spotted a keen intelligence, a definite wariness and something else. Something shadowy where a vague sadness lingered. It would be challenging to see if he could discover more.
Perhaps having an attractive woman one deck below wouldn’t be so bad, after all. He could ask her up for dinner, conversation, a little touchy-feely tension reliever. Maybe he could…
Annoyed with his thoughts, Devin ran a hand through his hair and frowned. He was here to work, not play. His deadline was a mere three months from now. He’d best keep that in mind.
He locked the door and left the porch.
Molly arrived at the Pan Handle Café and noticed from the big clock above the counter that she had five minutes to spare. She caught Trisha’s eye and made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, indicating she’d gotten the rental. Trisha winked her acknowledgement before lowering the heavy tray and turning to serve her customers.
Molly waved at Hank at the cash register, greeted the short-order cook by name and walked on past the ladies’ room to the back locker area. The air-conditioning was set on high, but with all the heat from the kitchen, it was fairly warm inside most of the time. Quickly, she stashed her bag and fixed herself a tall iced tea with lemon. It was too hot for coffee some mornings. She sipped it slowly, glad that the breakfast rush hour was tapering off.
She was aware that many people looked down on waitressing, but as far as Molly was concerned, it was honest work that she enjoyed and was good at, and the tips weren’t bad. The Pan Handle was located in a small strip mall that bordered an enclave of older, well-kept homes peopled mostly by young families and year-round retirees who kept the ten booths along the windows, the six counter stools and the eight tables filled almost constantly. Word-of-mouth also brought tourists to the café with its down-home cooking and reasonable prices. And then there were the truckers who’d first discovered Hank’s place. Molly enjoyed the diverse clientele.
Of course, that didn’t mean she intended to spend the rest of her life waitressing. The people she worked with were aware that she was taking night classes, but only Hank knew that she’d attended the University of Arizona on a full scholarship and quit in her senior year before getting her degree. Foolishly starry-eyed, she’d rushed headlong into marriage. Four years later, divorced and on her own with no job skills to speak of despite years of schooling, she’d faced a frightening reality check. Although she’d had a variety of part-time jobs for spending money during her college days, she was poorly qualified for a steady full-time position.
After many long days of job hunting and being turned down mostly for a lack of experience, she’d stopped in at the Pan Handle for a cold drink and spotted the Help Wanted sign. Her smile shaky, she’d told Hank that she’d never waitressed, but she was a quick study and she badly needed a job. He’d hired her on the spot, earning a permanent place on her grateful list.
Of course, Molly worked hard and earned every cent she made. In three years, she was only two courses shy of enough accounting credits to take the state CPA exam. Dreams of her own company, her own business, kept her going through all the hours on her feet serving others and the late evenings she did typing, charging by the page. When that day came, she’d set up her office, hire a staff, eventually get a reliable car and maybe even a small house of her own.
Molly Shipman had vowed she’d never be beholden to anyone for anything ever again.
“So, you moving in soon?” Trisha asked, joining her after turning in two orders.
“I’ve got the weekend off.” She squeezed her friend’s hand. “Thanks for telling me about your mom’s vacancy. It’s perfect. Another hour and it would’ve been snatched up.” As she’d driven away from the duplex, a young couple had stopped their car, eyeing the sign Mrs. Bailey hadn’t bothered to remove and taking down the phone number. “I owe you.”
“I’ll settle for a cold drink. It’s been a madhouse in here since six.” Trisha bent to rub her sore calves.
Molly poured the drink, adding two sugars for energy the way Trisha preferred her tea. “Tell Danny the living room has a cable TV hookup for when he stays over.” A tall, slim brunette, Trisha was outgoing and dated a lot, often leaving her son with Molly evenings when her mother was unable to keep him. Molly had taught Danny to play chess and now he was beating her regularly.
“Will do. He’ll be thrilled.” Trisha took a long swallow, then left to check on her orders.
Time she got to work. Setting aside her glass, Molly put on a bright smile and walked to the front to greet an older couple who were regulars.
Hank’s gaze slid to Molly Shipman and his face relaxed. Of his three full-time waitresses, it was Molly who pleased him most. He enjoyed just looking at her. He watched now as she delivered an order to an older couple, then went to pour coffee all around for three truckers in a front booth. He saw their eyes wander over her slender frame, frankly admiring, boldly appraising. She laughed at something one of them said, then politely dodged their comments and one wandering hand as she wrote up their order. Little did they realize that no matter what they said or did, Molly wasn’t buying.
Unlike Trisha who flirted outrageously and dated frequently, in three years, Hank had never seen one customer get to first base with Molly. Oh, she was friendly to everyone, some more than others, but there it ended. She always went home alone and her phone number was unlisted. Hank didn’t know the story of her marriage or the reason for her divorce, but he figured she had to have had a rough time. Never once did she speak of those years. Divorced himself, he understood, but at nearly fifty, it wasn’t so surprising that he didn’t want another go around. But Molly was only twenty-eight, too young to want to be alone.
If only he was a little younger, Hank thought uncharacteristically dreamy. Then the scowl returned and he called himself a fool. What would a lovely young woman want with a slightly pudgy guy with thinning hair and a bad hip? He’d better keep such thoughts to himself if he wanted to keep Molly as a friend and an employee.
Molly stepped up to the service counter and raised a questioning brow. “You okay, Hank?” she asked, wondering at his grimace as she handed him her order slip. Hank was usually easygoing.
“Hector’s going to be late,” he complained, blaming his mood on that.
“Oh. If you need me to stay longer…”
That was Molly, always willing to help out, but he couldn’t let her do that. “Nah, we’ll manage. I hear you’re moving.”
“Yes, tomorrow.”
“I’ll get my nephew to help. We’ll go to your place with the truck. Is seven good?”
He’d known she’d been looking and had offered to help her move in some time ago. Still she hesitated, hating to accept favors and remembering that Hank had a bad hip. “Listen, Hank, you don’t have to…”
“That’s right, I don’t. I want to. Seven?”
She gave him a grateful smile. “If you’re sure.”
“Positive.”
“Then thanks.” The bell over the door rang out. Molly swung around and waited for the new arrivals to seat themselves before going over with menus.
Carefully placing the last box in Bessie’s trunk, Molly closed the lid and paused to gather her shower-damp hair into a ponytail. Only April and already the daily highs were in the eighties, quickly approaching
