Shirley Jump - How the Playboy Got Serious

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 clearing the last of the dishes, loading them into a big plastic tub nearby. A hit from the seventies played on the sound system, and Stace began to hum along, her hips swaying gently back and forth as she worked.

He thought of the guys, waiting for him down the street. There, they had beer and women, and—

And the same thing he had done every night for the past six years. He’d been there, done that, as the saying went, and wanted something else. What that something was, he didn’t know, but maybe if he stayed here a little while longer with this woman who hummed while she worked a tough job, he’d figure it out.

* * *

After the third day, Stace had to give Riley some credit. Not a lot, and not easily, but she did. The playboy, who from what she’d seen and heard, had never seemed to be much good at anything other than goofing off, had put in several hours at the diner and stayed to clean up afterward. They’d been through a half-dozen waitresses in the past year, and few stayed after tangling with Walter, or getting Frank on a bad day.

But Riley, the last person in the world she would have picked, had stayed. Why? If this job was just a lark—the well-off spending a day in the shoes of the other half—then why was he still here? Did he really need the money?

What she’d heard and read of the McKennas suggested they weren’t hurting in the cash department. Then why was the youngest McKenna hoofing it at a diner?

And why did she care? She didn’t need a man in her life. She barely had enough room for herself.

Still, she liked that he had put in the hours, and she had to admit, she was beginning to like him. Look forward to seeing him. And his damnable smile. Even as she told herself to steer clear of his charm.

After working together for a few days, they’d worked out a system of partnership. They had cleaned half the tables already, and stacked the chairs to ready the floor for mopping—a big job, after two solid days of rain and muddy footprints. Frank was still in the kitchen, taking care of the dishes and next day’s prep. Stace had offered to help, but stubborn Frank had insisted on doing the job himself. For a long time, he’d had a couple of helpers in the kitchen, but since the business had taken a downturn, he’d taken the entire kitchen load on his own shoulders. She sighed.

Frank had talked about traveling the world a hundred times, but never taken a step toward his dream. His health had been poor, something she was sure the stress of the diner augmented, and that just increased her determination to save her pennies and buy out Frank, something she’d offered a hundred times to do, and always he’d said no.