no onions

If Taylor spun the story hard enough, he probably could’ve convinced folks (well, the most gullible tourists who flocked in every fall, and Kirk) that the town was like Xanadu, some mystical spot on the map that only appeared a few times a year. It lured folks in and let very few of them go. They were swayed by its charms (some he still couldn’t see, despite all of his years here), wanting to stay put in this little pocket of charm instead of heading back out into the real world. That bit he could maybe understand, although there were still times when he considered flipping the closed sign and just driving out of town.

No more snooty assholes sneering at the menu – what the hell did they think a diner served? Caviar? – no decrees slapped down on the counter by Taylor, no more scrubbing the Grill after he finally closed the door night. No watching new folks settle in here, working their groove into the stools at the counter, and into town life.

Mitch hauled the fresh box of burger patties out of the refrigerator in the store room and headed up front. His gaze hit the door, then swept around the diner, as though the pair of them woulda slipped in while he was in the back. The last couple of weeks it had been a coin toss as to whether they were here or not. At least one a day they would be, mainlining coffee like it was as important as air, that little smirk tugging at their lips that should’ve come with a warning. Trouble was stamped all over the pair of them, but it’d become the sort he enjoyed (especially after everybody else gave it their best go and his mood was practically a thundercloud sitting cartoon style above his ballcap).

He slid the box into the refrigerator in the kitchen, lifting his chin towards the grill and the trio of order slips hanging forlornly. ”Should keep us goin’ ‘til closin’ if it keeps up like that.” AKA a typical Thursday evening during your usual late summer evening. Folks headed home early, preferring to be in front of the TV to zonk out in front of The Bachelorette or that Law and Justice thing. Zombies tied to the idiot box, it was no wonder most of them had lost the art of conversation. Most.

Heading out to the counter, Mitch studied the cake stands with an experienced eye. As the day had worn on they’d started to empty out, but there were still half an apple pie left. It’d just go to waste when he closed up later, maybe he could slice it up, drop it off on his way home – just to avoid it ending up in the trash. It’d earn him one of those smirks, needling words that’d just have him firing them back, a give and take that should’ve had him tearing his hair out.

The door crashed open, dragging his attention away from the damn pie and across to her – and him. The smile had already been trying to tug his mouth out of its usual compressed line, but then his gaze hit the guy behind her. On him dress shirts looked stiff and awkward, like a kid forced to dress up for church on Sunday. His fingers would’ve been pulling at the collar til he had a couple of buttons undone. This guy looked at home in the stuffy shit, a perfect match to the dress Lucky was wearing – one that had the smile twitching back. She looked good, pretty in a way she wouldn’t have let him tell her about. Her date – it was obvious who he was, although maybe Lucille’s dad had decided to swing by instead – had probably shown up at her door with a bunch of flowers, doing things the right way.

Civility was a thin skin as he went out with an evenin’ gliding out of his mouth to take their orders. His gaze ticked from him to her, settling for a moment like he was trying to get a read on the situation before he stepped away. Linger too long and it’d get awkward. A little while later the plates and glasses were set down on their table and he was trying to throw a little distance between them. With the rapid disappearance of the other customers it was easier to avoid watching whatever was gonna play out in the booth.

”Go take a break, I’ll take over,” he muttered to Caesar as he made his way into the kitchen. If he had to he could throw together most things on the menu, and if someone ordered something he couldn’t, hell they could just wait five minutes. Or until Lucky (or more likely the guy, trying to throw around some cash) paid the bill. Brows furrowed, he started to tidy up, throwing that itchy feeling into something productive.

What was bugging him? That there was a guy in her life, or that he’d strutted in here like he might’ve owned the place? The way he dressed he probably could’ve afforded it, not that he’d ever sell. Maybe it was all of it, it didn’t really matter, that stinging nettle sensation prickling under his skin shouldn’t have been there. A few conversations, alright, daily conversations, no matter what slant they’d taken, didn’t give him any sort of control over her social life. They shouldn’t have had his stomach twisting as she walked in either, but they did.

”Hey,” he drawled lightly, not immediately crabbing about her being back here. Mitch’s frown cut deep the instant the tears shimmered their way into her eyes. He’d never heard that tone to her voice before, the one that reminded him all too much of an injured animal, the sound slicing its way right through his chest. ”What the fuck did he do?” His hands came up lightly, reaching for her arms as her twisted up version of the future spilled out. She wouldn’t be heading to jail if it was his hands that beat the guy into next month. Maybe he could convince Caesar to cook up some barbecue Fried Green Tomatoes style. ”I’ve got a couple thousand napkins out back, we’d clean it up before anybody saw,” he promised.

Drawing her in a little closer, he squeezed her arms lightly, his gaze drifting over the top of her head towards the door back out to the restaurant. He hadn’t heard anything out there, but it didn’t mean the son of a bitch hadn’t gotten handsy. Mitch lightened his grip, cradling her biceps lightly as she held onto his arm. Concern filled his gaze as it skimmed over her. ”You want me to go out there and kick his ass? I’m sure Taylor’s been waiting a decade for me to literally throw someone out of here. Breaking his fingers before he goes out the door’s just gonna be an accident. Did you hurt you?” He’d seen guys his own size get handsy before, a couple in high school learning too early that some women didn’t always speak up immediately if they tried turning a no into a yes with a little force. Some of those smartened up right quick with the imprints of his knuckles in those pretty boy faces.

Tagged: LUCKY CHRISTMAS * Word Count: 1222

This is my space, that’s yours. Hovering six inches over both Taylor and Kirk sure as hell gave him an advantage when he had to go toe to toe with them to keep them out from behind the counter. For someone so damn fixed on the rules Taylor had a way of trying to bull past them when he felt like it. Crowding around the edge of the counter, nose in the air like a bloodhound as he tried to dig into the inner workings of the Diner. Them just having a toe over the line of scrubbed tile always left him itching to get them out. Practically everything else in Star’s Hollow ended up being public, this – his little spot away from prying eyes, and the apartment overhead – was just for him. And for Lucky apparently.

The anticipated prickle of annoyance at someone inching too deep into his life vanished with one look at her face. He’d never been the sorta guy that felt like he had to save every woman in his life, but the shimmer of tears in Lucky’s eyes had that urge welling up tidal wave strong inside of him. He shoulda known it from his first look at the guy. Anybody who swaggered around town looking like that already had one tick in the asshole column on his score sheet. Mitch could picture his manicured fingers digging into the arms he held on to so gently now, moving Lucky around like some doll in a miniature house, his to control – not for much longer though. One word of confirmation out of her mouth and he’d be out of there using the sharp collar on his dress shirt to drag him out of the booth.

Hands that would happily do damage cradled her so lightly as she clutched onto his arms as though he mighta been the only thing holding her up (or maybe she was just anchoring him from going out there and immediately dealing with this with his fists). She didn’t answer his question at first and that had his frown deepening. The half smile took the dial on how bad it had been down from an eleven to hovering around a solid eight – her eyes on his as he drew her in close enough that his chin was nearly resting on his chest to look at her making it a seven. ”You jump to yes and I’m going straight out there,” he promised, a thin thread of amusement in his voice that could snap at any second. ”He did something to Lucille?” Ping, that thread was snapping and his head was rising so he could glare out the open kitchen door. Broken fingers were gonna be the least of his problems.

If it hadn’t been for Lucky’s grip shifting and that soft plea rolling out of her, he mighta gone. The jackass could sip his porterhouse steaks and champagne out of a straw through his wired teeth for the next couple of months. Mitch let out a long breath, looking back down at her before he nodded. ”Sure,” he breathed softly. Caesar would be back in a few minutes and if anybody started hollering for service before that, they could wait.

Loosening his hold on her, he nudged Lucky ahead of him down the short hallway, a hand settling on her back as he eased her into his office. It was even smaller than the kitchen, his desk taking up most of the room, the shelves that lined one wall stacked with boxes of receipts that’d have him tearing his hair out come tax season. The desk was clear at least, the battered leather blotter doubling for a seat as Lucky slid onto it instead of taking the chair. He could’ve pulled it out, maybe fitted into it between her and the door, although it’d have been a squeeze. The room for a lot closer with the two of them in it.

Standing just inside the closed door, he was still close enough to imagine he could feel the cool fabric of her dress against the thighs of his jeans. Dark brows drew together, each word of the story that spilled from Lucky’s mouth as she looked up at him deepening his hatred of the guy. He wasn’t gonna take offence at his place not being somewhere nice. You didn’t dress up like that for Mitch’s Diner. ”He turned into a dick at the sight of a kid. He might’ve hidden it before, but that shit was all just lurking beneath the manners and the starch and the fancy restaurants. He say anything to Lucille?” He wouldn’t have put it past him to ignore the fact that she existed at all. The second he’d realised his date had come with baggage, he’d shed the nice guy skin like a lizard.

As Lucille’s dad’s dickishness was layered on top of it, Mitch took a half step closer. Guys who’d turn a woman down just because she came with a kid were bad, guys who ignored the fact that they had a kid at all were worse. You were a father, that had to come above anything else (not that he knew the circumstances of the guy’s life, but he did know that he was missing out of time with a great kid). ”That explains it,” he muttered, snorting a breath out of his nose. ”His parents probably sent him to one of those places.” And he’d ended up entitled and selfish cause of it.

Six inches away now, the frown melting away into something softer as his hand drifted towards her arm again. One little point of contact for reassurance that it was everybody else who was the problem here, not the woman he knew would do anything fr her kid – including setting aside her own happiness.”If he’s too blind to see what he’d be missing out on with both of you, then he’s already more of an asshole than I’m giving him credit for,” Mitch rumbled softly.

One corner of his mouth lifted as he took that last half step closer, leaving his legs brushing against hers and that silky drape of fabric that he hadn’t failed to notice looked fantastic on her when she’d swept in the door with the Asshole. ”There are plenty of guys out there who’d wanna do what’s best for the both of you. Someone who’ll make you happy, and it’s not him.” It wasn’t her, but with the barbs of that guy’s attitude sticking in her skin, Mitch wasn’t sure if she could see it. His hand rose from her arm, settling lightly at her cheek. The tip of his thumb trailed lightly under her eye as though there’d be tears there to gather, his smile slanting just a little higher. ”Til then there’s always bottomless coffee and the best pancakes in the state, right?”

Tagged: LUCKY CHRISTMAS * Word Count: 1148