that. Can we go anyway? Please.”
He glances around the diner.
“They have funnel cake,” I say in a singsong voice.
“You’re not gonna drop this, are you?” His gaze returns to mine.
I grin. “Nope.”
After we eat, and Memphis pays the check, we wander down to carnival. It’s dark now, and the lights are festive. Cheerful music is piped through speakers. The smell of corndogs, popcorn, and cotton candy fills the air. Happy kids race past with hands full of ride tickets.
I move closer to Memphis to avoid being rundown, and feel the warm skin of his forearm brush