“Sorry about the wait. Our dishwasher called in sick today and our temp fell through, too. So, I’m up to my elbows in suds. What can I get ya?”
I faltered for a moment, wrenching my gaze back down to the menu.
She was fuckingcute.
And I was not ready to look at another woman that way again. To notice the sway of her hips or the swell of her tits. Teddy would argue that I needed to get it out of my system and rebound.
But I didn’t want to. Not yet.
“Just some coffee,” I said. “Black.”
Keely tilted her head.
“Are you sure, hon?”
“Yep,” I replied.
Despite my hunger, I probably shouldn’t hang around now that Keely had caught my attention.
For a split second, she paused, studying me. At last, she disappeared into the kitchen without another word. When she returned, she placed a cup of steaming black coffee in front of me.
And a slice of cherry pie, with sugar crystals glistening on the crispy golden brown crust.
Keely winked with a small smile.
“On the house. I recognize the look of a man who needs a little sweetness in his life.”
Then she trotted off, stopping at a nearby table to gather dirty dishes into her arms.
I sat there, dazed, with the scent of cherry pie making my mouth water. For the first time since leaving California, I wasn’t thinking about Stevie at all.
“Keely,” I said softly to myself, savoring the way her name rolled off my tongue.
Chapter two
Keely
An electric jolt zipped up my spine when I got my first glimpse of the behemoth biker. He washuge.
And hot, in a broody way.
His wavy blonde hair was pulled back in a knot. The edge of a tattoo peeked out from the cuff of his leather jacket. I wondered where that ink would lead, how much of it covered his skin. I wondered what it would be like to trace every inch of that ink and feel the flex of his muscles under my fingertips.
He regarded me with solemn eyes as I yapped at him. Most men viewed that as an invitation to flirt with me. I was too friendly for my own good sometimes, and I could talk all day long. A little harmless flirtation was good for tips, but it could easily stray into creepy territory when men took it a step too far.
For once, I hoped this biker would flirt back, ask for my number. Hell, I wouldn’t mind if he accidentally brushed up against me with some vague excuse that did nothing to hide the fact he just wanted to touch me.
Instead, the biker mumbled a brief response and kept his hands to himself, much to my disappointment.
But I didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked over me, lingering a little too long in all the right places.
Working at the diner, I met a lot of lonely people. That biker was definitely one of them. I could see it written all over his face, carried in the hunch of his broad shoulders and in the gentle way he cradled his coffee in his large hands.
That’s why I gave him the pie in the hopes it might cheer him up.
And, maybe, to get his attention.
But it didn’t work.
