“Excuse me?” I squeak. Surely, this can’t be happening. Not right now. I must have heard her wrong. Or I’m hoping that this is all part of some elaborate, three-weeks-late April Fool’s joke my staff is playing on me.
All right, you got me, guys.
Addison nods solemnly. “Yup. They just sent me a text this morning saying they wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow, because they got some crazy idea about something or other and they’re moving to New Mexico. New Mexico!” She throws the towel onto the counter. “Don’t they know how freaking hot it is there?”
“Woah.” I hold up my hands in a placating gesture, like you would do to a bear approaching. Or maybe that’s not what you’re supposed to do with a bear, I don’t know. I’m not a wilderness guy. “It’s okay,” I tell her.
It’s really not, though.
Those irresponsible little shits. How many times have they been caught getting high in the walk-in and I let it slide? And now this is what I get?
“How am I supposed to get everything done in time when I’m down two staff members and one oven?” Addison asks, voice rising in pitch at the end. “This is going to be a disaster, and you’ll blame me. And I don’t wanna lose this job, because then I might have to crawl my ass back to my miserable, cheating ex-wife, and honestly, I’d rather chew off my own foot.”
“Um.” I don’t know what to say to that. First of all, I’m not sure how chewing off her foot would help anything. And since Addison normally keeps to herself, we haven’t gotten that close yet, despite my best efforts. So hearing her mention her ex throws me.
I’ve been determined to make her my friend though, because, not to toot my own horn, but I’m friends with basically everyone in Mayweather. I can tell you most people’s birthdays, the names of their pets, and any serious allergies. The people in this town were here for me when I needed it most, willing to help a stranger take care of his small child, and I’ll always be grateful.
Addison’s renting a place right outside of Mayweather, but she works here, so she’s a part of the town.
“None of this is your fault. I won’t blame you,” I assure her. “I promise I’ll figure something out and everything will be fine.”
She looks doubtful, so I try to give her a confident smile, but I’m faking it, for sure.Fake it ‘til you make ithas always kind of been my motto.
But what the heck am I going to do?
CHAPTER TWO
TRAVIS
AsIscrapeleftoverfood off a plate and into the trash, with the hum of diner patrons surrounding me, I take a moment to commiserate over the state of my life. Growing up, all I wanted to do was get out of this small, crazy-ass town. And that’s what I did. I went to college in Boston, found a job after I graduated, and got an apartment. Yet somehow, I still ended up back here, serving what feels like endless turkey clubs and stacks of pancakes and cleaning up after all these fools.
But I made this choice.
Reed’s Diner is a staple in town. My grandfather opened it and ran it until the day he died. And when I got that horrible phone call, I knew what I needed to do. My dad wasn’t going to step up and run this place, since he has his own career. Not to mention, his culinary skills begin and end with spaghetti and a jar of Ragu.
A sense of family obligation is what brought me home. But honestly, my job managing a group of customer service reps for an online retail giant was boring as hell. I don’t love having to deal with the public now, because customers can be majorly annoying sometimes, but I actually do enjoy cooking.
Most of my happiest memories took place in this diner with my grandfather teaching me how to do it. I was always closer with him than I was with my dad, and it would have killed me to let the diner go.
So here I am. I don’t really hate my life. But I gave up things to come back here—mainly the freedom to be fully myself—and some days that weighs on me.
The bell on the door jingles, making me sigh. Today is just one of those days.
Getting into an argument with my produce supplier earlier over not bringing me enough heads of lettuce is probably what kickstarted my bad mood. I didn’t realize until after I hung up on him that I’m the one who messed up placing the order. Then I felt like an ass, but I’m lousy at apologizing. I’ve known Connor Shaw since we were kids though, so I’ll have to suck it up. Take him out for a beer or something.
When I come out from the back, I spot May Sanderson, with her unmistakable purple hair and giant backpack over her shoulders, grabbing a table. At least she has the common sense and decency to choose a clean one, which is more than I can say for some of the adults around here.
Seeing her lifts my mood. She’s a cool kid—not something I say often. But mostly, the change in mood is because I assume her dad will be joining her.
Brenden moved to town with May the same year I moved back, but it took a while before I got to know him. I was busy figuring out how to run the diner, and he was busy getting his life set up here while taking care of a two-year-old all by himself. He can’t cook to save his life though. So since the diner’s prices are fairly cheap, we found ourselves interacting day after day, and over time, we became close.
We’re not making each other BFF bracelets or anything. But my tendency to keep to myself was no match for his persistentfriendliness, and he eventually wore me down. He probably knows me a hell of a lot better than most people by now.
And okay, fine. I’ll never admit it to him because he would taunt me endlessly, but he’s pretty much the bright spot in my days. Even when he’s on my case about me refusing to participate in some town nonsense. Or when he calls me Grumptopus. Or when he begs me to serve him more coffee than it should be legal to consume.
I always enjoy his company.
May smiles when I approach her table. I swear she has her dad’s smile, even though they’re not biologically related. I ask if she needs two menus, despite the fact that she and Brenden likely know the menu better than I do.
