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He grinned at her. “You like me. Admit it.”
“I despise you. Face it.” But a smile played on her lips for a split second, before she spun on her heel and headed over to take care of two couples that came in and sat at one of the square tables. A four-top or something, she’d called it.
He watched her go, wondering why he cared that this one woman liked him. Riley McKenna had dated a lot of women. Proposed a few times, then found a way to wriggle out of the impulsive question. Though he entertained the idea from time to time, at his core, he wasn’t much for settling down. He’d seen the American Dream at play in only a handful of the people in his life, and to Riley, that meant the odds that he could have the same were between slim and none.
Boston was an ocean with a whole lot of female fish to choose from, and yet, he found himself trying to make Stace smile. Trying to catch her eye. Trying to impress her with his skills. And failing miserably. He’d watched the diner’s activity rise and fall, along with her irritation level, and wondered if perhaps the low income generated by the inexpensive food had her stressed.
He’d noticed the place struggling over the last few months, caught in the same bad economy as so many other businesses. What the diner needed was a new marketing approach, one that would give it some attention in Boston’s crowded food industry. Riley pondered that as he crossed to Table Seven, another four-top, as Stace called it, which sat in the corner by the window. For whatever reason, Stace had seated this lone man at a table for four.
Before Riley said a word, the man put up a hand. He was tall, thin, with a thick graying beard that made him look like a human grizzly, a fact augmented by the thick dark brown plaid flannel shirt and the cargo pants he wore. For some reason, he looked familiar to Riley, but Riley couldn’t place the face.
“You’re new,” the man said, “so I’m going to do this quick. I don’t want a menu. I don’t want advice, and I sure as hell don’t want your opinion about the special of the day. I want a hot cup of coffee—hot, not lukewarm, not mildly hot, but hot—and a cheeseburger with fries. Don’t skimp on the fries and don’t eat any in the kitchen.”
“I wouldn’t—”
The man ignored Riley and barreled forward. “The cheeseburger better be well done. That means cooked through. Not so much as a hint of pink. Done, dead, and dark. You hear me? I don’t need E. coli as a side dish.”
Riley jotted down burger, fries and coffee on his pad. Wrote well done and underlined it three times. “Right away, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir or buddy or pal. I don’t need a new friend. All I want is my damned food.” The man eyed Riley up and down. “What the hell was Frank thinking when he hired you? You look about as much like a waiter as a walrus.”
Riley started to answer. The man put up his hand again. “I don’t need an answer. I’m not interested in your sob story. It’ll be the same as every other one I’ve heard. Lost my job, lost my apartment, lost my damned dog. I don’t care. Just get my food.” Then the man shook out his newspaper and buried his nose in the Sports section.
Riley turned away and headed for the kitchen. Before he could give Frank the order, the older man was laughing. “I see you met Walter,” Frank said.
“If you’re talking about Table Seven, yes.” Riley ran a hand through his hair. “Is he always that pleasant?”
“Today he’s in a good mood. Usually he yells his order at me from across the room.” Frank plopped a fat burger onto the griddle, then turned to drop some fries into a fry basket. “You better go get his coffee. Walter doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
On the way to the coffee, Riley got sidetracked by a customer who had to get to a meeting and wanted his order to go. Another who asked to add a salad to his lunch order and a third who wanted extra napkins. Riley dashed from place to place, trying to keep everyone happy, and wondering how Stace—who had twice the number of tables—managed to make it look so easy and he managed to feel like he was coming up short again and again. What he needed was an assistant, something he knew Stace sure as hell wouldn’t approve. Hell, he’d had two assistants at McKenna Media. Now…none.
He wasn’t used to being the gofer. Or the go-to anything. Riley had never expected the job to be this time-consuming or difficult. Yet Stace made it look effortless. She greeted every customer with a smile, seemed to sail from kitchen to table, and never missed a step. He caught himself watching her, more than once.
“New guy! Coffee!”
Riley jerked to attention and waved at Walter, then turned to the coffeepot and poured a hot cup of coffee. Just as he turned to bring over the mug, Frank dinged the kitchen bell. “Order up. Table Seven.”
Riley pivoted back, grabbed the plate, and headed for Walter at a fast clip. The plate jiggled a little as he navigated the crowded diner, but he recovered his balance and delivered the lunch to Table Seven. “Here you go. One burger well done, side of fries, coffee.”
Walter gave the entire thing a look of distaste. “I said hot coffee. This isn’t hot.”
“It’s fresh out—”
“You poured it, then went to the kitchen. I don’t care if it took you three seconds or thirty, my coffee is cooling while you dawdle and drool over your coworker. And as for my burger and fries—” he lifted the bun, grunted apparent approval at the charred beef, then ran a finger over the fries “—there are only twenty-one fries here. My order comes with twenty-two. No more, no less. I paid for twenty-two. I want that fry.”
Across the room, Stace watched the exchange with a slight grin playing on her lips. She was clearly enjoying this.
“I’ll get right back to the kitchen,” Riley said, “and—”
“Start over. Bring me the whole thing again. From the top. Twenty-two fries.”
“Sir, I can bring you more fries—”
“I don’t want more fries, I want the ones I ordered.” Walter leaned forward. “Did you eat it?”
Riley could swear he heard Stace let out a snicker.
“No, no. I would never—”
“You smell like fries. You ate my fry.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Riley noticed a long pale rectangle on the floor. The missing fry, probably had taken a tumble when Riley had dodged a customer shoving back in his chair. “Sir—” A light, quick touch on his arm cut off Riley’s words.
“Walter, you don’t need to be giving the new guy such a hard time.” Stace flipped out a coffee mug, and filled it with hot coffee. “Why, you’ll scare him away before he finishes his first day.”
Walter took a sip of the coffee. Something that approached a smile flitted across his lips. “Why’d you dump him on my table?”
“Because you’re my best customer, that’s why.” Stace gave Walter a friendly look. “Now let me get you some new fries. And an extra pickle for your troubles.”
Walter weighed the offer. “All right. But tell him—” he thumbed in Riley’s direction “—to get his head out from between his—”
“Don’t say mean things, Walter. It gives you indigestion.” She flashed another smile, then turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.
Riley caught up with her just inside the double doors. The movement brought them close together in the small space, so close, he could catch the vanilla and floral notes of her perfume. It danced around his senses. Sweet, light, enticing. “How’d you get Sir Surly there to smile like that?”
“Easy. I just feed into Walter’s need to be right. And his addiction to pickles. Walter can be a pain in the butt—” she arched a brow in Riley’s direction, and he wondered if that was a side reference to himself “—but he’s all right. He just likes things the way he likes them.”
He grinned. “Remind you of anyone you know?”
“Not at all.” Stace blew on her nails and feigned indifference. That same slight smile teased at her lips again. “Why? Are you volunteering?”
Riley liked her. He always had. It had to be the way she stood up to him, and gave back as good as she got. She didn’t fawn over him or gush compliments like a leaky faucet. She was straight, no-nonsense, what you see is what you get and if you don’t like it, too bad.
And he liked that.
“Not at all,” he said. A glint of devilish mischief danced in her green eyes, toyed with the corners of her smile. Maybe his being here had reduced the stress on her shoulders. “You gave me that table on purpose.”
Stace turned and called back to the kitchen. “Frank, I need another order of fries.”
He leaned around until she was looking at him again. “You know, and I know, that you set me up.”
The grin playing at the corners of her lips rose a little higher. “Maybe.”
“Part of the whole ‘make the new guy’s life miserable and maybe he’ll quit’ approach?”
She laughed. When she did, her features lit up, her eyes danced even more. “Did it work?”
“Not a chance.” He took the fresh basket of fries from Frank’s hands, then headed out the double doors. “You’re stuck with me for a while.”
“Don’t bet on it,” she called after him.
Riley was sure he heard Stace laughing as the door swung shut. Mission One accomplished. And it felt better than he’d thought.
He’d made dozens of women smile before, but never had it seemed like such a victory. And never had he worked so hard, nor cared so much about whether someone liked him. He was here for a job, nothing more, and getting distracted by the pretty and sassy waitress across the room would be a mistake.
Hadn’t he learned that lesson already? When he let a beautiful face send him off course, it ended up in a disaster. And very often, that disaster made it into the papers. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it without dating his coworker.
An hour later, the lunch crowd had left, and the diner was empty. Frank stayed in the kitchen, cleaning up from that day and prepping for the next. Stace flipped the diner’s sign to Closed, then turned the lock on the door.
Riley glanced at his watch. Just past three in the afternoon. He could probably catch up to his cousin Alec, and a few of his friends, see what they had cooking. Alec, a day trader, often started his nights in the afternoon. Time spent with Alec was always memorable, if not a little beer-filled. Riley didn’t have his usual budget to spend tonight, but he could make do with the tips in his pocket.
Riley headed to the back of the diner, pulled out his cell, dialed Alec’s number and got the rundown on the evening’s plans. As his cousin talked about the view from the bar, Riley glanced across the room at Stace, who was emptying the coffeepot. Even with her hair back in a ponytail and wearing an apron and jeans, she was beautiful. “Where I’m at has a pretty good view, too,” Riley said. Alec started to make a joke, but Riley cut him off. “Hey, I gotta go. I’ll catch up with you later.”
He lingered a while longer in the back of the diner. Stace, unaware of him, had turned on the radio and was singing along. She had a light, lyrical voice, and she paused a moment to do a twirl, and toss a discarded napkin into the trash. For a moment, she looked…happy.
He crossed the room. Where did Stace go when her day was over? Why did she work in this diner when she seemed smart enough and determined enough to handle any job? And what would it take to make her smile like she was right now?
She jerked to a stop when she saw him. “Riley. Did you need something?”
He undid the apron, then draped it over one of the chairs. “I’m heading out.” He almost said “home” then remembered Gran was charging him rent, a rent he’d only made a minuscule dent in paying, given the paltry tips in his pocket. He could have moved in with one of his brothers, but Finn was out of town and Brody was in Afghanistan. Riley could lean on one of his friends, but as he ran through a mental list, he realized there was no one he was close enough to to impinge on as a roommate.
What did that say about his life? That he didn’t have one best friend to call during an emergency?
Riley shrugged off the thought. He’d figure it out, and he’d come out on top. He always did. “See you tomorrow.”
“You can’t leave yet,” Stace said. “We still have to clean up.”
He glanced around the diner. Most of the dishes had been cleared away, and the chairs sat square against the tables. “Looks clean to me.”
“Right.” Stace laughed, then slapped a rag into his hands. “I’ll get the salt and pepper shakers off the table and you wipe. If we work together, we’ll be out of here faster. Then we can argue over who mops the floor.”
Wipe tables? Mop the floors? What was she going to have him do next, clean the windows? “Don’t you pay someone to come in and do that stuff?”
She laughed. “Yeah. You. And me.”
“Do you ever sit down?” he asked.
She laughed again. Damn, he liked her laugh. “If I do, then I’ll fall asleep.”
Her mood was lighter, and he liked that. It made the whole diner seem…sunnier. Still, the busy hours he had worked already had him dragging. The thought of staying longer—to clean, something Riley hadn’t done since he was a kid and sentenced to kitchen duty for breaking the rules—made him feel even more exhausted.
He’d much rather be sitting in Flanagan’s with Alec and Bill, knocking back a few.
“Sorry.” He put the wet rag into her hands. “I have plans.”
“No, you have a job. And that means you do what needs to be done. You don’t just sponge it off on someone else.”
He started to disagree. Then realized he’d been doing exactly that.
She pointed at the nearest table, then dangled the rag over his hand. “So get to work.”
He leaned in close, searching her emerald gaze with his own. “Is this what you are, Stace? All work and no play? You don’t ever blow off work?”
“No, I don’t. Because I have priorities. And right now my priority is getting this diner clean so I can go home.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why this place? It’s just a diner.”
“It’s not just a diner. It’s…special. And this job might be hard, but in the end, it’s worth it. It’s all worth it.” Her gaze lit on the tables, the walls, the menus, then she shook her head, and the moment of vulnerability he had glimpsed disappeared. “Anyway, I have work to do.”
She crossed to the table, and started clearing the last of the dishes, loading them into a big plastic tub nearby. A hit from the seventies played on the sound system, and Stace began to hum along, her hips swaying gently back and forth as she worked.
He thought of the guys, waiting for him down the street. There, they had beer and women, and—
And the same thing he had done every night for the past six years. He’d been there, done that, as the saying went, and wanted something else. What that something was, he didn’t know, but maybe if he stayed here a little while longer with this woman who hummed while she worked a tough job, he’d figure it out.
* * *
After the third day, Stace had to give Riley some credit. Not a lot, and not easily, but she did. The playboy, who from what she’d seen and heard, had never seemed to be much good at anything other than goofing off, had put in several hours at the diner and stayed to clean up afterward. They’d been through a half-dozen waitresses in the past year, and few stayed after tangling with Walter, or getting Frank on a bad day.
But Riley, the last person in the world she would have picked, had stayed. Why? If this job was just a lark—the well-off spending a day in the shoes of the other half—then why was he still here? Did he really need the money?
What she’d heard and read of the McKennas suggested they weren’t hurting in the cash department. Then why was the youngest McKenna hoofing it at a diner?
And why did she care? She didn’t need a man in her life. She barely had enough room for herself.
Still, she liked that he had put in the hours, and she had to admit, she was beginning to like him. Look forward to seeing him. And his damnable smile. Even as she told herself to steer clear of his charm.
After working together for a few days, they’d worked out a system of partnership. They had cleaned half the tables already, and stacked the chairs to ready the floor for mopping—a big job, after two solid days of rain and muddy footprints. Frank was still in the kitchen, taking care of the dishes and next day’s prep. Stace had offered to help, but stubborn Frank had insisted on doing the job himself. For a long time, he’d had a couple of helpers in the kitchen, but since the business had taken a downturn, he’d taken the entire kitchen load on his own shoulders. She sighed.
Frank had talked about traveling the world a hundred times, but never taken a step toward his dream. His health had been poor, something she was sure the stress of the diner augmented, and that just increased her determination to save her pennies and buy out Frank, something she’d offered a hundred times to do, and always he’d said no.
Maybe if she could increase sales he’d be able to hire back some help, and afford some time off. Either way, it wasn’t something she could change today.
Stace paused to stretch her back and work out some of the kinks. She bent her neck right, left, then let out a deep breath.
“Tired?” Riley asked.
“Always.” She tried to smile, but even that was too much right now. The day had been long, and had a long way to go yet. Jeremy would be leaving school soon and that meant her second shift as temporary mom to a difficult teenager was about to start. Frank had increased the volume on the radio, and his favorite oldies pulsed in the bright space. She cringed at the memory of Riley catching her in that unguarded moment a couple of days ago.
Riley studied her for so long she finally looked away, pretending that she was inspecting the diner. Why did his mere presence affect her so?
“Why don’t you take a load off?” he said. “I’ll get the rest of this.”
“I really should—”
