Page 20 of Just Ten Seconds

The waitress comes over to take our order. Two coffees. Black for Dean and a decaf with milk and sugar for me.

“Night owl?” I ask him as the waitress walks away with our unused menus.

“I only require about five hours of sleep a night. Amanda’s in bed by eight, so it’s just me in a quiet house for a few hours.”

“Me too. I don’t sleep well. Haven’t for years.”

“Since Benjamin?”

“Yeah.” I fiddle with the fork resting on my napkin, letting the prongs push into my skin. “What do you do with all that time?”

“Netflix,” he says jokingly. “I binge-watch a lot of shows.”

A smile widens on my face. I know the feeling. “Stranger Things?”

He raises his hand and starts to tick off the shows he’s watched. “The Walking Dead, House of Cards, Riverdale, Gilmore Girls—”

“You watch Gilmore Girls?”

He places a hand on his heart. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he looks at me through darkened lashes and declares, “I am Team Jess all the way.”

I let out a loud laugh that could probably wake the dead. The people at the table next to us swivel their heads in our direction. My hand rises to my mouth as I try to hide my embarrassment for being so loud.

Dean chuckles as he looks up in thought. “What else? The Tudors, The Crown, Arrow, Supernatural, Scandal …” He stalls with a grin. “I am definitely painting myself as the biggest loser in Orange County.”

“Not at all.” I lift my fingers off the table and lean back. “You definitely give a new meaning to Netflix and chill.”

“There is no chilling. Just Netflixing. I’ve got an eight-year-old at home.”

“Right.” I nod my head and fight the urge to draw my hands to my cheeks just to feel how warm they must be in embarrassment from insinuating that he has sex in his home while watching a subscription streaming service.

“Not that I’m against chilling,” he adds. “I could chill. Just not at home.” My eyes widen, and now, it’s Dean’s turn to pinch his eyes closed and tilt to the side in slight mortification. “That conversation just took a bizarre turn.”

I let out a nervous laugh-breath that I didn’t realize I was holding in. “Yeah, it did.”

The waitress is back with our coffees. She has a grease stain on her shirt and a pen in her messy bun. She quickly turns to the next table and swipes an ordering pad out of the front pocket of her apron.

I take a sip of my coffee. “I’m surprised I never saw you before. In the café, I mean.”

“We just relocated here. My commute was too long, and I wanted to be home at a decent time for Amanda. And, it was time to move on.”

I let out a sarcastic huff. Dean raises a brow at my indifference, as if I’m mocking him for what he just said.

“That phrase—move on. It’s the most dreadful phrase in the whole world.”

He leans his elbows on the table. “How so?”

With his attention fixed on me, I curl my fingers around the mug and feel the heat against my open hand. “It’s like you’re somehow supposed to forget the past and not let it affect you.”

He taps his knuckles on the table as he stares at me for a beat. That penetrating deep blue gaze searches my face with a questioning gape, like he’s trying to decipher something about me.

I must pass the test because he opens his mouth and states, “I slept for seven days straight after my wife died.”

I blankly stare at him, startled by his unexpected confession.

His chest rises as he looks down and recalls the memory. “I couldn’t eat, avoided my family and friends, and drank a shit-ton of vodka. The only reason I didn’t perish on the sofa was because my mother was there, taking care of Amanda and keeping me hydrated. One day, I was drooling into the cushions when I got a huge rap on the ass with a wooden spoon. My mother was standing over me with a bucket of ice-cold water. I looked up just in time to see her dump the entire thing on my head.”

“Let me guess … that bucket of water got you out of your slump.”