Chapter 2

When the breakfast rush is over, LuAnne and I are standing in the kitchen.

“There’s a large amount of money in an envelope under the register. It belongs to Pie Guy.”

“Who?” LuAnne asks, looking up from her crossword puzzle.

“The guy who gets pie for breakfast.”

“Did you mess up on his change?”

“No. I actually thought he’d taken off without paying, which was fine because I owed him, but then I found a hundred-dollar bill under his bowl.”

“Girl, you should take that money and thank him properly the next time you see him.”

I swat at her with my towel I’ve been using to dry dishes. “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. Here, let me show you.” She stands up and walks to the register, pulling out the envelope and then the cash. “You just do this,” she says, taking the money, folding it up, and sticking it in my bra.

“LuAnne!”

Her laugh makes me laugh, so we’re both laughing when the door chimes. A very prim and proper lady with a tight bun and even tighter pencil skirt walks in carrying a garment bag. She walks up to the counter and drapes the bag over the register.

“Mr. Lucas needs these no later than noon.”

I look at her with what can only be a stupefied expression.

“He was serious?” I ask to her retreating form, but she doesn’t turn around. “He was serious,” I say, turning to look at LuAnne, who’s standing beside me with her hands on her hips and her nostrils flared.

“I’d like to do more than wipe egg on his leg,” she sneers. “What an asshole.”

I sigh and pick up the bag. “I don’t even know where to take something like this. And by noon,” I say, my voice becoming louder. “There’s no way anyone will have these clean by noon.”

“Come on,” she says taking the bag. “We’ll call Glen and see if he’ll give us a discount and rush delivery.”

She picks up the phone and dials a number.

“I’m not letting the diner pay for this. It was my mistake. I ran into him.”

“No, he ran into you.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’ll just get the stupid pants cleaned and be done with it.”

“Next time, it might be a nice hot pot of coffee on his dick,” she mutters as she waits for Glen to answer the phone.

I can’t help but laugh. It’s either that or cry. And there’s no crying at the diner. There’s nothing Mack hates more than tears.

Table 10

“What’s this?” he asks, looking at the envelope and then back at me.

“It’s your change from Monday.”

“I left that for you.”

I shake my head. “No, I can’t accept that.”

“You can. I gave it to you.”

“I’m not taking a ninety-five-dollar tip for a piece of pie and a cup of coffee.”

“It’s the best piece of pie I’ve ever had.”

“Still.”

“It wasn’t just for the pie and coffee. I wanted to help with the cleaning bill from the prick who made you drop your tray.”

“That was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

I grip the edge of the table and let out a frustrated sigh because he’s being ridiculous. There’s no way I can accept a ninety-five-dollar tip. Dry cleaning bill or not. Although, that little dry cleaning, with rush service did set me back a pretty penny. A pretty penny I didn’t have.

“Take it,” he demands, sliding the envelope across the table until it’s touching my hand.

“I can’t.”

“Is there a cap on how much tip a person can leave?” he asks, looking around like there might be a sign or notice posted somewhere.

“No, but …”

“But nothing. Now, I’d like another piece of pie. What do you have today?”

“I made cherry and caramel apple today,” I grumble, realizing that I’m not going to win this argument.

“Wait. You made?”

“Yes. I made. I make all the pies.”

That damn eyebrow shoots up and those dark eyes look at me so intensely that my knees feel weak.

“Well, well, well. And here I thought my love affair was with LuAnne.”

I swallow hard, telling my heart to settle down. “Nope.” The funny thing is that even though LuAnne has worked here for decades, she can hardly make a grilled cheese sandwich. The thought of her baking a pie is hysterical.

“Well, Kadi.” The sound of my name coming out of his mouth is erotic. And I don’t even know why I think that. I’m not sure I even know the real meaning of erotic, but that’s the only way I can describe it. The two syllables that make up my name have never sounded so good. “I’ll have a slice of your cherry pie.”

Shit.

A pie order should not make you lose coherent thought.

“Right, cherry,” I say, clearing my throat and pulling out my order pad. I scribble something down and then turn around and walk toward the kitchen.

“Kadi,” he calls out, and there it is again—the weak knees, the rapid heartbeat, the heat in the pit of my stomach. “You forgot something.” He’s holding up the envelope, and the tables closest to him are watching us, so I walk quickly back to the table and take the envelope from his outstretched hand.

Table 10

“You have a customer at table ten,” LuAnne says, walking into the kitchen.

“But Carla’s here,” I tell her, continuing to plate the food that’s coming off the grill.

“But he asked for you,” she says and I pause. The butterflies I feel every time I’m near him flap violently in my stomach. Maybe they’re not butterflies. Maybe they’re birds.

I wipe my hands on the towel and take a deep breath before walking out to the table. This is the second time he’s asked for me to wait on him. I’m not complaining. I like waiting on him and not for the excessive tips. He’s nice. He’s easy on the eyes. He’s interesting. He’s kind of demanding but in a way that makes my insides do funny things.

“Good morning.”

“It is now,” he says, looking from his phone up to me and sliding the device into the inside pocket of his suit coat.

I smile an awkward smile, unsure of how to take him sometimes. “Pie?” I ask, cutting out the small talk.

“What did you bake today?”

“Coconut cream and peach.”

“Coconut cream.”

I nod and walk back to the kitchen to retrieve his pie and coffee.

“What’s that all about?” LuAnne asks.

“Beats me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“I think someone is sweet on you.”

“That’s crazy. He’s … well, him. And I’m me. That doesn’t even compute.” Me and Pie Guy are complete opposites. He’s at least five years older than me, and while that’s in reasonable range, it’s more of an age gap than I’ve ever crossed before. Plus, he’s all tailored suits and expensive shoes, and I’m all diner uniform and sneakers. He probably lives in one of the high-rise apartments surrounding downtown. I live in a walk-up with a questionable landlord and even more questionable utilities.

We’re complete opposites.

“Yeah. It does. He’s a handsome guy, and you’re a beautiful girl. It computes.”

“Someone like him would never like someone like me. Not like that, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she says, peeking out the small window and over to where he’s sitting.

“Besides, I don’t even know his name,” I admit. “He just likes my pie.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

I groan, rolling my eyes. Leave it to LuAnne to make this sexual. I mean, she didn’t get five kids by keeping her legs closed.