I opened the door and glanced around at the tidy, well-worn booths. Empty, every one of them.
Great.
Elvis’s The Wonder of You came from an honest to God jukebox at the back of the room. One of my father’s favorites. Seemed to be an auspicious sign.
Despite my rumbling belly, I almost turned around and walked back out. I’d shifted to debate doing just that when a friendly voice rang out behind me.
“We’re still open, don’t worry. Sorry, I was in back making tomorrow’s bread. Missed a delivery because of the storm. Table or booth?”
Her voice. Christ. It was like a melody, but a discordant one. A little husky, a little broken, with an edge of fatigue she couldn’t quite cover with the layer of false cheer.
I pivoted back to face her and couldn’t quite match up that raspy voice with the long red braids and pouty mouth slicked with pink gloss. She wore a tight top and tighter pants, the bellbottom kind that hung over her shoes. Platforms, I thought they were called. Not exactly work attire, even if she had a sloppily tied apron on over her outfit.
“Got called in unexpectedly,” she said, correctly reading my thoughts. “No one else could make it in because of the storm.”
“And you were on a modeling job when you were called away?”
She tilted her head. “Have you been drinking?”
I crossed my arms. “Hear the Irish in my voice and that’s what you think, hmm?”
“Now that you mention it, yes, I do hear the Irish. I didn’t at first. I meant because you accused me of being a model. I lost one of my false eyelashes in my margarita.” She pointed to her naked eye and it made me laugh, because somehow I hadn’t noticed she was missing one.
I’d been too busy noticing all the rest of her.
“A night out with your girlfriends, was it? Or your boyfriend?” I wasn’t sure why my voice deepened when I said that, or why my hands tightened where I’d tucked them under my arms.
She snorted at that. “You’re kidding, right? In this town? All the men are married or dating or old enough to be my grandfather. I have to widen my net.” She licked her lips, probably a nervous habit. But that quick flash of tongue combined with her lush mouth had my muscles locking as if I was a predator in the woods, scenting my mate.
“How old are you?”
She let out a laugh. “Old enough. Would you like a seat? You must be hungry.”
“Oh, I am.” I just hadn’t expected to be hungry for her more than I was for food. “You didn’t answer the question.”
She tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Neither did you.”
“Yes, I’d like a seat. Usually when women don’t share their age either they’re too young or too—”
“Old?”
“Too tired of bullshit.”
“Oh, well, I’m definitely tired of that. Booth or table?”
“Whatever you’d like to give me.”
Her eyes flashed, and it annoyed me that without my glasses I couldn’t as easily make out their color. I hadn’t expected to need them for any fine details at the diner. Sometimes it was better if you couldn’t see too clearly at a greasy spoon.
But here, I’d miscalculated. In more ways than one.
Silently, she led me to a booth. She leaned across the table to grab a laminated menu out of the rack and opened it in front of me. “We serve our full menu all night long, so whatever you’d like is available.”
“Not sure about that,” I said under my breath as I scanned the offerings. “Black coffee and the big boy breakfast with bacon, please.” I winced and closed the menu. “Unfortunate name.”
“Are you?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”