white caught Stace’s eye and she raised her gaze to see what it was. She froze.
“I thought I’d apply here,” Riley said. He lifted the Help Wanted sign in his hands, the same one that had been in the window just moments before, and gave Frank a smile. “I figure I eat here enough, I might as well earn my keep.”
Frank arched a brow. “You want to be a waiter? Here?”
“Yup. Consider this my official application.” Riley slid the sign across the counter.
Frank sent Stace a glance. She mouthed “no,” and waved her hands. Frank wouldn’t dare. He’d said he’d hire someone, but surely he wanted someone with experience, someone who would be a help, not a hindrance. Someone who had a good work ethic. “Frank…”
Frank grinned at her word of caution, then turned back to Riley. “I told Miss Stace here that I’d hire the next person who walked through that door—”
He wouldn’t.
“And since I’m a man of my word—”
He couldn’t.
“You’re hired, Riley McKenna.” Frank reached over and clapped Riley on the shoulder. “Welcome to Morning Glory Diner. Stace here will be glad to show you the ropes.”
He did.
Stace plastered a smile she didn’t feel on her face, and faced her worst nightmare. An irresponsible womanizer who was going to make her life a living hell.
CHAPTER TWO
ONE day, two tops, Riley figured, and his grandmother would call him back to McKenna Media. Riley could have called in a favor with a friend, but that wouldn’t prove he could do anything other than pick up the phone. Sure, waiting tables wasn’t the ideal job, but it would do for now, and prove his point to his grandmother that he wasn’t the irresponsible man she thought him to be. He looked around the bustling diner. He’d wanted a challenge, something a little different.
And this fit the bill to a T.
So Riley donned the black apron imprinted with Morning Glory Diner on the pocket, grabbed an order pad and pen, and crossed to the first set of customers he saw. Before he could even open his mouth, that waitress—Sally, Sandy—rushed over and nearly tackled him. “You can’t take this table.”
“I’m doing it. Watch me take their order, too.” He clicked the pen, and faced the two construction workers whose broad frames nearly filled either side of the booth. Beefy guys in dusty T-shirts and jeans. “What can I get you guys?”
The first one, a nearly bald fiftyish man wearing a bright yellow hat emblazoned with Irving in thick black marker, gave Riley an are-you-an-idiot look. “Menus.”
Riley glanced down and realized he had forgotten that important first step. No problem. He’d get it right the next time. This was waiting tables; it wasn’t rocket science. “Right. Those would be helpful. Unless you just want to make up an order, and I’ll zip it back to Frank in the kitchen.” Riley thumbed toward the kitchen.
Sally/Sandy smacked his arm. “You can’t just make up food. I’ve told you that a hundred times.” Then she turned to the two men. “I apologize. He’s new. Probably won’t last long. Let me get you some menus.” She turned on her sneakered heel, and started to walk away, then thought better of it, and grabbed a fistful of Riley’s shirt and hauled him backward.
Riley’s feet tangled and nearly brought him to the ground. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?”
“Getting you out of there before you do any more damage.” She stopped by the hostess station, snatched up two menus, then released Riley. “Stay.” She punctuated the word with a glare. “And I mean it.”
“Woof.”
The glare intensified, then she stalked off, handed the menus to the customers, and returned to Riley’s side. “Hey, all I did was forget menus. You’re acting like I committed a federal crime,” he said.
“Just stay out of my way and we’ll get along just fine.”
“I’m supposed to be making your life easier.”
“Well, you’re not.”
She started to walk away, but he caught up with her and turned her to face him. “I was hired to help you.”
“Well, you’re not.”
He eyed Sally/Sandy. He’d had the pretty blonde as a waitress a dozen times, and though he’d tried his best to get to know her, she’d resisted. Maybe she hated him. Why?
Maybe because he’d never learned her name, something he now regretted. And couldn’t remedy because she didn’t have on a name tag.
She was a beautiful woman with a petite, tight body and a smile that rarely made an appearance. She had wide green eyes, long blond hair that he’d only ever seen tied back, and a quick wit. He’d seen her friendly banter with other customers, and wondered why she’d always been cold with him on the dozens of occasions when he’d eaten here.
He’d asked her out a few times, flirted with her often, and she’d always resisted. Now he needed to get along with her—at least on the job. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t care—he’d just avoid her at work or just avoid work, period. But this time, the job mattered, not just because he needed the paycheck, but because he wanted to prove himself, to Gran, to himself, and yes, in an odd way, to this angry waitress. “I admit, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here,” he said. “I’m on a steep learning curve, and that means I might get underfoot a little.”
“A lot,” she corrected.
“Okay, a lot. But I’m here to help, to take some of the burden off your shoulders. If you let me.”
She let out a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Train me.” He put up his two hands. “I can sit, stay and even beg.”
“Just…stay,” she said now. “You’re no good to me out there. You’ll just make my job harder.”
“Why? You think I can’t write down an order and deliver it to Frank?” He’d seen her do it a hundred times. It didn’t look hard at all.
“Honestly, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because a man with manicured nails and a thousand-dollar haircut is used to giving orders, not taking them.”
Riley winced. Did people really see him that way? A useless playboy with nothing but time on his hands for mischief? And if they did, could he blame them? What had he done with his life up until now? But he was determined to change that, at least here, now, in this diner. “Frank hired me for a reason.”
“Because he promised me he’d hire the next person who walked through that door. It could have been a monkey, and Frank would have given him a job just to prove his point.”
“Which is?”
