Fresh Ice (12 page)

“Yeah, we are so sorry.”

Quinn noted their expressions. Cockiness was gone, replaced by fear.
I’ve still got it.
“Don’t apologize to me you little assholes. Apologize to the lady and then get your no mannered drunken butts into that cab out there. And I wasn’t kidding about the tip.”

The group filed out, quietly mumbling apologies to Izzy who stood, looking amazed, next to the table. Once the glass door closed behind them, she wiped a tear from her eye. “Thank you.”

He smiled at her and sat back down on his stool. “Please, that was nothing.”

She set a cup of coffee in front of him. “Maybe not to you.” A beautiful pink blush swept across her cheerful face and she lowered her eyes. You saved my life.” Her voice was soft, little more than a breathy whisper.

Quinn stirred a packet of sugar into his coffee. “I’m pretty sure you could have handled that.”

“Possibly, but I’m still really new to this self sufficient stuff.” She grinned at him and brushed a stray wisp of blonde hair from her eyes. “It’s nice to know there are still gentlemen out there ready to step in for a lady.” She made a few notes on her order pad and smiled at him again. “They seemed really afraid of you, especially after you said your name.”

“I should warn you; I’m a semi celebrity around here.”

“Yes, but enough of one to instill fear in the hearts of drunken college kids? What did you do before you worked for the Predators?”

“I played a little hockey.”

“Professionally?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged and took a long drag of coffee.

“What, like in the NHL?”

“Yeah.”

Izzy grinned, and then laughed out loud. “Seriously? You’re an NHL player?”

“Was. I was an NHL player. I played for the Preds for a couple years before I retired. I had a bit of a reputation.”

“It must have been quite the reputation. It scared away those punks fast enough.”

“Yeah…I wasn’t exactly well behaved on the ice.”
Or off of it.

“Well, tell you what, breakfast is on me. A thank you for coming to my rescue. You strike me as a steak and eggs sort of guy. Scrambled with mushrooms.”

“How would you…”

She laughed, a musical joyous sound, and handed the order to the cook. “I suppose I could pretend to be all psychic.”

“But you’re not going to do that, right?”

She poured herself a cup of coffee before coming around the counter to join him at a booth. “No, I’m thinking that wouldn’t be very nice, given how kind you’ve been to me.” She poured some cream into her coffee. “It’s no big secret. There’s a note in the back about certain special customers and what they like. Your mushroom consumption is actually sort of a legend here.”

Quinn frowned. “Ah, the secrets of the back room at the Waffle House.”

She sipped the coffee and looked at him over the brim of her cup, her eyes dancing with mirth. “You know what else is back there? A lost and found. You need to at least get out of that wet shirt.”

“No, I’m okay, really.”

She gave him a very parental look. “Quinn Murray, you might be the big NHL scary guy, but how scary can you be if you get a cold and have to stay in bed sneezing? What will happen to helpless night waitresses who need you to scare away drunken boys?” She ran into the back room and returned with something large and pink. “Put this on.”

Quinn held up the massive pink sweatshirt. “GO LADY VOLS!” screamed across the chest. “Seriously, I think I’d rather chance the cold.”

“Oh stop. I know it’s not a manly color, but it’s warm, and you look miserable. This air conditioning will be the death of you. Go on…go change. Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”

He was not about to disobey Isabella Landry. Quinn took the shirt, and headed for the men’s room. He peeled off his wet shirts and eased the soft material over his head. Even on his large frame the shirt drooped.
I look like a wrinkly pink elephant.

At least Benny doesn’t troll Waffle Houses at this hour of the night. I would never live this down.

He stepped out of the men’s room, expecting the ribbing to start.

“Oh good, you look so much warmer.”

He studied her honest face. There was not a trace of mockery there.

“Come on, breakfast is at the table.”

Quinn sat down and surveyed the meal. He was moderately certain nothing had ever smelled so good in his life. “So what’s been happening since the last time I saw you?” He noted she wasn’t eating much. “You’re not hungry?”

“All I eat is food from here. I’m not in the mood for it this morning I guess.” She poked at her well done fried eggs. “So I got the job.” She glanced up at him. “Not glamorous, but I like it. The third shift takes a bit of getting used to.”

That would explain the dark circles under her eyes.
“Miss Izzy, working at a Waffle House is a career much revered in these parts. You just don’t remember because you’ve been away so long.”

“Well, some things are starting to come back to me.” She smiled at him. “So, what do you do, other than rescuing damsels in distress?”

“I do color commentary for the Preds, and I fill in for the morning show at WNSH when they need someone to fill the chair.”

“I’ll bet you do more than just fill the chair.”

Quinn liked the way her cheeks colored as she realized how her words sounded. “Now you’re just flattering me.”

Her blush turned to a full smile. “I should think you’d have more respect for the institution of Waffle House waitresses than to question my assessment of your skills. Didn’t your momma raise you with any manners?”

Quinn laughed out loud. “She tried. It didn’t stick.”

No customers disturbed them and they ate and talked for nearly an hour, as the first rays of morning cracked through the shutters of the restaurant.

“Is that the time?” She glanced at the clock. “I gotta go get myself presentable.”

Quinn studied her top to bottom, polyester uniform, mussed hair, and eyeliner that was definitely past its prime. Yet it didn’t seem to matter. She was still beautiful. “Where do you have to be so early?”

“I’m checking out an apartment.”

“At the crack of dawn?”

“The landlord lives out of town, and he’s just around this morning.” She sighed. “I can’t go looking like a homeless person and smelling like eggs and desperation.”

“Where are you staying now?”

She shrugged. “Over at the Super Eight on Demonbreun. I’ve been there since I moved Jenna into Vanderbilt. They’ve been so nice, but I need a place. I can’t live in a hotel room forever.”

“I imagine not.”

“I finally have the funds to move into an apartment, I have to meet this guy.” She slid out of the booth. In spite of the nylons and sensible shoes she wore, there was no denying that her legs were still in world class shape.

Quinn idly wondered what her workout routine included.
Stop thinking! Say something that will make her keep talking to you.
“Look, if it’s not too weird, I can give you a ride there.”

She smiled, but there was a wary look in her eyes. “Thanks, but I have a car.”

Of course you do. You’re not destitute, you’re just between houses.

She grabbed her purse from under the counter. “Hey, this has been nice. And thank you for rescuing me. You’re sort of my hero.” She put a hand on his arm. Her whispery touch warmed his skin.

Then she was out the door.

Quinn rubbed his arm where she’d touched him, his skin still warm.
She thinks I’m her hero.

She has no idea how wrong she is about me.

Quinn grabbed his jacket and stepped outside.
I could be a hero.

Clearly I’m sleep deprived. Time for bed. A sedative and bed.

Izzy.

Izzy lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. Two weeks in her new place, a two room efficiency over the coffee shop where Jenna worked three afternoons a week, and there were still only two pieces of furniture in the place: the bed, a purchase she’d made with Jenna and Mikayla’s help, and a flat screen TV mounted so securely to the wall the previous tenants gave up all hope of moving it. Izzy looked at the display on her cell phone. It was Jenna requesting another trip to a second hand furniture store. Izzy grinned. Her daughter meant well, but more furniture just meant more clutter. She liked her new, clutter free life. She was free to do whatever she wanted, and she didn’t have to answer to anyone.

Of course I’ll need nightstands and a table.
She looked at the text from Jenna.
I’ll just have Jenna pick them out. She loves doing that.

She sat up and glanced at the sunlight out her window. Looking at her clock, she realized it was two in the afternoon.
Well, it’s morning to me.

Izzy pulled a battered T-shirt over her head and headed downstairs to the coffee shop. At first she hadn’t loved the idea of living over a bustling coffee shop that boasted its own bakery and live music or movie screenings nearly every night. But the obvious advantages of having fresh baked goods and coffee without any of the mess won out.
Besides, I work nights. The daytime customers aren’t that noisy.

Sitting at the counter, Izzy studied the menu board.

“Morning Izzy. What’ll it be today?” Catherine Countryman, owner of Silver Screen Coffee leaned in front of Izzy. Known as Cat to her army of faithful patrons, she was a devotee of movies and great coffee. The effervescent woman, who was about ten years older than Jenna, changed her hair color based on the flavored coffee of the month. This month, she explained to Izzy when they met, the flavor was Red Sombrero.

“Morning, Cat. How about just a plain cup of black coffee and do I smell cinnamon rolls?”

Cat nodded. “Fresh out of the oven. I’ll get ya one.” She reached a cup of steaming coffee over the counter to Izzy.

Sipping the coffee, Izzy glanced at the many notices and signs hung above the counter. One in particular caught her eye. “Oh Cat?” She nodded thanks to the younger woman, who set a mountainous cinnamon roll in front of her. “How long has that note been up there?”

“Which one?”

“The one with my name on it.” Izzy pointed to a dog-eared piece of cardboard on which was written in the artsy script of a graphic design student:

Shhhhhhhhhh!

Izzy is our new tenant upstairs.

She works third shift.

If you are here between the hours of 7 am and 2 pm, please use your indoor voices.

Cat shrugged and laughed. “Oh you know how it is…landlord likes to be nice to his tenant.”

Izzy pictured the landlord as she knew him from their one meeting. “I may not know everything, but I’m fairly certain he had nothing to do with that sign.”

“Okay, fine. But before you get all grumpy, ponder this: A man came in here yesterday, ordered a blueberry kiwi smoothie, and when he read that sign, he started asking all kinds of questions about you.”

Izzy took another sip of coffee. “You didn’t give him my life’s story, did you?”

“I don’t know your life’s story. Besides, I wouldn’t give any stranger a word, unless he was really good looking.”

“And?”

“He was spectacular!” Cat grinned wickedly.

“Let me guess,” Izzy chewed on a forkful of cinnamon roll. “Perfect body, dark hair, utterly devastating eyes and a voice that would melt butter.”

Cat touched her index finger to her nose. “You’ve met him!”

“I’ve met him.” Izzy poured creamer into her half empty coffee cup. “He’s a sports guy here in town or something. He used to play hockey for the Predators.”

“Wait, are you talking about Quinn Murray?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

Cat clapped her hands together and gave out a little squeal. “I thought he looked familiar! Quinn Murray is looking for you? Omigod Izzy! He fills in for the sports guy on WNSH sometimes and his voice makes me all tingly in all the right places!”

So Quinn came in here and asked questions about me.

“Izzy?”

Izzy shook herself alert. “I’m sorry, Cat. What were you saying?”

“Well, I was extolling the many great talents of one Quinn Murray, but then I asked you why he’d be here, in this dumpy little college coffee shop, looking for you. You spaced to the outer limits.”

“Oh, sorry. He had breakfast a couple of weeks ago in the restaurant. Maybe he saw the sign while he was having a totally normal cup of coffee here and just wondered if that was the same Izzy.”

“First of all, that man has never been in here before.” Cat shook her head. “Second his questions were more along the lines of a guy getting up the courage to ask a girl out on a first date.”

“Like what?”

“He started with the lame stuff, do you like your job, what’s your favorite coffee flavor, and he worked his way up to asking about Jenna, and what you did when you weren’t working.” Cat shrugged. “I’m all about customer service. I gave the man what he wanted.