face. “See? If I didn’t know better I’d think the boy with the leather jacket was bad news.”
“I’m not wearing it today,” Noah offered.
“It’s there to compliment the guitar,” she decided, her voice playful.
“Better than the apron?” He mimed the hook of his head, although he always folded it around his waist.
“Definitely,” Aly affirmed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re quite possibly the best waiter I’ve ever seen.”
“Of course I am,” he laughed. “It’s my job.”
Aly smiled. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Tell me about it.
“Well,” he teased, “That I might take the wrong way.”
“All I mean is, you’re too good for this town.”
“Nah. I’m a productof this town,” Noah smirked.
She winced, slapping a hand across her forehead. “Wow. That sounded terrible, didn’t it?”
“I knew what you meant,” he grinned, nudging her elbow with his own. “Though I have to say the face-palm made my entire day.”
“Who knew?” A giggle slipped from her lips. “There are face- palms in Alaska.”
“Where there’s internet, there’s a way.”
“You’re talking to the girl who spammed her own profile so she didn’t have to see lists of condolences.” Chewing on her own words, she grimaced, adding, “Sorry. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
He laughed, unbothered. “What? Being Aly?”
She looked away, hiding her smile. “I guess so.”
“So, what about the girl in the boots– bad news?”
“That depends on who’s asking.” Her gaze dropped up and down, taking in his height. “I think you can handle it.”
“Really,” he stated, as though he considered the word on his lips, mulling it over.
“Sure, a strapping young man such as yourself. You’re brimming with angst and defiance– or so I’m convinced.” Her voice shifted into a British accent, holding despite the wavering of amusement. “I’m sure you’ve done terrible things.”
So much better than Luke or Owen’s – maybe they can ask for lessons.
“Have a degree to go with that theory?”
“My father does,” she giggled. “Seriously, what’s the worst?”
He considered her question, grimacing at the memory. His hand subconsciously probed his side as though the skin was still tender with blacks and blues. He said, “I’ve been drunk exactly once. Worst night of my life. I woke up the next morning and I was still drunk, and spent the entire day sick as a dog. My father kicked me so hard I tasted my ribs.”
“Oh my God,” she blurted, eyes wide. “I hope that’s a one-time deal.”
“Drinking sure as hell is, at least for me.”
“I meant your dad,” she corrected, frowning in concern. “I thought teens were supposed to be experimenting and all that. I think my mother was disappointedwhen I didn’t go through that phase.”
“That doesn’t alarm you?”
“It’s not like she wanted me to jump for drugs or try to pull off any wild parties – which, between our budget and neighbors on each side of the condo would not have worked at all.”
“I thought your dad was super rich or whatever.”
“I never saw him growing up. He didn’t help financially until my mom was terminal.”
He sympathized, “That sucks.”
“I wasn’t a priority,” Aly shrugged. “I had my mom, which was way better. I literally spent my entire life trying to please her. Like I said, she was kind of disappointed I never really screwed up. I don’t know if it’s because she got kicked out when she went to college or if it’s because she was pregnant so young. I think it’s the books.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The books made her do it?”
“No, no. I mean… She had all these parenting books and magazines – filled with sticky notes and dog-eared pages. I guess most of the Your Troubled Child & You types proved irrelevant. When she worked late I used to sit in her closet and flip through them, trying to imagine what she was using to shape me. I think she was bummed she never got to use them.”
“And that doesn’t alarm you either?”
“It wasn’t a closet -closet. That’s where the bookshelf was – with an ottoman and a light.” She groaned, frustrated with her own inability unable to relieve the amused expression on his face. “I swear it’s not as weird as it sounds.”
“Sure. Because most kids read their parent’s parenting books in a closet.”
“Yes, because most kids get beaten when they drink,” she retorted.
He raised his palms in surrender. “I was kicking myself anyway.” Noah sighed, rubbing his neck.
She frowned, her face ridden with concern. “It seems harsh.” He shrugged. “So does ditching your kid at a diner.”
~
Following the road home, they moved up his back