He blinked at her, expression unchanging, still standing there with a totally unnatural stillness that said he’d been a soldier. Hannah pointed at him and mimed drinking from a cup of coffee. She hoped he took it for the invitation it was and not as some kind of pity. Amping up the smile, she waited. She’d yet to meet the man who could turn away from that smile. Certainly, it had worked to keep her dad wrapped around her little finger from the time she was knee high.
The stranger was no exception. He strode to the door and came inside, stopping just inside the threshold and scanning the room. She was pretty sure in a matter of seconds he knew where
all the exits were; had noted her, Omar, and Janelle, as well as the two other patrons; and probably knew where any weapons were likely to be. Or maybe she’d just watched the Bourne movies too many times.
Hannah rose from her crouch beside the tree and held out a hand in welcome. “Please, have a seat. Warm up.” Taking a few steps closer to gesture toward a corner booth she knew would have the best visibility in the place, she noted the powerful smell of unwashed body.
He must be homeless. Bless his heart. Hannah had seen it often enough when she’d lived in Atlanta, but here in Wishful, she hadn’t run across it. Keeping the smile firmly in place as he sat, back to the wall, she asked, “What can I get you?”
“Just coffee,” he rasped in a voice that sounded rusty with disuse.
“Coming right up.” With practiced efficiency, Hannah retrieved the coffee pot and turned over the waiting ceramic mug at the table, filling it just high enough that there was room to doctor it, if he were so inclined, though she figured a guy like him would drink it black.
He grunted something that sounded like “Thanks” and wrapped his hands around the mug. The skin of his knuckles was chapped with cold.
“Can I interest you in some pie? Mama Pearl makes the best pie in six counties. The pecan in particular is to die for.” Hannah leaned in conspiratorially. “But, really, the coconut cream is my favorite.”
His gaze slid over to the pie rack on the counter before he shook his head.
Hannah didn’t let the smile slip. “Okay then. You just let me know if you need anything.”
She replaced the coffee pot and circled around the counter and into the kitchen, where Omar had resumed his post at the grill. “Be a doll and dish up one of the specials.”
“Didn’t hear him order the special.”
“He didn’t. I’m giving it to him anyway. It can come out of my tips.”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “Whatever you say, Marshmallow.”
Janelle shot a look through the kitchen window toward his table and kept her voice low. “You sure you want to do anything to encourage him to stay? What if he’s not right in the head?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hannah snapped, gesturing toward Omar. “That’s like making the assumption that Omar is a thug because he wears a do rag and likes rap music. It’s not only rude, it shows an exceptional lack of compassion.” She snatched up the bowl of loaded potato soup so fast the garlic bread stick flew off the plate and onto the stainless steel counter. Blowing out a breath, Hannah carefully replaced the bread and pushed back out front, working to readjust her expression as she went. Sometimes people just killed her with their ignorance.
The stranger’s brows drew together as she slid the bowl in front of him. “I didn’t order this.”
Hannah just smiled. “I know. But you look frozen through, so I figured you could use it. On me. And thank you for your service.”
The frown was just about the only part of his expression she could see as he stared at her. Then he nodded in thanks and picked up a spoon.
Hannah left him to his meal, making a quick circuit to check on the other two customers before returning to her decorating. He’d dug into his soup with gusto by then. As she continued tying silverware to the pre-lit tree, she wondered what his story was. He definitely had that whole Don’t Pry blinking in neon above his head. Was he passing through? Wishful wasn’t exactly on the way to anywhere.
As she made a fresh pass to top off his coffee, the stranger looked up. “Is there a garage around here?”
Hannah had to think about that a moment. She didn’t drive, so she wasn’t as familiar with those details as she otherwise would be. “We have two that I know of.” She tried to think which one would be more likely hiring. “Lou Perkins is over on Grantham Street, about three blocks that way.” Hannah pointed toward the north end of the town green. “His nephew just got his second DUI and was shipped off to rehab a couple weeks ago, so he’s a little short-handed. And then there’s Benny Wills’s place on the west side of town.” She offered up some quick directions there as well. “There’s a gorgeous restored Chevelle sitting out front. You can’t miss it.”
He watched her for another long moment with that inscrutable gaze before finally saying, “Thanks.”
The bowl of soup had all but been licked clean. Hannah gestured to it. “Can I get that out of your way?”
The stranger nodded, so she scooped up the dishes with her free hand.
“Sure I can’t talk you into some pie?”
“Not right now. Thanks.”
She just nodded. “Endless refills on coffee. You stay as long as you like.”
Though he really needed to get moving, Sergeant Ryan Malone lingered over his coffee and surreptitiously watched the waitress as she continued to decorate the diner’s Christmas tree, both because he was wondering how the hell it would turn out all loaded with forks and spoons and because he kept expecting to catch a glimpse of elf ears through that fall of dark hair. She’d make a good elf with that fine-boned face and fair skin. She hummed while she worked, the edge of a smile just waiting to bow up those full lips. How could anybody over the age of ten be that unrelentingly cheerful and innocent? She made him feel ancient at twenty-seven, though she was probably close to his age.