Last Chance At The Someday Café

She’d printed flyers with coupons and handed them out to the vendors and anyone who’d take one. It was working—already her staff said people had brought the flyers in.

Today was no different, and she made her way down the street, taking her time and doing a little shopping along the way.

She noticed that the hunk from the diner this morning was sitting under the cottonwoods in the park. Those broad shoulders made the massive trunk of the old tree actually look small. One leg stretched out across the grass, and he’d bent one knee to rest his forearm on. The soda can looked minuscule in his big hand.

He looked up then, catching her watching him. She glanced away, feeling her cheeks warm. She moved on to the next stall.

Visitors and locals mingled in the square, and it was the perfect place to spread the word about her café. She’d actually toyed with the idea of renting one of the outdoor booths to give away food samples.

But she couldn’t afford to be away from the café for the entire day, and neither could any of the staff. Not yet anyway.

Maybe she should give Mr. Hunk a coupon to get him to return. That would make her staff—especially Wendy—happy. And that was the only reason it crossed her mind, she told herself.

Really.

Glancing over at the trees, she realized he’d left and before she could stop herself, she scanned around, wondering where he’d gone. She didn’t see him. Why did that realization dim the bright day? Shaking her head, she dismissed the man and her silly thoughts.

“Hey, Dave,” she greeted the older man who made beautiful tin sculptures. She’d already commissioned one of a squirrel in a chef hat to go in the entry of the diner. “How’s Mr. Squirrel coming?”

“Looking good. I’ll be done early, I think.”

“Great.” He’d already sent business her way, and she left another stack of flyers.

With similar interactions, she moved along the line, realizing how many of these people she’d come to know and now considered friends.

Halfway down the block, she stopped at the T-shirt vendor and recalled the woman who’d come in to apply for a waitress job, the one who’d insulted her, unintentionally, but the woman’s rudeness still stuck in Tara’s mind. Relieved the woman wasn’t there, she was glad to find a man behind the wide table.

She didn’t remember seeing him before. Was folding something people who sold T-shirts did in their sleep? They always seemed to be doing it.

“Hello,” she greeted him with a smile. He looked up, but rather than smiling, he frowned, then seemed to force his lips into a stiff grin.

“Hi!” She tried again. He kept folding.

“Let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to ring up.” He moved to sit in a chair beside an ancient cash register. He picked up a magazine and focused on it, ignoring her.

“I’d like to introduce myself,” she said. He looked up and fake-smiled again.

“Yeah, I know who you are. You bought the diner from Daisy.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I ain’t giving out any of yer flyers,” he grumbled. “It’s hard enough makin’ a livin’ doing my own business.” He went back to his magazine. “You wanna buy something?”

She stared at him, surprised. Not now, she didn’t. Everyone else was very open and helpful, friendly. What was wrong with this guy?

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She wasn’t giving up. “I’m offering a discount. If nothing else, you and your family might enjoy coming by for a meal.” Did she really say that without gritting her teeth? She was fairly impressed with herself.

“No, thanks.”

“You haven’t even tried.”

“Lady makes a mean omelet,” another voice said beside her, and Tara turned to see The Hunk standing there, pawing at T-shirts. He wasn’t even looking at the T-shirts he was unfolding. He was looking at her instead. And smiling. Another T-shirt returned to the pile, rumpled and unviewed.

“You want to buy something?” The man behind the counter looked up from the magazine only long enough to glare at the growing pile of messy shirts.

“Not sure yet.” Hunk continued to smile, his expression more mischief than mirth. “I’ll let you know.”

She couldn’t ignore him. He’d complimented her, for one thing. “Glad you enjoyed your meal. I hope you’ll return.”

“Plan to.” He faced her, leaving the T-shirts for the other man to refold. “I’m Morgan Thane.” He stuck out a hand, a beefy hand that matched the rest of him, muscular, strong and intimidating. A total contradiction to the smile on his face and the curiosity in his eyes. “My truck is parked in your back lot. Hope that’s okay.”

She took a step away, reluctant to touch him. “Tara Hawkins.” She didn’t want to be rude, so she finally took his hand, feeling her fingers engulfed but thankfully not crushed. His palm was rough and warm.

Wendy was right. His eyes were green—a deep, dark green. Like the underside of those cottonwood leaves he’d been sitting beneath. This is ridiculous. Tara forced herself to slip her hand from his. “You’re welcome to park there, yes. Daisy said lots of truckers come by. Are...are you here job hunting, Mr. Thane?” That didn’t make sense, unless he was tired of driving truck. “Or just here to mess up the displays?”

“Uh—no?” He looked puzzled, then glanced at the piles of T-shirts and laughed. “I’m just keeping him on his toes.” His expression faded and grew distant. “You ignore a business and it’ll fail. Miserably.” He tilted his head toward the man still focused on his magazine instead of them. “I see it as doing him a favor.”

“Uh-huh.” Somehow that didn’t totally ring true, though it did make sense. “My waitress said you were asking about hiring.” Yes. Keep this on a business level.

His eyes widened and he stepped closer. “Oh, yeah. No, I’m actually, uh, looking for a friend.” Even in the middle of the day’s heat, his body’s warmth reached out to her.

“Does your friend have experience as a cook or a waitress?” She might not need anyone now, but she knew turnover would be an issue. It always was in the food industry.

He stared at her, and Tara struggled to keep from falling under the spell of those eyes.

“Actually, yeah. I was wondering if she’d already applied.”

Why did he look around then, as if someone might be watching them? Something seemed off, and she frowned.

A group of girls came over to the table then and the distracted clerk hurried over, busying himself refolding the shirts Morgan had messed up.

Morgan looked at the man and gently grabbed Tara’s elbow to guide her away from the table. She barely resisted the urge to pull her arm from his grasp, but before she could, he let her go.

“Did anyone named Sylvie come in and apply?”

Surprised, Tara stared at him. “Uh, yes. Why?” She was a friend of his? What kind of friend? She mentally rolled her eyes. What business of hers was it? What did it matter? But somehow it did.

“When?” The urgency in his voice startled her. He looked ready to pounce. “When did you last see her?” His words came out in a rush.

“It’s been almost a month ago. That was the only time I’ve ever seen her. I don’t know her.” She wasn’t really someone Tara could see herself being friends with, that’s for sure.

His expression fell, and she saw the disappointment cover his face. “Damn.”

“What’s going on?”

He paced, running his fingers over his close-cropped hair, as if forgetting he didn’t have long hair to shove them through. She watched that big hand, fascinated.

“I’ve been looking for her for some time and every time I get close, I miss her.”