Twice the Chance

“No, I’m ready. I’ll take the wild-blueberry pancakes with a double order of pork sausages, a banana-nut muffin and a large chocolate milk.” Danny started to close the menu, then flipped it back open. “And some cinnamon French toast.”

“French toast instead of the pancakes?” the waitress asked. Matt felt a smile coming on.

“Nope,” Danny said. “I want the pancakes, too.”

“Okay.” Sadie concentrated on Matt while she leaned forward to take their menus, providing him with an excellent view of her attributes. “Let me know if you want anything else.”

She left them, her hips swaying from side to side in an exaggerated manner. Danny appeared in danger of straining his neck watching her retreat.

“Did you get a load of that?” Danny asked in a loud whisper. “That waitress was totally coming on to you.”

“She was just being nice.”

“Yeah, right,” Danny drawled. “You gonna get her phone number?”

“No, I’m not, little brother,” he said.

“Little?” Danny straightened in his seat, taking offense as Matt had known he would. “I’m almost as tall as you are.”

“You’ll be a lot wider if you keep eating like a blue whale.”

Danny waved him off with a thin arm. “I’m a teenager. I’m supposed to pack it in. Isn’t that why you’re always feeding me?”

Matt had carved time from his summer schedule at least twice a week to take his much younger brother for driving practice and out to lunch. Finding the time had gotten harder a few weeks ago when Matt had taken over as interim athletic director at Faircrest High. As of tomorrow, the first day of school for students and the start of Danny’s sophomore year at Faircrest, it would be tougher still.

“I’m afraid you’d gnaw my arm off if we didn’t stop for food,” Matt said.

Danny laughed. “Why’d you pick this place, anyway? You don’t even like pancakes.”

Matt wasn’t about to confide in his brother about Jazz, especially because his long shot had misfired. She’d most likely been wearing the T-shirt because she’d run in the race the restaurant sponsored.

“You like pancakes,” Matt said.

Danny grinned. “I like food.”

Danny proved how much when their order came, polishing off his meal in an amazingly short time. Between mouthfuls he kept up a running conversation about family, food and the Faircrest High football team. Practice had started at the beginning of August in preparation for the season opener, which was in a few days.

“I’m busting my butt,” Danny said. “I’m the first one at practice and I work the hardest. Dad says that’s the way to get noticed.”

“Dad knows football.” Matt chewed slowly on his chicken sandwich. Their father had played college ball at Florida State and coached the Faircrest football team before becoming the high school’s athletic director, the job Matt was currently in. Dad was retired now, which gave him more time to indulge his passion. When he wasn’t watching football, he was talking about it.

“I’m getting some time with the first team,” Danny said. “I want to be so good Coach Dougherty has to start me.”

“That’s the attitude,” Matt said. “You can’t reach goals if you don’t set them.”

“Dad says that, too.” Danny finished his French toast with gusto. “Did he push you to be the best you could be, too?”

Their father had been more interested in trying to persuade Matt that giving up youth football for soccer was a mistake. Never mind that soccer was the world’s most popular sport, with billions of fans in all corners of the globe. Or that Matt had gone on to earn a full scholarship on the Clemson soccer team.

“Be the best you can be, huh?” Matt said, avoiding his brother’s question. “Seems to me I’ve heard that on a commercial.”

Danny laughed and told him about a senior on the football team who was applying to West Point. By the time Matt paid the bill, his brother had moved on to the subject of the Faircrest High athletic director position.

“So the job’s not yours yet?” Danny asked.

“That’s what interim means,” Matt teased. “This is kind of like a tryout.”

Danny stood, lanky in his maroon Faircrest High football T-shirt and the baggy black athletic shorts that reached almost to his knees. “You’re a lock, man. Things always go your way.”

“They go my way for a reason,” Matt said when they were outside the restaurant. He’d been a full-time assistant A.D. at Faircrest for six years. It was time he moved on to the top job. “You heard what I said about setting goals. Once I set mine, I go after them hard.”

Matt hadn’t achieved today’s goal of running into Jazz, but she probably wasn’t even employed by Pancake Palace. Unless she had the day off, a possibility he had yet to rule out.

“How about meeting me at the car?” he told Danny. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

Without waiting to see if his brother complied, Matt headed back into the restaurant. He spotted Sadie clearing away the dishes at the table where he’d sat with Danny. The older waitress, who reminded him of his mother, was closer, jotting down an order for a family of four.

Matt intercepted the second waitress beside an empty booth while she was en route to the kitchen. Her name was Helen. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said, “but does a woman named Jazz work here?”

Helen’s mouth turned downward at the corners and deep lines formed on her forehead. Up close, she looked nothing like Matt’s mother. “Jazz Lenox is one of our short-order cooks.”

That explained why Jazz hadn’t been waiting tables. “What days does she work?” Matt asked.

“She’s in the kitchen now.” Helen’s eyes narrowed, as though she were making up her mind about something. “I’ll tell her you’re out here.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Matt said, but he was speaking to the waitress’s retreating back.

He breathed in the scent of pancakes and syrup, not sure of his game plan. He was good on the fly, though. When an opportunity presented itself, he could make the most of it.

The interior door leading to the kitchen swung open. A woman emerged with a bandana covering her shoulder-length brown hair. Jazz, looking far different than she had at the park. An apron covered her toned limbs, her forehead was damp and her face flushed from the heat of the kitchen. Yet with her clear gray eyes and the freckles dotting her long nose, she had an appeal Matt couldn’t resist.

“Hey, Jazz,” Matt said. “Sorry to bother you at work. You look busy.”

“I am busy,” she confirmed, then went silent.

“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.” He decided to go with blunt honesty. “I’m wondering that same thing myself.”

Not a great opening but not bad, either, especially because he couldn’t pinpoint why Jazz had made such an impression on him. Unfortunately it didn’t seem as though he’d had the same effect on her.

“Matt Caminetti.” He introduced himself again. “We met at the park. I was with the twins.”

“I remember,” she said.

The same curiosity he’d experienced at the park hit him. Jazz was nothing like the chatty females at the high school. Or any of the women he usually came across, for that matter.

“You were wearing a Pancake Palace T-shirt. That’s how I found you. Not that I was looking exactly.” Matt made a face. “Man, I’m butchering this.”

“Butchering what?” Her voice competed with the hum of conversation in the dining room and the clattering of dishes from the kitchen. She lengthened her vowels like a Southerner but her accent didn’t sound Charlestonian.