“—to get his head out from between his—”
“Don’t say mean things, Walter. It gives you indigestion.” She flashed another smile, then turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.
Riley caught up with her just inside the double doors. The movement brought them close together in the small space, so close, he could catch the vanilla and floral notes of her perfume. It danced around his senses. Sweet, light, enticing. “How’d you get Sir Surly there to smile like that?”
“Easy. I just feed into Walter’s need to be right. And his addiction to pickles. Walter can be a pain in the butt—” she arched a brow in Riley’s direction, and he wondered if that was a side reference to himself “—but he’s all right. He just likes things the way he likes them.”
He grinned. “Remind you of anyone you know?”
“Not at all.” Stace blew on her nails and feigned indifference. That same slight smile teased at her lips again. “Why? Are you volunteering?”
Riley liked her. He always had. It had to be the way she stood up to him, and gave back as good as she got. She didn’t fawn over him or gush compliments like a leaky faucet. She was straight, no-nonsense, what you see is what you get and if you don’t like it, too bad.
And he liked that.
“Not at all,” he said. A glint of devilish mischief danced in her green eyes, toyed with the corners of her smile. Maybe his being here had reduced the stress on her shoulders. “You gave me that table on purpose.”
Stace turned and called back to the kitchen. “Frank, I need another order of fries.”
He leaned around until she was looking at him again. “You know, and I know, that you set me up.”
The grin playing at the corners of her lips rose a little higher. “Maybe.”
“Part of the whole ‘make the new guy’s life miserable and maybe he’ll quit’ approach?”
She laughed. When she did, her features lit up, her eyes danced even more. “Did it work?”
“Not a chance.” He took the fresh basket of fries from Frank’s hands, then headed out the double doors. “You’re stuck with me for a while.”
“Don’t bet on it,” she called after him.
Riley was sure he heard Stace laughing as the door swung shut. Mission One accomplished. And it felt better than he’d thought.
He’d made dozens of women smile before, but never had it seemed like such a victory. And never had he worked so hard, nor cared so much about whether someone liked him. He was here for a job, nothing more, and getting distracted by the pretty and sassy waitress across the room would be a mistake.
Hadn’t he learned that lesson already? When he let a beautiful face send him off course, it ended up in a disaster. And very often, that disaster made it into the papers. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it without dating his coworker.
An hour later, the lunch crowd had left, and the diner was empty. Frank stayed in the kitchen, cleaning up from that day and prepping for the next. Stace flipped the diner’s sign to Closed, then turned the lock on the door.
Riley glanced at his watch. Just past three in the afternoon. He could probably catch up to his cousin Alec, and a few of his friends, see what they had cooking. Alec, a day trader, often started his nights in the afternoon. Time spent with Alec was always memorable, if not a little beer-filled. Riley didn’t have his usual budget to spend tonight, but he could make do with the tips in his pocket.
Riley headed to the back of the diner, pulled out his cell, dialed Alec’s number and got the rundown on the evening’s plans. As his cousin talked about the view from the bar, Riley glanced across the room at Stace, who was emptying the coffeepot. Even with her hair back in a ponytail and wearing an apron and jeans, she was beautiful. “Where I’m at has a pretty good view, too,” Riley said. Alec started to make a joke, but Riley cut him off. “Hey, I gotta go. I’ll catch up with you later.”
He lingered a while longer in the back of the diner. Stace, unaware of him, had turned on the radio and was singing along. She had a light, lyrical voice, and she paused a moment to do a twirl, and toss a discarded napkin into the trash. For a moment, she looked…happy.
He crossed the room. Where did Stace go when her day was over? Why did she work in this diner when she seemed smart enough and determined enough to handle any job? And what would it take to make her smile like she was right now?
She jerked to a stop when she saw him. “Riley. Did you need something?”
He undid the apron, then draped it over one of the chairs. “I’m heading out.” He almost said “home” then remembered Gran was charging him rent, a rent he’d only made a minuscule dent in paying, given the paltry tips in his pocket. He could have moved in with one of his brothers, but Finn was out of town and Brody was in Afghanistan. Riley could lean on one of his friends, but as he ran through a mental list, he realized there was no one he was close enough to to impinge on as a roommate.
What did that say about his life? That he didn’t have one best friend to call during an emergency?
Riley shrugged off the thought. He’d figure it out, and he’d come out on top. He always did. “See you tomorrow.”
“You can’t leave yet,” Stace said. “We still have to clean up.”
He glanced around the diner. Most of the dishes had been cleared away, and the chairs sat square against the tables. “Looks clean to me.”
“Right.” Stace laughed, then slapped a rag into his hands. “I’ll get the salt and pepper shakers off the table and you wipe. If we work together, we’ll be out of here faster. Then we can argue over who mops the floor.”
Wipe tables? Mop the floors? What was she going to have him do next, clean the windows? “Don’t you pay someone to come in and do that stuff?”
She laughed. “Yeah. You. And me.”
“Do you ever sit down?” he asked.
She laughed again. Damn, he liked her laugh. “If I do, then I’ll fall asleep.”
Her mood was lighter, and he liked that. It made the whole diner seem…sunnier. Still, the busy hours he had worked already had him dragging. The thought of staying longer—to clean, something Riley hadn’t done since he was a kid and sentenced to kitchen duty for breaking the rules—made him feel even more exhausted.
He’d much rather be sitting in Flanagan’s with Alec and Bill, knocking back a few.
“Sorry.” He put the wet rag into her hands. “I have plans.”
“No, you have a job. And that means you do what needs to be done. You don’t just sponge it off on someone else.”
He started to disagree. Then realized he’d been doing exactly that.
She pointed at the nearest table, then dangled the rag over his hand. “So get to work.”
He leaned in close, searching her emerald gaze with his own. “Is this what you are, Stace? All work and no play? You don’t ever blow off work?”
“No, I don’t. Because I have priorities. And right now my priority is getting this diner clean so I can go home.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why this place? It’s just a diner.”
“It’s not just a diner. It’s…special. And this job might be hard, but in the end, it’s worth it. It’s all worth it.” Her gaze lit on the tables, the walls, the menus, then she shook her head, and the moment of vulnerability he had glimpsed disappeared. “Anyway, I have work to do.”
She crossed to the table, and started