wanting to smack her forehead. “I’m stupid. The coffeepot. I got it. We’ll get your order right quick.”
“We’re not worried ’bout it,” Clay said as she picked up the coffeepot. “Just bring it when it’s done. No sense rushing. We know we’re early.”
“You’re sweet.” She sighed, thanking God for handsome fighters named Clay. Even a glimpse of normalcy was better than none at all, and she was so incredibly grateful for it. She couldn’t help but turn and give Clay a long, lingering look, thinking it was probably a good thing he was famous and out of her reach. “Thank you.”
Then she left before he could say something. The coffeepot clutched tightly in her hand, she practically ran into the kitchen, deciding to give the order to Hal personally and use the moment to hide and pull herself together.
Clay watched the pretty waitress leave. Her cheeks flushed pink, her chest heaving underneath her simple blue and white uniform as she disappeared into the back. He tried to sort out the plethora of emotions overwhelming him. Most were feelings he was unaccustomed to, like a wild need to run after her and comfort her until that panicked look left her bright green eyes, now reflecting fear underneath her glasses. Clay was the last person in the world who should be comforting anyone. Instead he searched for stable ground, thumbing through the rush of emotion until he found one he knew how to handle.
“If that ex-husband of hers shows up in Garnet, I’m gonna have him installed in the Cellar as my own personal punching bag.” He felt a pulsing fury surge through his bloodstream. “Fucker.”
He looked back to the front of the restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, still battling with the urge to soothe away her fears. He was floundering, and he knew it. A headache and his own set of bruised ribs had him twitchy. He raised his hips, searching in the pocket of his jeans for the pain relievers the doctor had stuffed in his hand before Jules drove them to breakfast.
“Hey, Jules, you got my ibuprofen?” he asked, coming up with nothing but his wallet. He lifted his head to look at her, finding Jules stunned speechless, her jaw actually hanging open. He glanced to Wyatt, sitting next to her, who had a similar look of shock on his handsome face. “You two running a fly-catching contest or something? What’re you gawking at?”
Jules’s jaw clicked shut first. Ever poised, she ran fingers through her shiny hair, before she turned back to Clay. “You’re sweet on her.”
“So what if I am?” he barked back, feeling his cheeks heat.
“That’s the worst pairing in the world, you and that jumpy little waitress. What a nightmare,” Wyatt said with a sad shake of his head. “I don’t think it’ll work, Clay. You heard her admit it herself: she’s broken.”
“And I ain’t ?” Clay countered.
Jules’s blue eyes became soft and concerned in sisterly fashion. “You’re not broken, sweetie.”
“Well,” Wyatt argued, tilting his head as he gave his sister a look, “I wouldn’t exactly put him on the normal scale of human behavior.”
“You ain’t on the normal scale.” Jules growled, turning around to punch Wyatt’s shoulder with sharp speed and painful accuracy, because Wyatt and Clay weren’t the only ones with a running collection of black belts. “So you just sit there, shut up, and drink your coffee, because if you say something dumb to that sweet waitress, Clay won’t have to break your ribs. I’ll do it for him!”
“Fine,” Wyatt said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll shut my trap.”
“That’ll be a first.” Jules rolled her eyes and turned back to Clay. She gave him an encouraging smile. “She’s sweet on you too, you know?”
Clay shrugged, now more than uncomfortable. He took a sip of his coffee, deciding to ignore their concern. He loved both of them. They were