Angel Smits - Last Chance At The Someday Café

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.”

“What do you mean, miss her?”

“Hey, do you work here?” One of the girls who had been looking at the T-shirts came over to them.

“Uh, no.” Tara frowned, looking around for the man who’d been behind the table. “He was here a minute ago.”

“There isn’t anyone.” The girl actually pouted. “Darn, I wanted this one.” She held up a black T-shirt with a ghastly skeleton on it. Maybe it was a blessing the man wasn’t here.

“Morgan did you see...?” She turned to find Morgan gone. In the distance, just this side of the park, she saw him jogging down an alley that led away from the street fair. The T-shirt salesman was a short distance ahead of him, hurrying away.

CHAPTER FOUR

MORGAN’S CURSES FILLED the air. Where the hell had the guy gone? As he’d talked to Tara, he’d watched the vendor behind her react. Something—recognition or realization—had dawned on the man’s face. Looking up the side street now, Morgan didn’t see a trace of him.

Half a dozen people came and went around him. A couple women stood on the corner, chatting in the sunlight. A boy played in the dirt with one of those yellow toy trucks Morgan had wished for as a kid.

But no shaggy-haired T-shirt vendor in sight. Morgan walked for a couple blocks, looking down alleys and casually glancing into whatever window he could without turning into a Peeping Tom. Nothing. Nowhere. It was as if the guy had vanished into thin air.

Finally, resigned, Morgan headed to the street fair. If nothing else, the guy had to come back and get his merchandise. But when Morgan returned to the booth, an older, worn-out-looking woman was there. He tried to question her, but she was too busy to talk.

“You wanna buy a shirt? I got customers.” She held up one of the rumpled garments. To any other questions, she just shook her head, focusing on the seemingly endless line of customers.

“Then tell me where the man went. Your partner?”

“I don’t keep track of no one but me.” She turned to a couple women on the other side of the booth. With a sigh, Morgan settled under the oak to wait, though he wasn’t really sure what he was waiting for.