She laughed. “You’ve been promising to hire another server for two weeks now, and no one has even gotten past the application stage.” Stace pointed at the Help Wanted sign propped in the window. “That thing is doing nothing but gathering dust.”
He shrugged. “I’m picky. I can’t find enough Stace clones.”
“Now you’re just buttering me up.”
Frank grinned. “Did it work?”
“Yes. But just for today.” She swiped the order pad off the counter, and tucked the pen into her pocket. Every time she reached the quitting point, Frank found a way to convince her to stay. Heck, he was right. She’d have stayed with or without the jokes and compliments. Her loyalty to Frank Simpson ran bone-deep, and always would.
“Good.” He thumbed the straps of his apron and let out a long breath. “Back to the fryer for me. Those bloomin’ onions don’t bloom on their own, you know.” Just as Frank turned back to the kitchen, the door of the diner opened, causing the overhead bell to let out a soft jangle. The two of them pivoted toward the sound.
Riley McKenna.
If there was a customer Stace dreaded almost as much as Walter, it was Riley. He was a handsome man—if one was the kind of woman who found blue eyes and dark hair appealing. And a charming man—if one liked a man with a ready smile and quick wit. But he was also a playboy, and if there was one thing Stace had no tolerance for, it was playboys.
Even if he took her breath away when he smiled. Damn, he was a good-looking man. Too bad he was all wrong for her.
She’d seen his picture in the papers with the girlfriend of the minute, heard other women talk about him with an actual swoon in their voice. As far as she could tell, the youngest McKenna hadn’t followed in the family traditions of meaningful work or charitable organizations. Unless attending every party in the greater Boston area was considered giving back to society.
Stacey avoided men like Riley McKenna like the plague. She’d learned a long time ago that a nice smile and charming words were merely a cover for deeper flaws. Thank God she’d woken up before she married such a man. She’d known Jim for years, and fallen for his charismatic ways over and over again. He’d proposed on a Sunday and left town on a Tuesday—
With a girl he’d met the night before. She’d been fooled for so long, blind to his lies, because she’d wanted to believe in that smile. It had taken her a year to get over the betrayal, and from here on out, Stace would avoid men like that, thank you very much. And that meant avoiding Riley McKenna. And his smile.
Riley nearly always sat in her section and ordered an omelet. Not one of the dozen combinations on the menu, but always something of his own creation, which drove Stace crazy but didn’t seem to bother Frank. She knew, from the lackadaisical way he ate his breakfast and the dozens of phone calls she’d overheard where Riley discussed the latest hot party or vacuous date, that his life was about as serious as confetti.
And on top of that, he seemed to think flirting was on the menu. He teased her, smiled at her, and had asked for her number once. Typical. Thinking every woman was just going to fall at his feet.
To her, perpetual flirt Riley McKenna was just another entitled bachelor in a city teeming with them. A man whom she suspected hadn’t seen a hard day of work in his life, and never appreciated the hard work of others.
“How are you, Frank?” Riley shot them both a grin, then slid onto one of the counter stools.
“Good, good,” Frank said. “And you?”
Riley’s smile faltered. “I’ve had better days.”
“Well, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ve got apple pie on the menu today,” Frank said.
“Not today, thanks. Unless you’re giving out free samples. I’m, ah, currently between funds right now.”
“You?” Frank asked. “What, did you spend too much on a date last night?”
“Something like that.” Riley gave Frank the cocky grin he gave everyone. The grin that said he’d probably spent his night bedding yet another in a long string of blondes. Stace kept on working. And ignoring him.
Stace soaked a cloth in disinfectant cleaner then started wiping down the pale yellow laminate counter. There wasn’t much time before the lunch crowd began to filter in, and lots to do.
“I’ve been out looking for a job,” Riley said.
“I take it the job search hasn’t gone too well?”
Riley’s grin raised a little on one side. “I’m not qualified to do much.”
Frank laughed. Stace restrained herself from issuing a hearty agreement. “I’m sure you’ll find something that works for you,” Frank said.
“Actually…” Riley began.
Something white caught Stace’s eye and she raised her gaze to see what it was. She froze.
“I thought I’d apply here,” Riley said. He lifted the Help Wanted sign in his hands, the same one that had been in the window just moments before, and gave Frank a smile. “I figure I eat here enough, I might as well earn my keep.”
Frank arched a brow. “You want to be a waiter? Here?”
“Yup. Consider this my official application.” Riley slid the sign across the counter.
Frank sent Stace a glance. She mouthed “no,” and waved her hands. Frank wouldn’t dare. He’d said he’d hire someone, but surely he wanted someone with experience, someone who would be a help, not a hindrance. Someone who had a good work ethic. “Frank…”
Frank grinned at her word of caution, then turned back to Riley. “I told Miss Stace here that I’d hire the next person who walked through that door—”
He wouldn’t.
“And since I’m a man of my word—”
He couldn’t.
“You’re hired, Riley McKenna.” Frank reached over and clapped Riley on the shoulder. “Welcome to Morning Glory Diner. Stace here will be glad to show you the ropes.”
He did.
Stace plastered a smile she didn’t feel on her face, and faced her worst nightmare. An irresponsible womanizer who was going to make her life a living hell.
CHAPTER TWO
ONE day, two tops, Riley figured, and his grandmother would call him back to McKenna Media. Riley could have called in a favor with a friend, but that wouldn’t prove he could do anything other than pick up the phone. Sure, waiting tables wasn’t the ideal job, but it would do for now, and prove his point to his grandmother that he wasn’t the irresponsible man she thought him to be. He looked around the bustling diner. He’d wanted a challenge, something a little different.
And this fit the bill to a T.
So Riley donned the black apron imprinted with Morning Glory Diner on the pocket, grabbed an order pad and pen, and crossed to the first set of customers he saw. Before he could even open his mouth, that waitress—Sally, Sandy—rushed over and nearly tackled him. “You can’t take this table.”
“I’m doing it. Watch me take their order, too.” He clicked the pen, and faced the two construction workers whose broad frames nearly filled either side of the booth. Beefy guys in dusty T-shirts and jeans. “What can I get you guys?”
The first one, a nearly bald fiftyish man wearing a bright yellow hat emblazoned with Irving in thick black marker, gave Riley an are-you-an-idiot look. “Menus.”
Riley glanced down and realized he had forgotten that important first step. No problem. He’d get it right the next time. This was waiting tables; it wasn’t rocket science. “Right. Those would be helpful.