Chasing Shade Part 1

Chasing Shade.

SOMMER MARSDEN.

When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.

William Shakespeare.

Chapter 1.

Archie Rader swerved his truck, cussed and then slowed. There was very little traffic on the road at this hour and he was curious. Curious enough to back up his ancient pickup in the middle of the street.

'What the h.e.l.l?' He stared at it for a moment before realising what he was contemplating wasn't organic. It was, in fact, synthetic. It was a weave. A hair extension in an odd caramel colour. 'And here you thought it was a beaver, dumb a.s.s.'

He put the truck back in drive just as headlights came up on the crest of the hill behind him. He had no idea where he was going other than along the road he was on. That's what the guy at the gas station had told him. Follow this road to the diner. Chicken, waffles, cheap pancakes and rashers of bacon as far as the eye could see is what he'd promised. He'd also promised the s.h.i.ttiest coffee Archie had ever had.

He could live with that.

'So long, roadkill.' He pressed the gas, ignored the little hitch the truck gave as it took off, and focused on finding some food. His head was too full of bulls.h.i.t and worry to even think about it before coffee. Not after he'd been driving all night long.

And since he had nowhere to go, he'd be driving all day and all night again. And again. And then again until he somehow figured this big mess out. Being homeless and drifting had not been in his game plan for this year. Settling down, starting a family, being a grown-a.s.s man...that had been his plan.

'No use crying over spilled dreams,' he whispered. Then he saw the larger-than-life yellow and red sign for the diner and his heart leaped just a little. He had about two hundred dollars to his name, not counting the stuff in the bank that would be harder to get. He aimed to spend some of what he had on breakfast.

'Betsey, I ordered an English m.u.f.fin.' Earl waved a limp piece of toast at her.

Betsey did her best to not roll her eyes. 'You ordered toast, Earl.'

'No, I didn't.'

Mrs Kline rolled her eyes at Betsey, breaking the eye-rolling rule. Betsey smiled. Earl had been having a problem remembering things lately. Luckily his daughter Janine thought it was due to a new medication and not the more dreaded senility or something more serious. 'He ordered toast, I heard him,' Mrs Kline whispered conspiratorially.

Betsey gave her a nod and a wink and then made her way over to Earl. She loved her job, believe it or not. What she hated was the ugly-a.s.s brown-mustard-baby-p.o.o.p-yellow diner uniform complete with Peter Pan collar and red neckerchief. Maybe one of these days The Double Star would decide to update its uniform.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed the toast from Earl, dumped it in the trash, patted his hand and yelled, 'An English m.u.f.fin for Earl!' through the order window at Tony. Tony, a gaunt man with about four grey hairs on his head, grunted once and turned to slide an English m.u.f.fin into the toaster.

'Thanks, Bets.'

'No problem, Earl. I must have misheard you.'

As she pa.s.sed Mrs Kline again on her way to wipe down the empty tables, the woman whispered, 'You should have saved the toast. He's liable to get the other and swear he ordered toast.'

Betsey chuckled. 'd.a.m.n. Why didn't I think of that?'

The pickup truck pulled up just as she was replacing the Mason jar full of fake daisies and sunflowers on the table. The truck was a 70s model if it was a day and a nice mustard-yellowish brown to match her uniform. But somehow the colour worked on steel way better than on a twenty-five-year-old woman.

'h.e.l.lo, stranger.'

She meant the truck, but when the man who drove it got out her interest perked.

No room for that kind of stuff, lady. Put your revving s.e.x drive away.

' up!'

She turned and before she could catch herself barked, 'What?'

'Order up!'

'Order?'

'My English m.u.f.fin!' Earl said around a mouthful of food. Then: 'Ah, never mind, doll, keep doing that.' He stood up, walked behind the counter and grabbed his food from the pickup window. He'd only been eating at the Double Star for thirty or forty years. Betsey figured she could let that slide.

She was eager to study the newcomer some more when the little bra.s.s bell over the door jingled and he entered. At least six foot three, he had dark-dark-brown hair and pale-blue eyes. The lovely colour of a favourite pair of jeans worn almost to death. Speaking of jeans, he was wearing them and they were perfection, Betsey thought. Levi's, same pale-blue as his eyes, and sitting right there on his lean hips. Right where the sweet spot was. Not too high so he looked like grandpa. Not too low so he looked like some young skater kid who needed to hitch up his pants every three seconds. They were also not too tight and not too loose.

Not to sound too much like Goldilocks, but Betsey thought the stranger's jeans were just right. Beyond the jeans he wore work boots, a green Henley and a brown bomber jacket that appeared to actually have been bombed.

' seat before I perish?'

She blinked, sound swimming back to her ears as if she'd been in the vicinity of the bomb that had destroyed that jacket of his.

'I'm sorry?'

'I said, can I just grab a seat before I perish?' He grinned at her and her stomach seemed to vibrate. It was a disturbing but not unpleasant sensation.

'You must be hungry,' she said, grateful she didn't sound as tongue-tied as she felt. 'You can have this booth.'

He slid in and she handed him a menu from her ugly-a.s.s red ap.r.o.n. 'Everything is good. Before you ask.'

'Great. Then what's cheap?'

She laughed. 'Restricted budget?'

'The most restricted. As in dirt poor and counting every penny.'

'Ah, then I recommend breakfast number one. Two eggs, two pieces of bacon, two pieces of ham, hash browns and some fruit. Or what pa.s.ses as fruit in this joint. You also get some coffee and some juice.'

'For four bucks?' he asked, then laughed.

That laugh was golden, Betsey thought.

What the h.e.l.l is with you, woman? Smitten much?

'Bargain, right? Especially since it's so big some of the old-timers get a to-go box and have the rest for dinner later.'

He wrinkled his nose and her stomach did that weird electric boogaloo again. 'Leftover eggs?'

She shrugged and caught his gaze directed right at the three pearly b.u.t.tons on the bodice of her hideous ensemble. Her cheeks coloured and her heart did a little rhumba to go with the dance her stomach was doing.

'I think they stick with leftover meat and hash browns. The eggs and toast get consumed at breakfast.'

She rubbed her forehead. Why was she running her mouth to this poor guy?

He didn't seem to mind, though. 'And the fruit?' He smiled at her and she could tell he was now studying her the way she'd been studying him. With interest. Her skin suddenly felt too tight.

'I'm pretty sure the fruit gets taken home and then thrown out anyway. Poor fruit. But what can you do? It seems to be the fate of diner fruit. Warm orange smiles and wrinkled grapes. It's sad.'

He chuckled again and closed the menu. 'You sold me. I'll take the number one. And skip the fruit.'

She shook her head and tsked at him. 'Oh, mister, we can't skip the fruit. That might bring about the apocalypse.'

He nodded. 'I understand.'

She hurried off to place his order, studiously ignoring the fact that her knees felt like they might buckle and dump her on her a.s.s.

'He's a cutie,' Mrs Kline whispered-shouted as Betsey pa.s.sed. Betsey cringed. Her chest flushed with heat when she heard him laugh again.

You didn't say it, she reminded herself. Mrs Kline said it.

'I need a number one,' she said to Tony. Then, as an afterthought, 'Extra fruit.' This time Betsey was the one to laugh.

Chapter 2.

Archie watched her go. She had quite the a.s.s, he thought, as he kept his eyes pinned on her curvy form. Then he felt bad for thinking it. He had no right to even be noticing women right now. His life the love part and otherwise had been a trainwreck lately. To notice her might put a curse on her.

'The curse of Archie Rader,' he said to himself softly.

'Who?' The old woman had a highly complicated bun that appeared to be long braids wound atop her head. Her hair was the colour of fresh snow.

'What?'

'Who were you talking to?' she said.

'Myself.' He had to smile at her. She was so obviously nosy and unapologetic about it.

'And you are?'

He stuck out his hand. 'Archie Rader.'

'Madeline Kline.' She shook with a good amount of strength for a woman he was guessing to be roughly seventy. 'That was Betsey Smith you were just ogling, by the way.'

'I wouldn't call it ogling,' he said, lying.

'Really? At eighty-one I'd definitely call it ogling. I've seen quite a few ogles in my life.' She sipped her coffee. 'What are you doing here in Deep Creek Adjacent?'

'Pardon?'

'What are you doing here?'

'Eating. But I meant the Deep Creek Adjacent thing?'

'Oh, we're not the actual lake. And not ritzy enough for some of the lake folks to acknowledge us. Inside joke, we're Deep Creek Adjacent. Of if you're lazy like a lot of the locals, DCA.'

'Oh. I see. I'm just pa.s.sing through. I'm starving and the guy up at the last gas station said to come here to eat.'

'Ah, that's Gary. Gary sends everyone here because the owner is his cousin. I swear he gets a kickback.'

'That's fascinating, Mrs Kline,' Betsey said. She set his coffee and orange juice down and c.o.c.ked a thumb back towards the counter. 'Go back to your seat.'

'But Betsey, I was just getting to know Arch'

'Mrs Kline, we talked about this.'

The old woman sighed. 'Fine, fine. I'm going.'

'Saved by the Betsey,' he said, studying her warm brown eyes. Her hair was the colour of light coffee with streaks of golden honey. It was a strange colour set off by her dark eyes. 'Thanks.'

'No problem. She'd make you unhinge your jaw so she could count your teeth if you let her get away with it.'

He doctored his coffee while she stood there. Then he asked. 'Any cheap accommodations around here?'

'Some. Up by the main road. Pay-by-the-night places. But they're a little...' She shrugged. 'Is seedy a word we still use?'

'We do.'

'Good, because it is.' She held out her hand. 'Betsey Smith.'

'So I heard. I'm Rader.'

'That's not what I heard.'

He put his head down and shook it. 'Archie Rader, but I go by Rader when I can. I try to anyway.'

'Why? Archie's nice.'