Page 25 of Roses are Royal

“Well, I stayed two nights at the motel in town, but then I had that minor ‘incident’ with the break-in, so I haven’t stayed there since,” I say, adding air quotes to soften one of the most intense situations I’ve had to deal with as an adult.

“Minor? It didn’t sound so minor from what the locals in town have said.” The quirk of Shirley’s eyebrow tells me she doesn’t believe it was minor at all, but thankfully, she somehow knows I don’t want to discuss that tonight. “What about those strapping young men you’ve been in here with? You can’t stay with either of them?”

“Shirley, nobody says ‘strapping’ anymore.” I can’t keep the humor out of my voice at her 1950s vocabulary. Very on theme for the decade it feels like you’re in when sitting in this diner, though.

“Well, what word would you use to describe them then?”

“Confusing?”

“Are you asking or telling me, dear?”

“Telling you?”

“Sounds like the word you are looking for is flummoxed.”

“Really? Flummoxed? What year do you think it is, Shirley? Seriously… Tell me what year we are in right now?”

“Stop it.” She swats me away in a playful gesture. “Let me grab your coffee, and you can tell me what has you looking like that.” She waved her hand in a general circular motion in front of my face.

“I don’t think there is enough coffee in New York to have that conversation.”

“Well, we can start with the coffee in this diner and go from there.” With that, Shirley leaves me to stew in silence while she begrudgingly prepares my iced coffee just how I like it. I think she secretly loves having someone to fuss over and gossip with.

Shirley returns with a flourish of her hands as she presents the largest iced coffee I’ve ever seen, piled high with extra whipped cream and chocolate drizzle.

“Shirley, you are my hero.”

“You’re only saying that because I am the gatekeeper of your caffeine addiction. And for the record, this isn’t coffee, my dear. It’s sugar with an essence of caffeine. Coffee is meant to be served hot and black—just how I like my men.”

“Miss Shirley!I am scandalized!” I gasp, clutching at my imaginary pearls.

“Says the woman who was in here two nights in a row with two different men.” Her eyebrow quirks high enough to reach under her perfectly curled and hairsprayed bangs.

“Well, for your information, one of them was an old friend from high school, and the other is a client. Nothing untoward happening here, I assure you. Well, nothing untoward happening inside this diner that is.” I add the last part a little quieter, but of course Shirley doesn’t miss a beat.

“Ha! I knew it. You can’t spend time with men who look like that and not have something happen. And what do you mean was an old friend? You two looked pretty friendly to me in the parking lot.”

“Shirley! You little minx! Were you spying on us?” I can feel my cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. God, did she see him pull away and leave me pressed up against my car panting like a fool?

“Sweetie, I wouldn’t call it spying when you are in a public parking lot.” I can tell she’s trying to hide her smile.

“God, I’m so embarrassed.” I drop my head into my hands, covering my face. Now I have to add this diner to the list of places I can never show my face in.

“Don’t be. You’re young and hot. If I were twenty years younger, I would climb those men like a tree.”

“Shirley!”

“What? You can’t tell me you don’t find them attractive. You have eyes, and I don’t see a ring on your finger. Live a little. You are only young and hot once. Don’t waste those years on worrying about what other people think. Take what you want in life and leave the rest.”

“Unfortunately, finding them attractive isn’t the issue. It’s everything else that comes with that attraction I’m struggling with.”

“Hmm. Let me grab a real coffee, and you can tell me all about it. It’s a slow night, and I could use a break to give my feet a rest.”

And that’s exactly what she does. I tell her everything from seeing Luc for the first time after fifteen years and him kissing me (which she clearly already knew about) to the events of earlier this evening with Dante. It feels nice to talk to another woman about this stuff. It’s what I imagine it would’ve been like to have had a mother to confide in growing up. Someone to give me advice and listen to my issues without judgment. I try not to dwell on how things could’ve been different if I hadn’t been left as a baby, but it’s times like these that make it a little harder to ignore.

“Thank you, Shirley. You have no idea how much I needed this. And I don’t just mean the coffee.”

“My pleasure, dear. I don’t get a lot of customers in here these days, and the ones I do get are typically just passing through. I’m here anytime you need some girl talk. I’m happy to live vicariously through you.”