mocking again. “Do you say that about everyone you serve here?”
“Not everyone.” With that subtle zinger, she stepped away from the table. “I’ll go check on your food.”
She didn’t hurry to the kitchen, stopping twice on the way to refill coffee cups and check on customers. Letting the kitchen door swing closed behind her, she set the carafe down with a thump. “That guy is just strange,” she muttered.
Shameka Cooper looked up from the pancakes and sausage links sizzling on a large griddle in front of her. “Which guy is that, hon?”
“Around thirty, brown hair sort of falling in his face, silvery gray eyes. Attitude.”
Shameka didn’t even have to glance toward the pass-through window that gave her a view of the dining room. “Sounds like Riley O’Neal.”
“Yes, he said his name is Riley. Is he a jerk, or have I gotten a bad first impression?”
Shameka responded with the deep chuckle that had drawn Teresa to her from the beginning. “Oh, Riley’s a sweetie who comes across as a jerk. Usually you just want to hug him, even though there are times you’d really like to whomp him a good one.”
Teresa couldn’t imagine actually hugging the guy, though she could picture herself wanting to whomp him. “He acts so smug,” she said. “As if he knows something I don’t. Something he finds amusing.”
“That’s Riley. And that’s exactly why some folks don’t care much for him. Myself, I’ve always gotten a kick out of him. He’s not half as cynical as he pretends to be. He just thinks it goes with his image—you know, hard-nosed reporter.”
“He’s a reporter?” Teresa curled her lip. No wonder he acted so bored and worldly.
“Sure. He works for the Evening Star. That sort of makes him a co-worker of ours, I guess, since the family that owns this diner also owns the newspaper. Marjorie’s daughter and son-in-law run the paper, while Marjorie keeps the diner going.”
“Great,” Teresa muttered. It was Marjorie—the mother of her college roommate—who had given Teresa this job. Marjorie Schaffer was one of the nicest people Teresa had ever met, and she’d bet the older woman had a soft spot for the carelessly charming reporter.
“You’ll like him once you get to know him,” Shameka assured her with a broad smile. “Nearly everyone does. Just don’t let him give you any guff. Here’s his breakfast.”
Even as she accepted the well-filled plate, Teresa found herself doubting that she and Riley O’Neal would ever be friends.
Riley considered himself one of the most misunderstood men in his small Arkansas town. He knew who and what he was—but many people tended to get mistaken ideas about him.
There were some who deemed him lazy. He wasn’t, of course—it was just that he did most of his work in his head. Others thought his pointed humor was evidence of a sarcastic and cynical nature. He thought of himself more as a droll observer of human foibles. Some called him blunt and tactless, but he just tried to be honest.
Dubbed a loner by many, he simply valued his privacy. He needed peace and quiet for his writing, something he couldn’t get with a bunch of people around all the time. On those occasions when he was in the mood for company, he found it. That hardly made him a loner—did it?
Because he could savor a cup of coffee in peace there, he had decided to have breakfast at the Rainbow Café last Monday morning. He’d known the owner, Marjorie Schaffer, for a long time and was almost as comfortable in her diner as he was in his own kitchen. There were always plenty of greetings, of course, when he arrived. Edstown wasn’t very big, and he’d lived there most of his life. Because of that and his job as a reporter for the Edstown Evening Star, he knew many of the local citizens. They also knew him well enough to leave him alone while he read his newspaper and ate his breakfast.
He had opened the paper as soon as he settled into his seat, burying his face in the pages. It was an effective deterrent to conversational overtures—and besides, he really enjoyed reading the newspaper. He had an appreciation for the little local paper that paid his salary—the few real news stories on the front page, the local gossip and trivia on the inside pages, the cooking section edited by a retired, eighty-year-old former home-ec teacher, the sports pages written by rotating high school sportscaster wannabes. The Edstown Evening Star had its own charm, its own place in this town, but it was the statewide morning paper Riley perused to stay connected with the rest of the world.
He’d been surprised when someone new had taken his order that morning—and even more surprised that the new server was a real knockout. Shoulder-length dark blond hair streaked with gold was neatly secured at the back of her neck. Clear blue eyes framed with long, skillfully darkened lashes dominated her heart-shaped face. Her nose was straight and perfectly proportioned, and she needed no cosmetic enhancement to make the most of naturally rosy, sweetly curved lips. Her chin was a little pointed, he had decided, trying to be objective—but he liked the shallow dimple there.
Maybe it had been that enticing dimple that had brought him back two more times in the past week, even though he usually visited the diner for breakfast no more than once or twice a month.
His newspaper forgotten for a moment, Riley watched her walk away after taking his order Friday morning. Nice figure, he noted, not for the first time. Not too thin—he’d never been drawn to the bony supermodel type. As befitted the ultra-casual atmosphere of the place, she wore jeans with a long-sleeved white cotton shirt and sneakers. The jeans fit very well, he observed, his gaze lingering for a moment on her shapely derriere.
He guessed that she was close to his own age, thirty. She didn’t wear a wedding ring—no jewelry at all, actually, except for a no-frills wristwatch. She was new in town and probably didn’t know many people yet. He’d decided to give her a call some time when he was in the mood to go out, though she hadn’t given him much encouragement so far.
She returned quickly with his breakfast. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
A half dozen flip responses leaped into his mind. Casual flirting had always come easily to him, and there were plenty of women who’d reciprocated. Because she seemed to be braced for just such a remark, he bit back the innuendos and answered circumspectly. “Not right now, thank you.”
“All right. I’ll be back soon to refill your coffee.”
“Thanks. By the way, what’s your last name, Teresa?” He should know that by now, he thought, having met her three times so far. He must be getting slow.
“Scott,” she answered without elaboration. “Excuse me, one of my other customers is signaling for me.”
He wouldn’t exactly call her friendly, he mused as she turned to leave. Polite enough—but only to the point that her job required. Could be a challenge.
He smiled. When it didn’t require too much effort on his part, Riley enjoyed the occasional challenge.
“So, have you gotten a good look at that pretty new waitress over at the Rainbow Café yet?” Bud O’Neal asked his nephew Sunday afternoon.
Riley nodded toward the television screen in front of him. “I’m trying to watch the race, Bud.”
“They’re running under a caution flag
