“Oh crap,” I grumbled after I’d gotten out of the car, and looked down at my dirty, bare feet. There were small cuts and blisters and oil all over them, and I couldn’t imagine cramming my swollen feet back into Jane’s shoes.

“What?” Jack asked, and then followed my gaze down to my injured appendages. “Oh. Just don’t wear shoes.”

“I can’t not wear shoes.” I didn’t see much of another option, but I couldn’t go into a restaurant without shoes.

“You can wait in the car,” Jane offered up helpfully with a smug smile and leaned in closer to Jack. That must’ve been where he drew the line, because he pulled his arm free from her and took a step away. She looked a little defeated, but I knew she wouldn’t give up that easy.

“No, you’ll be fine,” Jack insisted confidently. “If they hassle you, I’ll take care of them.”

“What does that even mean?” I muttered, but he’d already convinced me.

After all, I’d seen the way he chased a gang of unruly guys, so I imagined that the graveyard shift at a Denny’s rip-off wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Just don’t worry about it.” Jack held the door open, but Jane seamlessly cut in front of me, smiling widely at him. He ignored her, but grinned boyishly at me when I walked in behind her.

As predicted, nobody noticed my lack of footwear. In fact, nobody even noticed me, or even Jane, which was incredibly odd. The waitresses practically tripped over themselves trying to seat us, all the while keeping their eyes completely focused on Jack. It felt like I had been dumped into some strange episode of the Twilight Zone. When the waitress put us in a booth, Jack sat down first, and naturally, Jane squished up next to him, so he kept moving over until he was plastered up against the window. I sat down across from them, and Jack rested his arms on the table, leaning towards me.