My apartment is small with three rooms—bedroom, bathroom and open plan living area with a small kitchen off to one side—but it’s mine and in the two years I’ve lived here I’ve made it homey. It’s nothing like the home I grew up in, it’s a home I always imagined having. I have pictures on the walls, and colorful throws over the sofa and chair. To the side of the kitchen, I have a fold-up two-person table with two wooden stools. I’m rather proud of my small apartment and the things I’ve managed to buy at bargain prices from the thrift store close to where I live. Home sweet home.
Grabbing my keys and phone from the small coffee table, I take one last look around before I head out the door and make my way downstairs. Have I mentioned that I live above a diner that makes the best damn coffee in Lexington? It isn’t a chain like Starbucks or Costa, but Liz makes the best coffee, and she refuses to tell me her secret or even what beans she uses.
Taking a seat along the counter in the diner also known as Mama E’s, I pick up the menu. I do this every time I come in here. I’m not sure why when I know the menu by heart—habit I guess.
“Pancakes and coffee, sleepyhead?” Liz asks, also knowing what I have on a Sunday morning for breakfast.
I grin. “Please.”
Liz places a large cup under my nose before filling it with hot coffee.
I smile and warmth fills me. This place is just an extension of my home. She’s been my constant since she took pity on me and let me rent the apartment upstairs for hardly any money until I’d found a job.
She always wears her starched pink dress with matching shoes, small hat and white apron tied around her slim waist. Liz reminds me of Frenchy from the movie Grease—she likes to experiment with the color of her hair. Today though, it’s back to its usual color of light brown and up in a neat bun on the top of her head. She looks amazing for her fifty-seven years. I hope I look as good when I reach her age.
“Earth to Rosie.”
I blink and realize Ed, Liz’s husband has taken the seat beside me.
“How you doing, Ed?” I ask swiveling my chair around to face him, and rest my arm on the counter beside me.
“I’m doing good. Thanks Rosie.” He looks me over. “You can hardly see the bruising now. How’s the pain?” he asks concerned.
“The pain’s gone now. So all is well.” I smile to reassure him. “I started back at work last night, which was good. Even though having the week off meant I could catch up with all the new books on my kindle, I’m not used to being so idol, you know.”
“I know. I can’t keep up with you half the time when you get a bee in your bonnet.” He takes a drink of his coffee, which he no doubt helped himself to before sitting down.
“Here you go. Now eat it all up, you’ve lost weight this past week,” Liz says, her tone motherly.
Liz places a stack of two pancakes in front of me with a small dish of warmed maple syrup to the side. I smile. She usually gives me the one pancake, but I guess with this and her comment that she’s worried about me.
I haven’t lost much weight this week, although I have lost some. I wouldn’t have thought I’d lost enough for it to be noticeable though.
“Well c’mon, eat up,” Ed nudges me, and starts wolfing his sausage and egg down.
“This looks good as always. Your wife makes damn good food, not to mention coffee.” I pour the syrup over my pancakes and make a start on devouring them. I’m not too sure I’ll be able to clear the plate because one pancake usually leaves me ready to explode and has me undoing the button on my jeans.
“Mmm, and no matter how much you beg or butter her up, she’ll never tell you her secret for the coffee,” Ed smirks munching on some egg.
I narrow my eyes. “Do you know the secret?”
He pauses in shock obviously not expecting me to start on him, and he won’t meet my eyes. I chuckle.
“I don’t think so,” he replies keeping his mouth full of food.
“I’ll let you off the hook for now,” I spear a piece of pancake with my fork, “but I have a very good memory,” I whisper.
He laughs. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re dangerous?”
“Not recently.”
We both concentrate on our breakfast. Just as I’d expected, two pancakes are too much and I’m struggling to eat the second one on my plate. They’re delicious, but so filling.
“Hmm. I thought you’d struggle, but thought you’d at least manage half of the second one.”
“Sorry, Liz.”
Removing my plate, she leans on the counter in front of me, and asks, “So how is your young man?”
Liz and Ed are the only ones I’ve told about Ruben—not willingly. They’ve been encouraging me to go after what I want ever since. They don’t realize it isn’t easy, especially when he doesn’t seem to know I’m alive.
He certainly reacted to me last week when I’d been hurt. There was no way I could mistake his hardened penis against my hip, or the twitching bulge behind his zipper when I’d ended up on the floor flashing him. God, I blush every time I remember him standing over me, and his comment about my pink panties.
“Oh, this is going to be good.” Liz leans even closer, “You don’t blush for a handshake. What aren’t you telling me?”
“You’re impossible, you know that, right?”
“Ed tells me that all the time.”
The man in question starts laughing and standing up, removes his empty dishes to the kitchen.