She leaned her hip against the edge of the counter. “The last time I saw you, your publisher and agent were already at the end of their ropes, so you were going to hibernate for the winter and get it done. Were their ropes longer than you thought?”
“Um…no. I basically have until the end of this month to give them something coherent or they’re going to send some very scary people my way.”
Her eyebrow quirked. “Mob enforcers?”
“Lawyers.”
“Ew.” She grimaced. “Even worse.”
“Yeah. So here I am, and I’m not going home until the book is done.”
“That’s a solid plan.” She looked at the clock. “But we do close in a few hours, so type fast.”
His laughter rang through the restaurant, and Kenzie saw a few heads turn. Possibly even worse, her father stepped into view on the other side of the pass-through window to find out what was going on. The last thing she needed was Frank thinking she was flirting with Danny because she’d never hear the end of it. He could be merciless in his teasing, especially if he remembered she was rereading the man’s book.
“Anyway,” she said, angling her body slightly so she couldn’t see her dad through the corner of her eye. “If I see you in here, procrastinating, do you want me to throw you out? I can ban you for life if it helps. There’s a Corinne’s Kitchen blacklist, and you could be number four.”
“I’m curious what gets a person banned.”
“Nope. I’m not telling you because you should be working. See? I can just toss you out if that’s what you want.”
“I want the opposite, actually.” The sheepish grin made his blue eyes crinkle, and her pulse quickened in response. “I need you, Kenzie.”
Her hand twitched, wanting to reach for the nearest menu so she could fan away the rush of heat across her cheeks.I need you, Kenzie.
She didn’t even know what he was talking about, but with that smile and the eyes and the low voice taking her breath away, she didn’t really care.Anything, she wanted to say. Literally.
A call from a far table broke the spell. “Hey, Kenzie, can I get more gravy?”
She smiled at Danny. “You’re not alone. Hold that thought, and I’ll be right back.”
To give herself a chance to settle down, Kenzie took her time delivering the small dish of gravy to the customer who asked for it, and then checking to see if anybody else needed anything. As she approached Danny again, she wiped her hands on her apron and watched him place the menu back in its holder.
“Did you want something to eat? I probably should have asked that already seeing as how it’s literally my job.”
He chuckled. “I ate on the road, but I might have a turkey sandwich and a cup of the minestrone soup since I don’t know what’s in the fridge at the campground, or what Rob and Hannah have planned for supper.”
“You haven’t been there yet?” She wrote his order down and put it in the window for Frank.
“I came straight here. I don’t have a lot of time on my hands, so I wanted to ask you straight away if I can email you a copy of the manuscript so you can read it and give me your thoughts.”
Kenzie’s eyes widened. Danny had mentioned in multiple interviews that absolutelynobodygot a peek at his manuscripts until the first draft was complete. While several of the hosts had implied it was a superstition, he said he couldn’t have outside voices in his mind while he was forming the story. But she didn’t mention that because she wasn’t sure if it would seem weird she’d looked him up online.
“I would have called,” he continued, “but I don’t have your cell number.”
As if the universe had decided today was a good day to mess with Danny Kowalski, the old phone on the wall—the kind with a long, coiled cord—jangled. They were both laughing as she lifted the handset.
“Corinne’s Kitchen. How can I help you?”
By the time she’d written down the take-out order and passed it to her dad, the turkey sandwich was in the window. She set it in front of him, and then got him some crackers while Frank ladled the soup into a cup.
Then she had customers ready to cash out, while two different parties entered and sat down. By the time she was able to get back to Danny, the soup was gone and he’d put quite a dent in the sandwich.
“Back to the book,” she said. “Would I need to sign some kind of NDA? Or swear on my dad’s meatloaf I won’t spoil the ending for your readers?”
His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “No NDA, but if you could spoil the ending forme, that would actually be helpful.”
“You’ll figure it out.” She wanted to cover his hand with hers as an act of comfort, but touching him felt like too much. “I’ll help you.”
