clean cloth and spritzed disinfectant on the lunch counter. If Ciara saw her tears, Finn could blame the cleaning product.
“They changed their minds. They—they want sodas instead of sweet tea.” Ciara scooped crushed ice into identical red plastic glasses. “You know, I think that Sam guy likes you.”
“All of my customers like me,” Finn teased.
“Yeah, but he’s the only one who stares at you that way.”
“What way?” Finn looked across the diner, straight into the big blue eyes of Sam Marshall, whose dimple appeared at the same time as his charming, slanted smile. It didn’t seem rehearsed, like the flirtations of so many other rock star hopefuls who frequented The Right Note.
“See there?” Ciara wrapped her hands around the full, fizzing tumblers and started back to the table. “Told you he liked you.”
Rowdy chuckled and went back to his over-easy eggs. “By Jove, I think she’s right.”
“Stow your bow, Cupid.” Finn returned the cleaning supplies to their shelf and faced him. “You’re wasting perfectly good arrows, shooting at the likes of me.”
He put down his spatula and, wiping enormous hands on a corner of his apron, stepped up to the service counter.
“Finnegan Ula Logan Leary...”
She hated Misty’s silly reason for choosing the mostly male names that appeared on her birth certificate: “Your initials spell FULL, and that’s what I want your life to be!” If she’d been the least bit sincere, would she have made choices that left Finn feeling empty and afraid...and alone?
“...why are you determined to make life so hard for yourself?”
Of all people, Rowdy should know the answer to that. He’d been there when Pete had provided a home for her and Ciara after Misty and Connor had taken off.
“Times like these,” Rowdy continued, “I wish Pete was still alive. He’s the only one who could ever talk sense into you.”
She couldn’t deny it. But Pete Maxon had earned the right to scold and advise her since, at the dawn of his golden years, the never-married Pete had accepted the mantle of friend and father to her and Ciara. And he’d done a far better job of it than Connor ever had.
“You have a right to a normal, happy life, Finn. Husband. Kids. A home of your own. She wants that for you, too.” Using his chin as a pointer, he drew her attention to her sister, laughing and joking with a family in the corner booth.
Ciara turned, as if she sensed they were talking about her. When their eyes locked, Finn saw pure childlike love in her sister’s expression. That was what had prompted her to devote herself to Ciara, no matter what. Well, that, and her role in the accident. If doing right by Ciara meant foregoing the white-picket-fence scene, so be it.
“I did some checking,” Rowdy was saying. “Sam hails from a big, tight-knit family out west. Could be just the type who’d love that girl almost as much as you do.”
Ciara stacked dirty plates in her arms and made her way back to the counter. The effort needed to keep things in balance showed on her face. Finn took a step forward, thinking to relieve her of the burden.
“Don’t,” Rowdy said, anticipating her intentions. “She’s doing fine.”
Ciara proved him right by easing the soiled dishes into a tub. And without a word or fanfare of any kind, she carried the whole mess into the kitchen.
“Look, Teddy! I brought—I brought you a surprise!” she announced, sliding the tub onto the dishwasher’s conveyor belt.
Grinning, the boy rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks. You’re my new best friend.”
Heart swelling, Finn fought tears of joy and pride.
“You ought to smile more,” a DJ-deep voice said from behind her. “Because you’re mighty pretty when you do.”
Turning, she met the smiling eyes of firefighter, musician and comes-from-stable-stock Sam Marshall...
...and hoped he couldn’t hear her hard-beating heart.
“IF YOU’RE INTERESTED, make a move!”
Sam tapped the mic to test the amp’s volume. “See, that’s your trouble. You make moves without thinking. I’d rather look a few moves ahead.”
“Your chess analogy isn’t lost on me.” Mark leaned his forearms on the edge of the stage. “But Finn isn’t a game player, dude. I’ve known her a while. Watched her interact with people at the diner. She’s different around you. So I say go for it.”
Yesterday, Sam had complimented her smile, and he still hadn’t figured out if her reaction had been more shock or suspicion.
“Thanks, but no thanks. One trip-up with her is one too many.”
“That’s a sorry excuse if ever I heard one. Broken dishes and stuff spilled on the floor is all part of the restaurant business.”
Maybe, Sam thought, but he’d never been one to repeat a stupid mistake. At least, not if he could help it.
“So you’ll be okay without me tonight?”
Mark nodded. “Yeah, Torry’s gonna open with a comedy set, then we’ll play for a couple of hours and he’ll close the show.”
The comic waved Sam and Mark closer. “Little birdie told me a hotshot Hollywood producer is in town,” Torry whispered. “You’d better believe we’re gonna give it all we’ve got tonight.”
Mark patted his wallet and started walking toward the office. “I’m only interested in making this fatter, so knock yourself out.”
Torry pulled his thick, carrot-red hair into a ponytail. “He’ll sing a new tune when one of us gets signed to costar in the next blockbuster movie.”
Sam chuckled. “Not to rain on your parade, but I thought Hollyweird talent scouts went the way of the dodo bird.”
Torry’s exaggerated gasp sent him backward a step. “Silence! You’ll jinx it!” A mischievous grin lit his dark eyes. “Hollyweird, huh? That’s funny enough to use in my act.” He winked. “I may or may not give you credit.”
He climbed onto the stage and shaded his eyes from the spot. “I hate those things. Why do we need searchlight wattage?”
“So the audience can key into your facial expressions. Besides, the audience can’t distract us if we can’t see them.”
The comedian lifted one shoulder. “See, there’s the difference between what you do and what I do. I don’t need them to see the nuance of my facial expressions. What I need is to see their faces, so I can gauge their reactions to my jokes.”
“How long have you known Finn Leary?”
