Last Chance At The Someday Café

Sounds of something moving near the trash can made her pause. What was it? The idea of being bitten or attacked by an animal did not thrill her. “Okay, whatever you are, come out and shoo.” More rustling inside the trash can.

Whatever it was didn’t seem too scared of her. She moved closer and tried to peer inside. “Hey. Scat!” There was no way she was reaching inside. She looked around for a stick or a broom or something to use to poke at it. Nothing.

“That’s what I get for making everyone clean so thoroughly,” she mumbled. “Okay, whatever you are, go away so I can clean up and go home.” More rustling but nothing came out. Now what?

“Okay, buddy.” She stomped back into the kitchen. Maybe by the time she returned, the stupid thing would be gone. Mop in hand, she shoved open the door again, making as much noise as she could to hopefully scare the thing away. She approached the spilled trash can.

When she stopped, everything was silent. No rustling. No little feet scratching against the plastic can. Nothing but the normal night sounds that came from a distance. She smiled. It was gone.

“Hello?” Another step. “Yoo-hoo, little critter.” Another step. “Are you gone?” Nothing but silence. Slowly, she pushed the end of the broom handle into the dark interior of the trash can.

The animal came out with a screech and something furry and disgustingly wet flew past her bare legs. She screamed. She couldn’t help it. It was done before she could stop it.

Her heart pounded so hard against her ribs, it hurt. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. “Damn it!” was the first thing she managed to say. “Ewww,” was the second. She did not want to know what was now drying on her leg. She’d find out when she got home and showered. Besides, she still had to clean up everything scattered on the new asphalt.

At least once she righted the trash can, she could see what she was doing. She did peer inside carefully, just in case. No beady little eyes looked up at her, thank goodness—just smelly, slimy trash. Finally, she had everything cleaned up and the lid securely in place.

After closing the diner’s back door, she headed to her car. As she walked across the parking lot, she swore she could feel eyes staring at her. Beady little eyes giving her the stink eye. “Sorry, no free meals,” she called into the night, laughing. “I’m tougher than I look, you know. I’ve got three older brothers.”

Climbing into her car, she flipped on the headlights, and the beam found a small furry form at the edge of the lot, near the creek that meandered past the property. A fat raccoon glared at her.

Tara laughed. She was exhausted. And punchy. And dirty. But she’d survived. Tomorrow—she glanced at her watch—today was going to be a piece of cake.

* * *

MORGAN’S STOMACH RUMBLED as he hit the outskirts of Haskins Corners just after dawn. He needed to find a safe place to park, grab some grub and figure out his next move.

It was early. Nothing much was open. But a familiar, ancient diner came to mind.

The parking lot was big enough to park the truck now that he was bobtailing. This time of day there would be plenty of room, even if he’d had the trailer.

Except, this morning the parking lot was more than half-full. He pulled to a halt. What the heck? Dozens of cars filled the upper half of the lot, though there was still room in the lower.

What was going on? He’d never seen this much traffic here, even at breakfast time.

Slowly, he turned the rig into the lot, stopping at the outer edge along the creek side, underneath the trees. The silence of the air when he shut off the engine still amazed him. He climbed out and made his way across the newly paved parking lot. Nice. Smooth. There wasn’t even the hint of a pothole in sight.

And landscaping? Bushes and trees in the median? Daisy was moving up in the world. The now-elderly woman who’d run the joint since the 1970s must have come into some money.

Approaching the front door, however, Morgan paused. This couldn’t be Daisy’s domain any longer. A menu was posted in a fancy metal box on the wall. Different, but if the scents coming out of the kitchen were any indication, good. His stomach rumbled again in response.

Inside he froze. The layout of the place was the same, but run-down had given way to kitsch, and utilitarian to almost pretty. The clunky vinyl booths and Formica tables were gone. In their place sat tables and chairs that looked better suited for a dollhouse than a diner.

He wasn’t especially tall, but his years of bodybuilding workouts had made that type of furniture totally off-limits. He knew better than to sit on any of those chairs. He’d probably end up on his ass with splinters beneath his butt.

Morgan frowned. He was here and he was hungry. The perky little hostess was new, too. Since when did diners have hostesses?

“Just one?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Where exactly would she put him? He resisted the urge to retreat instead of following her. The lace curtains and tablecloths didn’t help with the feeling he had of stepping into a woman’s boudoir.

“I’ll just sit at the counter.” It was still there, still the same, but cleaner. Much cleaner. With a shrug, she dismissed him as easily as he did her.

“What can I get ya?” Another young woman with bright, albeit tired eyes and a name tag that read Wendy stood on the other side of the counter, a carafe of coffee in one hand.

“A whole lot of that.”

She poured a big mugful, then slid it toward him. “I hear ya.” She stifled a yawn. “Here’s our brand-spanking new menu.” She pulled a laminated folder from between the napkin holder and saltshaker. “Take a look at it, and I’ll be right back.” She hustled away, the coffeepot landing smoothly on the burner as he opened the menu.

Omelets? He’d made the mistake once of ordering an omelet from Daisy. He should have known to change the order when she’d said, “A what?” Her omelet had consisted of scrambled eggs with bits of meat mixed in.

Now there was a full page of them. Egg whites? Mushrooms? Holy cow. This was different. His mouth watered.

* * *

BREAKFAST WAS TARA’S favorite meal of the day. The warm, rich, sweet scents of baking, hot grease and coffee were a unique perfume. Nothing better in the world. That was part of why she’d decided to offer the breakfast menu all day long. That, and competing with the big boys—she had to play their games.

The kitchen was full of aromatic food, pots, pans and noise. Tara tried to shut it all out and focus. Robbie was her lead chef for mornings. But while he was the best at what he did, he was also the most easily distracted. And the past few days had been full of distractions.

She’d decided to do a soft opening the week before the official grand opening. This was their first day and the place was over half-full. First impressions were vital and so far so good.

She had to trust Robbie and Wendy and everyone else she’d hired. She had to. It was now or never.

Already a couple dozen people had come in this morning, and she was busy whipping up another batch of biscuits. Mom’s recipe was a favorite, and Tara had to remind herself that she couldn’t eat the profits. But oh, she loved Mom’s biscuits.

“Oh, my.” Wendy rushed through the door, her arms full of dirty dishes. She wound her way through the controlled mess and deposited everything in the sink.

“Oh, my, what?” Gabe, the busboy/dishwasher said as he lifted the sprayer and proceeded to blast off what food residue he could from the plates.

“Hunk alert,” Wendy called out in a pseudo-whisper.

Tara wasn’t sure when the staff had started this ridiculous behavior. Whenever a good-looking guy came in, one of the waitresses would make this announcement. She knew she should stop it, but with a brand-new staff, she was going to allow anything that helped them become a cohesive team.

Besides, the guys had come up with their own balance. Bombshell was the term her evening cook, Wade, had used. The gray-haired cook wasn’t interested in the modern vernacular, much to the younger guys’ displeasure. He reasoned that they needed an education. Still, the term had stuck.

And so the descriptions of customers flew around the kitchen. Tara focused on the biscuits.

“You really should see this guy.” Wendy passed Tara and whispered in her ear, “He’s perfect for you.”

Not only was her staff getting involved in the life of the diner, they’d started to make their feelings known about her life—specifically, her lack of a love life. It didn’t help that her brothers, DJ and Jason, had both gotten married and Wyatt and Emily had eloped in the past few months.

Her sister, Mandy, talked about dresses and bouquets every time she came in with little Lucas for lunch. Love was in the air everywhere—and her staff thought she should join in.

“Not interested,” she said, focusing on the biscuit dough. “Told you that already.”

“This one might make you change your mind.” Wendy’s voice came out all singsongy as she wiggled her eyebrows. “You never know.” She’d filled a tray as she’d talked, then hefted the thing up on her shoulder.

“Just focus and don’t spill that.”

“Yes, boss.”

Wendy disappeared out into the dining room as Lindy, the hostess, came in. “You gotta see this guy,” Lindy said as she carried a stack of dishes to the sink. The girl was a ditz at times, but she knew when to chip in and help.

“You girls need cooling off.” Gabe lifted the water spray and sent a brief blast of water at Lindy, who squealed.

“All right.” Tara needed to stop them now. “Everyone get to work.” Her voice was soft, though, so while they stilled the horseplay, the glances and snickers continued.

Shoving the tray of biscuits into the oven, she stepped back and dusted off her hands. Her mouth watered at the sight of the previous batch she’d baked and, mentally promising her mom, “just one,” she reached out.

Suddenly, hands cupped her elbows, and she found her waitresses on either side of her. “Hey!”

“You’ll thank us later.” Wendy laughed.

The laughing trio had to angle awkwardly through the swinging doors, and the thump of the doors closing barely broke the din of the dining room. Nearly all the tables were full and even the counter had only a few empty stools.

Tara didn’t have to ask. The man at the counter, on the end. Blond, short-cropped hair. Broad, bodybuilder shoulders. And muscles. His arms were huge, stretching the fabric of his black T-shirt tight. She didn’t dare look in the direction of his faded blue jeans.

“See?” Wendy didn’t even bother to try to hide her pointing hand.

Tara stared. “Oh. My,” she whispered, then spun on her heel. She scurried into the kitchen before he could look up and see them all gawking at him.

Robbie looked through the order window. “What’s wrong with you?”

She stared at her cook, the only apparently sane person in her kitchen. There was no way she was telling him anything.

But that man... He was exactly what she’d normally be attracted to. He was the opposite of her brothers, so different from her normal reality.

Which was why she’d turned around. She’d made more than her fair share of bad choices in men. She did not have time for any kind of relationship right now. None whatsoever. Not even a wishful one.

Even if those arms could make any girl feel safe.

CHAPTER THREE

MORGAN STARED AT the menu, peering over it as two waitresses dragged a woman dressed in chef garb out of the kitchen. That was an interesting little display.

As soon as they let go of her arms, she turned through the diner doors, like the bird in the cuckoo clock his grandmother used to have.

Morgan smiled. He hadn’t thought about Gran in ages. She’d been the closest thing he and Jack had had to a real family. He missed her, wishing he could give Brooke someone special like that in her life.

The waitress who’d originally handed him the menu returned. “So, have you made up your mind?” The grin on her face said there had definitely been an inside joke involved with the chef coming through those swinging doors.

“Uh, yeah.” He ordered the Denver omelet, hoping it was as good as it sounded. He’d caught a whiff of several dishes that passed by and was already salivating.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, leave the chef in the kitchen to cook it, okay?” He winked at her, and she had the grace to blush even as she laughed.

“I think we can arrange that. Tara isn’t fond of coming out of her cave anyway.”

“Tara?”

“Yeah, the owner. And chef.” She nodded at the dining room behind him. “She bought this place and has been pushing us for a month to open this week.”

He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Just this week?” He was impressed. For a brand-new place, it was pretty busy. “Hopefully, nothing happened to Daisy.” He recalled the elderly woman who’d previously run the old diner.

“Nope. She’s alive and well.” Wendy refilled his cup. “Retirement will be good for her.”

He wondered if Daisy agreed with that. She’d always given him the impression she’d die before she’d retire.

“Let me put in your order.” The waitress stepped away and Morgan looked around again.

Even this early in the day, there was a crowd. He’d come here knowing Daisy had been a fixture in town her whole life. He’d hoped to ask if she’d seen Sylvie. Disappointment settled close. He wondered if there was any way to contact her.

It wasn’t long before his plate appeared, and the meal looked as good as it smelled. He glanced at the waitress. “Hey,” he said.

“Do you need something else?”

“No. Just a curious question. Who does the hiring here?”

“You looking for a job?” She looked hopeful, almost eager.

“Uh, no.” He laughed. “But I know someone who might.” Sylvie had been working as a waitress when they’d met. Did the fact that a new restaurant had appeared in town have anything to do with someone sighting her? Was she working here, maybe on another shift? He tried not to get his hopes up.

“That’d be Tara. Don’t know if we’re looking for anyone else, though.”

“If she has a minute, I’d like to chat with her.”

For the first time since she’d warmly greeted him, the girl looked reluctant. “I’ll see if she can break away.”

“No hurry.” He dug into the omelet and stifled a groan of pleasure. It tasted even better than it smelled or looked.

* * *

TARA KNEW HER staff meant well, but she needed to make them understand that she could not afford any distractions right now. Not with her track record. She busied herself putting the finishing touches on the lunch prep.

She’d nearly flunked out of high school because she’d thought boys were more important than homework. When Wyatt had caught her sneaking out of the house one night, it’d been the final straw. From then on, he’d made sure she didn’t go anywhere until her homework was done.

She’d resented him then, but now appreciated how hard that must have been for him. He’d been young and single, an older brother who took his responsibilities very seriously. Her behavior had probably put a serious cramp in his social life.

In college, she’d nearly screwed up again. She’d met Travis and thought he was “the one.” He’d been the one all right, the one for Cheryl and Lisa and Julie and who knew how many others. Looking back now, Tara wasn’t sure which had been worse—the distraction of the pursuit or the heartache afterward.

DJ had been the one to save her then, listening to all her wailing and tears, never once letting on that his baby sister was being a pain in the neck.

Even recently, she’d met that cute firefighter after the fire that had nearly destroyed the county. A hotshot on the crew that had come to town, he’d definitely turned her head. And turned right around and left as quickly as he’d come.

No, she didn’t have time to get involved with anyone. She couldn’t afford the distraction if she was going to make this place a success. And that man at the counter? Oh, yeah, he’d definitely be a distraction.

He already was, if her staff’s reaction to him was any indication.

“Hey, Tara.” Wendy came through the doors. “Our hunky customer wants to talk to you to see if we’re hiring.”

“What?” She whipped around, staring at Wendy, who nearly doubled over in laughter.

“I take it you wouldn’t want him working here?”

Dear Lord, that would be the end of her. “No. Certainly not.” Sweat broke out as she imagined the big man lumbering through the kitchen, brushing past her, easily lifting the heavy trays with those big, strong arms.

“Just tell him we’re not hiring.” She didn’t dare talk to him, not with those images swimming in her head.

“Sure you don’t want to take the time to visit?” Wendy moved close. “He’s even better looking up close. Nice green eyes.”

“Yeah, I’m sure his eyes are what you’re looking at.”

“Maybe.” Wendy headed toward the door. “Well, if you’re not going to take advantage, I’m certainly going to enjoy.”

“I’m too busy anyway. I’m off to the fair.” She tried to look nonchalant as she grabbed the bag of flyers and headed out. It wasn’t like she was running away or anything.

* * *

AFTER FINISHING HIS delicious breakfast, Morgan left to walk around town. He found himself looking at every person he passed with a suspicious eye. At every glimpse of purple, which was oddly frequent, he nearly gave himself whiplash trying to see if it was Brooke or Sylvie.

It never was.

He’d gone up and down the narrow main street three times. He was pushing his luck. He fought the urge to go into every store to question the staff. He had a faded picture, but from what little he’d gathered about Sylvie, she looked different than she used to.

Her blond hair was now dark, not brown or black, but blue apparently. Or it had been a couple months ago. He had no idea what color it was now.

She’d gotten tattoos and piercings, which, while they weren’t that odd these days, they weren’t something she’d had before. They disguised her, making her look nothing like the pictures he had of her. Would he even recognize her?

Was he ever going to find them?

He grabbed a soda from a street vendor and settled under a big cottonwood tree in the center of the park. Maybe if he sat here and watched he’d see something.

The sun moved slowly across the sky, and he fought the growing disappointment. Other than going door-to-door, what was he supposed to do? He glanced wistfully at the playground. Had Brooke ever played there? She’d always loved to swing.

If he hung out here, would he find her or just get himself arrested for stalking little kids? As a dad, he knew he’d be suspicious of some guy hanging out at a playground.

A woman came down the sidewalk, a big bag hanging off her shoulder, the sun glinting in her bright golden hair. The curls rippled in the breeze as she walked, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away. She turned around, and for an instant, a flash of recognition shot through him. He didn’t know her, but she looked familiar. Where had he seen her before?

At the diner this morning. With her hair down, she looked different. She’d come and gone so quickly, he was surprised he recognized her now.

What had the waitress said her name was? Tina? No. Trudy? No, definitely not. Tara? That was it.

He watched her move. She went from booth to booth, looking at the items displayed, and, after she’d picked up something small and paid, she handed the clerk a piece of paper. A flyer? What was she doing? She moved easily through the crowd, passing out the flyers from her bag and sharing a smile with nearly everyone. Good advertising. He hoped it worked.

Just then, she looked at him. Their gazes met, held for an instant, then she looked away. Did she recognize him, too?

Something about the woman intrigued him. Rising, he followed her, her interactions amusing him. How long had the waitress said the restaurant had been open? A week? Before opening, had Tara been doing this? If she’d been running around glad-handing for the past month, especially during the busy weekends, had she seen Sylvie? Had she seen Brooke? His heart sped up, and so did he.

* * *

EVERY DAY, ESPECIALLY on the busy weekends and hopefully between the morning rush and lunch—before the day grew too unbearably hot—Tara planned to visit the street fair that was a staple in town.

Tara loved the fair and could easily spend the entire day shopping, as she had in years past with her sisters. Artists, jewelers, seamstresses and food vendors of all kinds sold their goods. But her purpose now was to advertise the café, not spend her meager profits.

She’d printed flyers with coupons and handed them out to the vendors and anyone who’d take one. It was working—already her staff said people had brought the flyers in.

Today was no different, and she made her way down the street, taking her time and doing a little shopping along the way.

She noticed that the hunk from the diner this morning was sitting under the cottonwoods in the park. Those broad shoulders made the massive trunk of the old tree actually look small. One leg stretched out across the grass, and he’d bent one knee to rest his forearm on. The soda can looked minuscule in his big hand.

He looked up then, catching her watching him. She glanced away, feeling her cheeks warm. She moved on to the next stall.

Visitors and locals mingled in the square, and it was the perfect place to spread the word about her café. She’d actually toyed with the idea of renting one of the outdoor booths to give away food samples.

But she couldn’t afford to be away from the café for the entire day, and neither could any of the staff. Not yet anyway.

Maybe she should give Mr. Hunk a coupon to get him to return. That would make her staff—especially Wendy—happy. And that was the only reason it crossed her mind, she told herself.

Really.

Glancing over at the trees, she realized he’d left and before she could stop herself, she scanned around, wondering where he’d gone. She didn’t see him. Why did that realization dim the bright day? Shaking her head, she dismissed the man and her silly thoughts.

“Hey, Dave,” she greeted the older man who made beautiful tin sculptures. She’d already commissioned one of a squirrel in a chef hat to go in the entry of the diner. “How’s Mr. Squirrel coming?”

“Looking good. I’ll be done early, I think.”

“Great.” He’d already sent business her way, and she left another stack of flyers.

With similar interactions, she moved along the line, realizing how many of these people she’d come to know and now considered friends.

Halfway down the block, she stopped at the T-shirt vendor and recalled the woman who’d come in to apply for a waitress job, the one who’d insulted her, unintentionally, but the woman’s rudeness still stuck in Tara’s mind. Relieved the woman wasn’t there, she was glad to find a man behind the wide table.

She didn’t remember seeing him before. Was folding something people who sold T-shirts did in their sleep? They always seemed to be doing it.

“Hello,” she greeted him with a smile. He looked up, but rather than smiling, he frowned, then seemed to force his lips into a stiff grin.

“Hi!” She tried again. He kept folding.

“Let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to ring up.” He moved to sit in a chair beside an ancient cash register. He picked up a magazine and focused on it, ignoring her.

“I’d like to introduce myself,” she said. He looked up and fake-smiled again.

“Yeah, I know who you are. You bought the diner from Daisy.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I ain’t giving out any of yer flyers,” he grumbled. “It’s hard enough makin’ a livin’ doing my own business.” He went back to his magazine. “You wanna buy something?”

She stared at him, surprised. Not now, she didn’t. Everyone else was very open and helpful, friendly. What was wrong with this guy?