Shayla eyed the soldier from yesterday when he walked into the diner, the one she’d accidentally called last night. She didn’t know how his number had gotten into her apron, but it was annoying.

Even better, he was seated in her section at the moment. “What can I get you to eat?” Her voice was canned, the one she used for all of her customers.

“Hey.” He said it in a tone reserved for closeness or friendship.

Allowing herself to meet his eyes, she pushed away the fact he was hot. Way hot. She tried not to sink into those blue eyes, like the ocean sky in the morning when it was clear at Hotel del Coronado. She loved the ocean by the resort. When she was seventeen, that ocean had inspired her whole promise to herself that she would find a way to live in San Diego on Coronado Island. And she had.

She managed a polite smile. “Good morning.”

The side of his lip tugged up, and she wondered if he would say anything about the phone call and argument last night. He passed the menu to her. “Eggs, bacon, and water. Please.”

She lifted her eyebrows, surprised at the “please.” And he hadn’t made a crack about the eggs! Walking away, she tried to deny the fact that the man was handsome.

It’d been a rough three years after high school, working a full-time job at the coal mine and waitressing on the side, but she’d saved enough money to cover her first two years at San Diego State. Not only that, but enough to live on Coronado Island. Granted, she lived in a dump, but it was worth it if she got to be near the ocean, to walk on the beach every day if she wanted.

Too bad she was already a month into her time in California and hadn’t gotten to do any of the things she wanted to do. The summer class she’d started ate up a lot of her time, and what little was left went to work. Still worth it.

It didn’t even matter anymore that her boyfriend, Jason, had dumped her the day before she’d moved here so she’d had to come by herself. Sure, the breakup and last-minute change of plans had been hell. But she was figuring it out, and she was proud of herself.

Living her dream meant everything to her, and she was doing it. So what if she was a bit lonely? So what if her parents and family in Kansas thought she was crazy? So what if it would take forever to save the money to do all the things she wanted to do around San Diego because her car had broken down on the way here and she’d had to blow most of her fun money to fix it? She didn’t care. She would figure it out.

Rushing to the computer next to the kitchen, she put in his order and wondered why she was even thinking of her parents or Jason or any of that garbage.

She greeted two other tables filled with families, then dropped a water with lemon on the soldier’s table and once again tried not to notice what he was doing—staring out the window at the ocean.

Even though she flew around the restaurant, her attention remained on this guy. He was older. Definitely not a new soldier. There wasn’t a “bright and shiny” to him. His jawline was hard, his features chiseled. That scar down the side of his face was interesting, something he wore with pride. A battle wound. He wasn’t trying to hide anything, and she could respect that. Sure, he had a bit of anger to him and he was kind of a jerk, but she couldn’t imagine what he’d probably gone through in his life. It was clear that he could tick her off in an instant, but today, he looked different somehow than he had yesterday.

Delivering food to another table, she saw the soldier’s food was up. She steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation, then picked his meal up and took it to his table.

“Thanks,” he said, but he didn’t look at the food. “So, did you ever figure out how you got my number?”

She pulled the napkin out and put it on the table. “I guess it got mixed into my receipts and ordering papers.” She didn’t apologize or admit she was wrong. There was something about his surly smile that wouldn’t let her say it.

With two fingers, he pushed the napkin back. “You keep it.”

Embarrassed, she grabbed a pitcher on one of the side cupboards and filled his water. “I don’t need your number.”

“You know, most girls would cry for that number.” He took a bite of eggs. Apparently these ones were more to his taste.

Just looking at his cocky expression made her temper flare up. “Well, then, I guess you can sell it and make some money—or better yet, give it away for free and see all the tears of joy.” Of course, she noticed the way his T-shirt stretched over his muscles and the way every part of him seemed to be ripped. But he didn’t need to know that.

A boyish smile softened his face. “True.”

Turning away from him, she focused on the other tables, checking one family out and then bussing some tables. She glanced back at him to see him watching her, much to her annoyance. Rather than deal with his scrutiny, she busied herself with getting the silverware out of the dishwasher and rolling them into napkins.

When she came back, the first thing she noticed was the soldier was gone and there was a fifty on the table. Guiltily, she looked around. She felt bad about taking the whole fifty, like she was doing something wrong. Sure, it was San Diego. Sometimes, very wealthy people would come in and tip fifteen, even twenty bucks on a small ticket. However, this would make his tip almost forty dollars.

After she picked up the fifty, she noticed the same napkin as before. There were other words scrawled next to the phone number. Call me if you’re interested in talking.

The words felt foreboding. She didn’t know if he meant them to be comforting or not. It was strange. Taking the fifty and putting it with the rest of her money, she cleared the table, looked out the window, and saw a blue Ford Mustang convertible pull out of the parking lot. She wondered if he would come back the next day.

At that moment, a man with a beard, surly eyes, and a tucked-down hat walked in and bypassed the hostess station, heading for a booth in her section.

A weird feeling crawled up her spine. She didn’t think she’d seen him before, but lately she’d been a bit paranoid, feeling like someone was always watching her. They passed each other, him brushing a little too close while she tried not to make eye contact. A whiff of body odor almost made her gag.

She stiffly walked up to the manager’s station, which doubled as a hostess station. Bob, the owner, stood there, a pencil in his hand and the crossword in front of him.

“That guy in three, I’m sorry, I don’t want to wait on him.”

Bob pulled a toothpick out of his mouth. His cheeks were ruddy, his hair greasy beneath his hat, and his dark eyes traveled to table three. “Hmm. Creeper?”

She liked Bob. He was a no-fuss kind of boss. You show up, you do the work, you get paid. End of story. But you better show up, and you better do the work, or he’d fire you in a heartbeat.

He picked up a pad and pen. “I got him.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, she headed to the back to the silverware that still needed to be rolled in napkins.

She thought about the exam she had at four that afternoon. She was prepared for it. That’s what she really loved about the early morning waitress job: it still allowed her to have time to study and go to class. For now, she was only attending community college. She hoped after a year she could get approved for in-state tuition and attend San Diego State full time. She wanted a degree in business and had dreams of owning her own chain of stores one day. She’d been raised on a farm, but she’d always helped her father manage the accounts and even think of new ways to bring in money for their family.

When she walked out of the kitchen a few minutes later, the creeper guy was gone. She picked up water and filled her tables, then moved to Bob, who answered her question before she could ask it. “The guy just took off, said he wasn’t hungry.”

“Weird,” she said.

Bob’s eyes creased with concern. “You tell me when you’re leaving. I want to walk you out.”

Even in the light of day, Bob would be a welcome escort.