Rebel at Spruce High (Spruce Texas Romance #5) - Daryl Banner Page 0,71

and he seems to be in a similar state of mind, all his movements slow, his face, pensive. As if sensing me, he glances my way, and I quickly snap my gaze back to my things. I pull out my phone and pretend to check something, feeling anxious.

“Hey,” comes his voice at my side suddenly.

Vann sure rushed up to me fast. When I face him, I’m met with his dark, searching eyes. He’s wearing a black short-sleeve button shirt open over a plain gray t-shirt and dark jeans. “Hey,” I greet him back, putting on a smile. “So I’ll see you at—?”

“Does Biggie’s really have the best burgers in town?”

My open mouth, prepared with the remainder of my question, collapses into a mock gasp of surprise. “Only the best!” I exclaim with put-on excitement.

Vann snorts, amused. “I think I’m gonna come with you and eat there. I need a good place to draw. Somewhere with light.”

“It gets loud during the Friday night rush,” I warn him.

“Good. That’s one thing I miss about New York City.” His eyes narrow. “Noise.”

And that’s how it happens that Vann and I leave Spruce High together and make the brief trip across the street and down a few blocks to Biggie’s Bites, right on the corner of Wicker and Main. After Vann claims an available booth in the corner, I introduce him to the menu before even donning my apron, make my usual recommendations, then take his order to the back.

Mrs. Tucker is on me the moment she catches a whiff of him. “Oh, is that the new boy? Hmm.” She squints at him through the window separating the restaurant from the kitchen. “Seems sweet to me! Comp the sweet boy’s meal. A newcomer to Spruce needs to feel the welcomin’ Spruce spirit, don’t he? Hey.” She leans in close to me. “Is he a boy you’re chasing? Are you taking my advice?” My face goes red as I politely retort in a low voice, “No, Mrs. Tucker, he is just a friend, new to town, and … we sort of clicked right away.” To that, she just gives me a knowing smirk, says, “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Has No Options Here In Spruce,” before swatting my arm with a menu and heading out the door, likely to introduce herself to Vann and do that invasive, maternal thing she’s so known for.

The night flies right on by, and all of the things I normally find stressful don’t seem stressful at all tonight, not with Vann sitting at that booth in the corner reminding me of what I have to look forward to once eleven o’clock rolls around. I catch Mick staring at Vann through the window while doing the dishes, his big blank face wrinkled up with confusion, mouth hanging open in the way it does. “Something on your mind?” I prod him as I wash my hands in the nearby sink. Mick just grunts, shrugs, then asks, “Is he gonna order a dessert or somethin’? Been sittin’ there for an hour or two just drawin’ stuff,” before resuming his dishwashing in a lip-hanging daze.

When the rush dies down after ten, I join Vann at his booth briefly to see what he’s drawing. He flips his sketch around to show me. It appears to be another muscular demon, but this one has a giant head of a viper instead of a human one. “What a … slitheringly sexy fellow you’ve made there,” I tease. “Kinda wish I could see him in color.”

“Nah, I don’t do color,” says Vann, flipping his sketch back to face himself as he adds more scales to the demon’s neck.

“Color is all I do,” I throw back. Then it hits me. “We should totally collaborate on something. You could draw it, and I’ll paint over it, giving it color.”

“Hmph,” is all Vann says to that.

At last, the time comes to leave, and I clock out officially with Mrs. Tucker. Before heading out the door, however, Vann goes up to her when she’s standing at the cash register. “Thanks,” he tells her. “For dinner.” She appears genuinely surprised by the thanks, and touched, as the smile that graces her face is warm and bright. “You come back anytime,” she tells him. “Bring your whole fam if you like. Try one of our specials, on the house. A friend of Toby’s is a friend of the Tuckers.”

Outside in the darkness of near-midnight as we make our slow way to my house, Vann asks, “Who