The Way We Almost Were ✓

34| in another life

| Chapter 34 |

| in another life |

Bree's eyes caught a splatter of ketchup she'd missed on the table she was almost done cleaning, when her eyes flickered towards the clock in the diner -- seven minutes past the closing time.

Wanting to wipe away the sticky stain before moving towards the diner's doors and begin locking up, Bree leant over the table and scrubbed at the sauce. The familiar chime of the door suddenly sounded, startling her in the dead silence and causing a sharp jolt in her chest.

"I'm sorry," she gasped out, flushing as her hand flew to her chest, "but we're closed..." Her voice died and the rest of her words turned to smoke in the air once her eyes met a familiar pair of amber ones.

"Not for me, I hope," Nick returned, lips twitching as he shut the diner's door, slid the bolts on the top and bottom into place, and then flipped the open sign to closed. He turned to Bree, slipping his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and taking lazy steps towards her. "Besides, it's not the food I'm here for."

"Wha..." Bree's breath caught, stuttered, then began rushing out in an abnormal pace. "What are you doing here? At this time?"

"I forgot to ask you to allocate a time slot for me, my sincerest apologies," he said dryly, not breaking eye contact as he came to a stop right in front of her. She didn't say anything right away, but it didn't appear like she needed to -- Nick simply stood a few breaths away from her, his head tilted down a small fraction and eyes searching her face like they were trying to memorise every single detail, from the narrow end of her eyebrows to the dainty nose to the baby hair still evident on her forehead.

"Hi," he said softly, his voice sounding like it was coming from somewhere deep in his chest. Bree's toes curled inwards and there was a sudden tug in the pit of her stomach.

"H-hey," she stuttered on the word. "Sorry, this is -- unexpected. I didn't..." Her eyes suddenly widened and she snapped her head downwards, glancing at the state she was in. "Oh god, I'm a mess!" She'd caught a glimpse of herself earlier; several strands of hair sticking out from the high bun, coffee stain on the front of her shirt, grease on her skirt, smear of sauce near her right cheek.

"You look exactly like you're supposed to look after a late shift at the diner," Nick told her seriously, before his eyes flickered a little to her side. His mouth twitched before it lifted into a slow, tiny smile, and then he raised his hand, letting his fingers brush all the stray strands of hair around her face. "You're such a fucking mess," he chuckled, the sound husky and deep. "I love it."

Bree's cheeks warmed over and she gently knocked his arm away. "I look like shit."

"Yes," his smile widened, "still love it."