Ellie West shut the door to her van and checked her watch for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. No, she wasn’t going to be late for work, despite her prolonged appointment at the hair salon. Tucking her keys into the pocket of her uniform tunic, she braced herself for the reaction she’d get when she walked into the diner for the evening shift. Because Susan was Ellie’s friend and co-worker, there was no way she would let the changes Ellie had made in her appearance go without enthusiastic comment. Ellie was still getting used to them herself. Talking about her new look would only make her more self-conscious about it. Like a snake that had shed its old skin, the changes in Ellie’s appearance were too fresh, too sensitive for much discussion.

Ellie snorted at her thoughts.

Figures I’d chose an ugly metaphor like a snake. Why couldn’t I come up with something pretty and delicate, like a butterfly?

She glanced into the side view mirror, but could only catch a glimpse of one intensely blue eye and part of the pink streak she’d had put in. Was the makeover too much? Joel, her hairdresser, had been all for it. Then again, she suspected Joel had probably been delighted at the request for something ‘different.’ God knows, Ellie knew how boring the old routine could be. She was tired of slapping down the same bacon, eggs, and pancakes for the average customer, even if they were the Plain White Mug’s specialty.

She’d been so confident at the salon. A new look for a new life. The life she was determined to create for herself. This was her one shot to do something different. To be someone different.

Okay, maybe not her only shot. But that’s what it felt like. Her one chance to overcome her past, to be more than a baby abandoned at birth, and a foster child without family. More than just another waitress slinging hash.

She angled the mirror in an attempt to get a better look, but in doing so, the metal hinge groaned and threatened to give way. Cautiously, she put it back to its original position. The last thing she wanted was to drive to the Nightingale auditions next week in a vehicle held together with duct tape. That would really show her red-neck roots, wouldn’t it?

A prickle of unease walked up the back of her neck, making her glance around. She couldn’t explain it, but she could almost feel the heavy weight of someone’s gaze upon her. It wouldn’t be the first time her senses picked up on something most people would miss. This time, however, she saw nothing to explain her reaction. She shrugged it off.

Probably just worried someone caught her preening at her new look.

Satisfied the mirror wasn’t imminently about to fall off the van, she crossed the street and headed toward the diner. The assurance she’d felt on leaving the salon wilted in the sweltering South Carolina sun. Contact lenses with a new hairstyle weren’t enough to change anything. They were just one more in a series of costumes she wore because she wasn’t comfortable in her own skin. She was never going to be anything more than a plump, tired waitress earning less than minimum wage, surviving on the presumption that people left good tips. Just once, she’d like to do more than simply squeak by. She didn’t need to be swept off her feet, but it would be nice to know someone had her back. That someone stood beside her in good times and bad. Though, if she were completely honest, a small part of her wanted to be cossetted and pampered. To have her every need fulfilled.

Screw that.

A curl of anger smoked within her. Wishful thinking was useless. Growing up in foster care, she’d learned over and over again she was the only person she could count on. Right now, she had an opportunity to make something more of herself, if only she didn’t mess it up. No more self-sabotage.

Sometimes it seemed almost as though there were two people living in her—one who believed good things came with hard work and plenty of grit, and one who thought nothing good happened to people like her.

Fake it ‘till you make it.

Something deep within her stirred with long-buried resentment. How could she act as though she were talented, sexy, and successful if she didn’t believe these things to be true?

When she suspected she was a monster?

Don’t go there.

She pulled open the door and waltzed into the diner as though she were headed to a red-carpet premiere.

Susan Billings was in the process of ringing up a customer’s ticket. As she handed the patron his receipt, she looked up. Her eyes widened in surprise, her eyebrows climbing into her platinum-blonde hairline as she took in Ellie’s new look. She gave the customer a purely perfunctory smile as he left and motioned excitedly for Ellie to join her at the register.

“Oh-my-God.” Susan’s eyes were alight with excitement. “Ellie! You did it! You look fabulous, sweetie!”

Ellie’s smile felt pained. “Are you sure? It’s not too much?”

“Honey, are you kidding? Turn around.” Susan took her by the arm and twirled her. “It’s you! Not that I doubted it for a minute. You have the best fashion sense of anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Tell that to the social media guy who said no one would take style advice from someone like me.” That still stung. She’d hoped to supplement her income by starting a blog with tips on everything from buying clothes to doing hair, makeup, and nails on a budget, eventually monetizing it when she had a big enough following. The web guru she’d consulted had shot her down before she had even started. Not only were such blogs a dime a dozen, but, as he’d managed to imply without saying it outright, they were run by thinner and prettier women.

“Okay, your first mistake was hiring him in the first place. You should have just set up the blog on your own and run with it. I said it then, and I’ll say it again. Women love learning how to look fab on the cheap. Your kind of fab. I still think you should do it.”

“If the singing doesn’t pay off, you mean.” The chances of being discovered in the talent contest were slim, no matter how much she’d like to believe it was her ticket to better things. She’d better have a backup plan.

“You’ll take those auditions by storm. And just think of it, your fashion blog would be a perfect fit with your new singing career. Seriously, your fans would eat it up with a spoon.”

“As I recall, you didn’t want me to color my hair.”

“Okay.” Susan laughed. “I admit it, I thought you were stunning before. That silver streak in your black hair was just so Rogue from the X-Men. But now? Honey, it’s hot.”

This time Ellie’s grin felt natural. “Well, that’s what I was going for. Hot pink seems more edgy than your typical waitress.” Ellie had always hated the splash of prematurely gray hair that framed the right side of her face. Worse, it never held color for very long. Maybe the pink streak would last a few weeks before it faded. At least the vibrant splash of color was a deliberate choice.

Susan leaned in closer. “It’s awesome. Just the right contrast with your hair. But what did you do to your eyes? Contacts?”

Ellie nodded. “Colored lenses. I went with blue.”

“I’m not so sure about them, to be honest.” Susan placed her hands on her hips and tipped her head to one side. “They might take some getting used to. Don’t get me wrong. They look amazing, but so did your natural eye color. I’ve never seen anyone with gold eyes like yours before.”

Neither had Ellie. There was something almost reptilian reflected in her topaz-colored eyes whenever she looked in the mirror. She preferred the aqua contacts. Maybe. The shade was eerily unnatural.

Susan continued on. “Your haircut is fabulous too.”

Ellie tossed her head with a smile, loving the swing of her hair as she did so. “Joel used a razor. I let him take off three or four inches. He said it would give me the kind of look I’d need for the competition. More sophisticated and less little-girl-next-door. I was nervous at first, but I think it turned out okay, don’t you?” Insecurity crept back into her voice as she fingered the ends of her now-shoulder-length hair.

“Better than okay. Your hair is glorious but the length before overpowered your face. You look perfect. You’re going to knock them dead.”

Susan’s belief in her was heartening. Even as Ellie preened a little at the accolade, habit demanded she suppress such arrogance with an inner frown. Best not to get her hopes up. It was hard not to get excited, though. In less than a week, she would be on her way to Charlotte, North Carolina, to audition for a spot on Nightingale, the nationwide talent search for singers. As soon as Charlotte had been named as one of the cities seeking contestants, all of Ellie’s friends had encouraged her to try out. Had it been further away, she couldn’t have afforded to go. Heck, the only reason it was even an option was the tip jar Susan had put by the register with Henry’s permission, and his willingness to let her have the time off. As head cook and owner of the Mug, Henry Vale got the final say in her schedule, and he’d been terrific about it.

Mixed feelings about the audition churned inside her. She knew she was a good vocalist, and sometimes that inner voice insisted she was better than good, better than anyone knew. But a performer, she was not. Time spent onstage at the local bars didn’t count. Her recurring fear was that she’d get up in front of the judges, audience, and cameras—and freeze. Then there was the matter of her appearance. She looked nothing like the average rock star. ‘Zaftig’ was the kindest description anyone could make of her figure, even if Susan assured her she was a ‘nice armful,’ something any man would want. Talent alone wouldn’t cut it in today’s market. She had to have the whole package if she wanted to be a successful singer.

Today, however, she was still a waitress.

“Don’t let me keep you ladies from sharing fashion tips.” Henry banged a platter down in the service hatch. The sheen on his dark skin indicated just how hot it was in the kitchen, and why his temper was shorter than usual. “Order up! Susan, if you’d be so kind as to do your job. Ellie, you can clock in any day now.”

Ellie shot Susan a guilty smile as she hustled to the time clock and punched her card. She hung up her raincoat on the pegs along the hallway to the restrooms and hurried back up front. Henry’s bark was worse than his bite, but they had been gabbing instead of working. Ellie quickly put her hair up in stages, pulling back the sides in barrettes first, and then the rest in a jaunty pony-tail. Hair done, she straightened her uniform. The fifties-style outfit was pink with white trim, and ELLIE was stitched on the breast pocket in a fake nametag.

Susan took her order out to the table and returned to give Ellie a conspiratorial wink. “That hottie from yesterday is back. He insisted on taking a booth in your section, too. I think he likes you.”

“Oh please.” Ellie’s cheeks warmed but she covered it by rolling her eyes so hard the contacts threatened to pop out.

“Girl, why do you act like no man would ever look at you twice?” Susan frowned, lifting one eyebrow.

“Life experience.” Ellie patted her uniform pocket looking for her order pad. The first pocket held only her iPod. She frowned momentarily until she remembered she’d left her phone and car keys in her raincoat. Her order pad was in the second pocket she tried. “Besides, you know the kind of men we meet here.”

Just the same, the thought of seeing the hot guy again sent a quiver of excitement through her. She’d been completely gobsmacked by his good looks the day before, like running into a favorite celebrity when least expected. It was a wonder she hadn’t spilled his BLT in his lap. Maybe this time she wouldn’t be so tongue-tied and stupid.

Susan made the sort of face usually reserved for such onerous duties as cleaning the bathrooms. “I hear you, honey. I don’t know.” She glanced down the aisle where the man in question was seated at a booth. “Most of the guys we meet here are losers, but I’d risk it for that one.” Susan waggled her eyebrows before heading back to her own tables, causing Ellie to suppress a giggle.

Right. Time to work.

Ellie pulled out her order pad on her way to the lone customer in her station. It was early yet. The lunch rush was over and the dinner crowd wouldn’t come in for several hours yet. Maybe she could indulge in a little flirting, even if she was out of practice. Had it been later, it wouldn’t have mattered if some cute guy made a point of getting her as his server or not. She’d be run off her feet until things slowed down again around nine p.m. There’d be another little rush around eleven when the nearby movie theater let out. Ellie couldn’t decide which was worse: running ragged or standing around twiddling her thumbs. Given a choice, she supposed she’d take busy. At least if things were jumping, she was also picking up tips.

But for now, she was glad business was slow.

“Can I get you anything?” She gave the man her best customer-service smile. It had the benefit of being the first of the shift, though in his case, it was no hardship to beam at him.

The man looked up from his book, and smiled back.

Dang. Still smoking hot. Drop-dead gorgeous, as a matter of fact.

Dark brown hair hung over his eyes, which were the bright grass-green of a cat’s and spoke of that same self-contained confidence. And oh, that smile. Wicked as sin and just as tempting. As if to complete the picture of the ultimate bad boy, he had a motorcycle helmet on the bench beside him. That, combined with a strong five o’clock shadow and the muscular biceps peeking out from the sleeves of his black T-shirt, pushed all of Ellie’s fantasy buttons. But that’s just where it would have to remain. Fantasy. Guys like him didn’t go for girls like her.

But if he stood and held out his hand, she knew she’d go wherever he led, just like some doe-eyed heroine in a sappy romance film. Which was crazy.

He indicated his half-full cup of coffee. “A top-off would be nice. I was thinking about some pie, too, but I can’t decide.”

She tapped her pen thoughtfully against her pad. The Mug was known for its pie, but what would Drop-Dead Gorgeous like best? “Henry makes the best apple pie I’ve ever had. The crust is incredibly flaky, and the filling baked to perfection. That and a scoop of ice cream is everyone’s favorite.”

“What about you?” His voice was so seductive, he practically purred.

“Me?” Ellie squeaked.

“Yes, you.” The smile was back again, somehow more intimate, as though he’d created it just for her. “What’s your favorite?”

Two could play that game. Ellie glanced to each side, placed one hand on the table, and leaned in. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but Henry’s French silk is to die for.”

She straightened with a little smirk and held her pen at the ready.

He laughed briefly and brushed the end of his nose with his hand. “Who can resist that recommendation, then? The French silk, it is.”

Ellie felt absurdly pleased. “Coming right up. I’ll bring you more coffee, too.”

“Thanks.” He waited until she’d partially turned away before adding, “I like the pink.”

“The wha—oh.” She brushed back the hot pink lock that had escaped from the barrette and fallen across her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Not that I didn’t like it before. But this looks fun. You struck me yesterday as someone who could use some fun in her life.”

Her face flamed as though she’d stood over the grill. “Yeah, well… I thought I’d shake things up a bit.” She hurried away before he could say anything else.

It would have only taken her a moment to cut a wedge of the decadent chocolate pie and take it to him with some coffee, but she stormed past the counter where the desserts were on display and headed straight for the ladies room. A brief knock on the door assured her it was empty, and she jerked the door open and dove inside.

You struck me as someone who could use some fun in her life.

Ellie leaned on the sink and breathed heavily as she stared into the mirror. Who said that kind of thing to a perfect stranger? How dare he comment on the pathetic nature of her life? Was her unhappiness that apparent? Dear God, she hoped not.

She cooled her cheeks with a dampened a paper towel. The hot anger in the freakishly blue eyes had her look twice at the unfamiliar reflection.

A glint of silver on her neck caught her eye, and she pulled out the pendant she always wore, her only connection to her parents. Normally she found comfort in the cool touch of the opalescent stone against her skin. She’d been wearing it when she was found as an abandoned baby outside St. Mary’s, all those years ago. The necklace and a note explaining that her parents couldn’t keep her safe but they’d be back for her soon were the only clues she had to her past. The handwritten letter had also said her name was Ellie. Ellie West. When she was old enough to understand, Ellie had clung to the note as proof her parents would return for her at any moment. A foster mother had ‘accidentally’ lost the note during one of Ellie’s many relocations, no doubt intending for Ellie to put aside the fantasy of her family showing up to take her home. That loss had made the necklace even more precious to her. It had been her anchor, the one constant in her life through years of foster homes. She never took it off.

She turned the pendant over in her fingers, noting the silver talons holding the iridescent stone in place were as bright as ever. For once, the feel of the smooth stone failed to completely calm. She took a deep breath and tucked the pendant back inside her uniform.

What the hell did it matter what this stranger thought anyway? His opinion should mean nothing to her. But the truth was, it did. And that was probably the saddest commentary on her life of all: that the opinion of some random customer had her hiding in the bathroom while she reined in her anger. Defiantly, she glared at the mirror.

I am not pathetic. I’m going places. Just wait and see.

A puff of smoke curled out of each nostril.

She gasped and clapped a hand over her nose. Heat radiated through her fingers, and there was a whiff of sulfur in the air. She stared at her reflection in stunned disbelief, but when a minute passed and nothing further had happened, she lowered her hands. Turning her head from side to side, she scanned for additional signs that she might be on fire. The face of a stranger with pupils like black holes stared back at her in the mirror. She shook her head. Great. Now I’m hallucinating. And if she didn’t get back to work right away, she’d probably lose her job, no matter how much of a softie Henry really was.

Drop-Dead Gorgeous was just an ordinary customer. As his waitress, she would deliver his order and forget about him.

When she left the restroom, she resisted the urge to fan her heated face before taking him his pie, though she did pause for a second in front of the air-conditioning unit by the door. A few blessed moments within the arctic blast of the window unit, and she was ready to face him again. She carried the coffee carafe in one hand and the plated pie in the other as she returned to his table, praying he saw nothing unusual about her heightened color. A guy like him probably had girls fawning all over him all the time. Probably used it to his advantage, too, without even thinking twice about it.

He’s a customer, nothing more.

He laid his book face down beside his coffee cup and leaned back with another dashing smile as she set down the pie. He pushed his mug within easy reach for a refill. His smile faltered a little as she served him silently.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything before. You know, about you needing more fun.” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I just meant you seemed kind of stressed last night. It’s nice. The hair, I mean. I like it.”

All her former outrage disappeared like the imaginary wisp of smoke. If she acknowledged his apology, though, it would give more weight to her hurt feelings than she wanted to admit. Instead, she tipped her head sideways as she read the book’s title. “Death on the Nile? I love Agatha Christie.” Steam curled upward from the mug as she topped it off.

“You do?” Gorgeous beamed as he drew the mug toward him to add a dollop of cream from the little pitcher on the table. White clouds swirled in his cup.

“Oh yes.” Ellie went on without thinking. “I love all the greats of the Golden Age of mystery. Christie, Sayers, Tey, Allingham…” She bit her lip, belatedly trying to stem her involuntary babble.

This time his smile looked less like an act of seduction and more like that of a genuine aficionado about to launch into a favorite subject. “I didn’t think anyone enjoyed the original British amateur detective stories anymore.”

“I think half the appeal is they were written in a different era. It shows. Everything seemed simpler back then. Peaceful. When I’m having a bad day, I like to picture myself taking the dogs for a walk on my estate, or sketching in the village.”

“Or discovering a dead body in the library?”

“But of course! And then invite the neighbors over for tea to discuss the murder in great detail.”

“Naturally. How else will you gather the suspects all in the same room to interrogate them?” Resting his chin in his hand, he nodded and tapped his index finger thoughtfully against his lips.

His lush, full lips.

It felt right to grin as though he was an old friend. No sooner did she recognize her ease with him, she realized she should get back to work. “Look at me, I’m keeping you from your pie. I hope you like it.”

As she was turning to leave, he stopped her. “I was, um, wondering if you might want to have a chat over coffee sometime.”

Lifting one eyebrow, she looked down at his cup, then back at his face. His expression turned rueful.

Why do I find that endearing?

“No, I mean, when you can actually sit down and have a cup of coffee, too. I don’t know, maybe some pie as well.”

She hesitated. This seemed too good to be true. Her strict policy about not dating customers—one that had served her well in the past—might have to fly out the window. How was she supposed to meet anyone if she was always at work or at home? The one time she’d tried the online dating thing, it had been a freaking disaster. What did she have to lose? A cup of coffee couldn’t hurt, right? Oh heck, who am I kidding? There was no way she was going to turn him down. “I’m working late tonight but I’m on the lunch shift tomorrow. I get off around two p.m. You could meet me here, if you’re still in the mood for coffee and pie.”

He smiled as he lifted a forkful of chocolate pie. His lips folded around the dessert as it slid off the tines into his mouth. He closed his eyes and gave a low moan, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “You’re right. This is the best pie I’ve ever had.” Grass-green eyes met hers with a hint of impish charm as he said, “I’ll definitely want more of this tomorrow.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and then made up for it by going at it double-time. “Right then. Coffee and pie. It’s a date.” When she realized what she’d just said, heat rushed into her cheeks. “I mean, it’s a date in that it’s a plan. You know, to meet.” If only she could bury her face in her hands.

“I know what you meant.” He held out his hand. “Seeing as we have a date, you should probably know my name. I’m Jack Ferris.”

Okay, so she was not going to simper over how that was such a nice, strong name. Or tremble at the way he gave her hand a little squeeze. Nor was she going to flush and stammer over his mere touch. “Nice to meet you.” Her voice came out smoky, as though she’d been singing all night in a bar. She cleared her throat. “My name’s—”

“I already know your name.” He pointed at her name tag with a little lift of his eyebrows and a grin.

Ellie frowned. Not at the presumption. After all, her name was right there on her chest. But because for some reason, ‘Ellie’ didn’t feel right anymore. Next week she’d be standing up in front of judges and cameras. Suddenly she couldn’t imagine introducing herself as ‘Ellie.’ Besides, who was to say what her real name actually was? An old note pinned to a baby blanket didn’t necessarily reveal the whole truth.

“Ah.” She glanced down at the embroidered name and tugged the fabric out a bit. She felt as though she were in a chrysalis, trapped between one life stage and the next, only she didn’t know what she was becoming. Sometime before Nightingale, she’d have to come up with an awesome stage name. “Yes, well, that’s what they call me.” She winced and rushed on, “Ellie. Ellie West.”

“Ellie.” Jack made her name a caress.

Damn, where did the man learn to purr like that?

“I like it. It’s pretty. It suits you.”

Her mouth twisted in an effort not to turn sour. “Bit of a silver-tongued devil, aren’t you?”

To her intense surprise, his cheekbones reddened. “Um, not usually.” He pressed his lips together briefly, clearly embarrassed.

She laughed. I actually made the guy blush.

“Eat your pie.” She could feel his gaze upon her as she walked back to the kitchen. A saucy peek over one shoulder caught him licking whipped cream off his lips. He froze as their eyes locked on one another. He turned even redder, and then grinned, shaking his head slowly. She bit her lip and smiled as she went back to work.

“You got a date?” Susan asked quietly as she brushed past Ellie with a tray of food.

“Yes.” Ellie suspected she was glowing like a thousand-watt light bulb but she didn’t care. So what if it didn’t amount to anything more than coffee? A hot guy had asked her out. This hot guy. A man she was drawn to like no other she’d ever met. She had plans. She had a date.

Maybe things were finally turning around for her.