She sat at a table in the north section of Audrie's. Tall, slim and pale-skinned, her silver-white hair in a thick braid down her back. I watched and waited for a few seconds. Sure enough, the five guys in that section had a hard time keeping their eyes off her. They looked up from their breakfasts and their gaze naturally drifted away from their companions and over to Tiff. She didn't notice. She never does. She spots every woman who checks out Royal, but doesn't see the men who look her way. She doesn't look in a mirror except to brush her teeth and hair, and wash her face. She doesn't know she's beautiful.
I went over and was about to take the opposite seat when I saw the dishes on my side of the table. Fried potatoes, scrambled eggs and biscuits topped with sausage gravy and shredded cheese. A big deep-fried scone slicked with melting honey butter, cut in half, occupied a plate in the middle of the table. She had demolished her eggs and potatoes, saving the biscuits and gravy - her favorites - for last, and had taken a few bites out of her piece of scone.
"You're expecting someone?" I asked.
She gestured with her fork. "I ordered for you."
I pulled out the chair and sat down. "I'm on a diet. I can't eat that!"
"You're always on a diet. Go on, live a little. It's your favorite."
"How do you know that?"
She gave me a wry smile. "Duh. Because it's my favorite."
Oh. Yes. And it did look good. I flapped open my napkin and put it on my knee, then stabbed my fork in the wonderful, gooey, cheese-covered mound. "Why did you want to meet, Tiff?" I asked after I swallowed the first, exquisite mouthful.
She made a face, one side of her mouth hitched up, then concentrated on her food, a pink tinge slightly staining her cheeks. "It's Royal. Our relationship. I'm confused."
Oh dear. "You're supposed to be happy with him."
"I am," she said in a voice softer than normal.
"Good, because you just about drove me insane with your "do I want him, don't I want him, can I live with what he is, can I live without him, can I trust him bullshit."
She pulled back her head, tucking her chin in her neck. "Drove you insane? Huh!"
Yes, she did. I thought I'd never get through those chapters. "What's the problem?"
She chewed and swallowed before answering, eyes cloudy, thoughtful. "I don't know how to explain."
And time was a ticking, time I didn't have to spare. "Try, because I'm busy. I have so much on my plate, I'm feeling overwhelmed. Paint the deck - and you know how big it is - lay down new bark on the paths, get the house cleaned and ready for my sister's visit, and with Tom's arm immobilized after his surgery, I have to do all the jobs he took care of, and help him. The man can't even wash his own hair."
She shook her head. "Your sister won't care what your house looks like."
"Believe me, you have no idea. She and Mum - "
"Mum. That is so weird, the way you say that."
"Really? My accent amuses you?"
"Nope. I like when you use British words."
"You do, do you?" I ducked my head to hide a smile. "Then I suggest you listen carefully, and absorb. They'll come in handy one of these days."
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't like the way you said that. What are you up to?"
Knowing I almost gave the game away, I internally winced. She would learn soon enough, in book three. "Nothing for you to worry about." Yet. "Back to Royal - what's wrong? You two are getting along great."
"I know. He's the best thing ever happened to me. But I can't help wonder why."
I blinked at her. "I do not believe you, woman! You have a great guy, and you stress over why?"
Her back straightened. "You know I don't take anything at face value. Why do I end up with a demon when I loathe them? Why do I trust him for no good reason? Why do I . . . need him?"
That was the bottom line. She wanted to be with Royal because the alternative would hurt, but she equated need with reliance, and Tiff had relied on herself and her own intuition practically her entire life. That kept her safe. Now her head and her heart sent conflicting messages.
"You're complicating the story. You and Royal are made for each other. You want to be together. That's all there is to it," I said briskly.
"Is it? I don't believe you. That's not how your mind works."
We knew each other so well, too well. I wiped my mouth. "I have to go, Tiff. Thanks for breakfast."
She crumpled her napkin and tossed it on the table, lounged in her chair with one arm hooked over the back. "Okay, just tell me one thing. Do I get a happy ending?"
While she studied my face, I thought of everything I would put her through in book four. Then I put my knife and fork on the side of my plate, my napkin on the table, and got to my feet. She looked up at me.
"You'll be fine, Tiff. Just fine."
