“Order’s up, child!”
I whipped around at Aunt Maggie’s barked command, marveling that the petite woman with a knitted sweater and bifocal glasses could still sound as sharp as a drill sergeant. “Yes, ma’am!” I surged forward and grabbed the dishes waiting on the metal shelf between the kitchen and front counter of Maggie’s Homestyle Diner. “Table five?”
Aunt Maggie shot me a look that answered my question, and I stumbled off in the direction of the couple at the front table.
She was a town favorite for more than just her killer homemade food. Wisdom and spunk mixed together behind her crystal blue eyes. She took her food and business seriously but was always willing to drop everything to lend an ear when she sensed someone was in need. My father’s mother passed away when I was young. So, Aunt Maggie had become my surrogate grandmother.
“You’re distracted today, honey. What’s up?”
I smiled at Aunt Maggie and sagged against the counter. “I’m still waiting for my test results. I should have had them by now. The website says they haven’t been sent out yet, but the wait is killing me.”
Maggie smiled and patted my back. “Oh, honey, patience. It’s all going to work itself out. You’re too young and beautiful to worry so much. Enjoy your life! You went off to that fancy school and have taken no time for yourself! Even now, two weeks before Christmas and you’re here working.” She made a tsking sound under her breath. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but surely there is some holiday party to go to?”
“Not really.” I shook my head. “Besides, I needed to get out of the house. And I need money. That big fancy college didn’t come cheap.”
Aunt Maggie sighed. “All I’m saying is that you have the rest of your life to work yourself to death. After you’ve been in school for so long. You should travel the world, do something fun, crazy. Have sex on a beach under the stars—”
“—Mags!”
“Oh, Shelbs.” She laughed and patted my arm. “I may be old, but I had fun when I was your age.”
I embraced her in a gentle side hug and looked down into her blue eyes, always sparkling. “I’m happy, Aunt Mags. I do have fun. I promise.”
Her thin lips twitched as though she were about to argue, but the front doorbell rang and interrupted her thoughts. She offered a warm smile for the man who walked inside, shaking a layer of snowflakes from the shoulders of his black jacket before he stepped off the rubber mat.
It had started snowing about an hour earlier. A light dusting covered the sidewalk and parking lot in front of the quaint diner. Before I could turn and assess how much progress the snow had made since the last time I’d glanced outside, the man looked up from stomping off his black boots and his beautiful blue eyes locked with mine. The breath in my lungs hitched into a soft gasp as a shiver snaked up my spine. I had a feeling it had nothing to do with the gust of frosty air that followed the stranger inside.
“Evening,” Maggie chirped. “Take a seat anywhere you like. Hot coffee?”
The man nodded, offered a quick smile at Maggie, and wandered to a corner table. I studied his back as he walked. Though it was encased in a thick winter coat, there was no doubt that the body underneath was big, broad, and strong. His steps were so solid—and sure—I couldn’t stop staring.
A sharp poke to my ribs jolted me from my ogling. “Ouch!” I hissed, rubbing the sore spot at my side.
Aunt Maggie just giggled. “That’s the CIA guy I was telling you about.”
I rolled my eyes. “Aunt Maggie—”
She interrupted me with another poke. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, child!”
I held up both hands. “Okay, okay. I just think you’re jumping to some pretty lofty conclusions there. That’s all.”
“I just call it like I see it. He comes in at least once—sometimes twice—a week. He’s usually wearing black. He always has that bag. He sits in the corner closest to the back door and keeps his back to the corner so he can see the whole room.”
“I think you’ve been watching too many spy movies,” I replied with a sigh.
“Yeah, well, spy movies are the only ones with the good lookin’ men!”
I pressed my lips together to stifle a giggle. Aunt Maggie bent forward at the waist and stared at the mystery man as he lowered into the booth seat, a messenger bag at his hip. He lifted the strap from over his head and pushed the bag flat against the seat so it wouldn’t slip onto the black and white checkered floor.
I had to give Aunt Maggie some credit. He did kind of look like a spy. Black jacket, dark jeans, and big black boots. The messenger bag and the dark look in his eyes only reinforced her wild theory. I shook my head.