He headed toward his truck, and Ranger perked up the second he opened the door.
“Yeah, buddy,” he murmured, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “She’s not here. I’ll try again later.”
He backed out of the driveway, filing away the uneasy feeling in his gut. Roy certainly wasn’t a husband or boyfriend. Something about the guy rubbed him the wrong way. Could be that laying the pavers was a big job or … whatever. But Caleb had learned to trust his instincts, the quiet warnings. The ones that didn’t shout just pressed.
And right now? It was pressing.
One thing for sure, Roy wasn’t a fan of Mia’s.
Mia steppedinto the Red Rooster Diner and waved to Margie, the vivacious owner. She’d only been here a couple of times but loved the 1950s vibe, the red leather booths, chrome trim, and knickknacks placed around from defunct diners that Walter, Margie’s husband and chef, collected. And the pie! Dear Lord, the pie.
Walter made a perfect, flaky crust and a rotating lineup of fillings. Mia was in heaven. It reminded her of her mother, who also had a light hand when it came to pastry and made a pie for her dad every Sunday without fail. Mia still pictured her mother at the counter, humming softly, fingers dusted with flour. She had taken on that responsibility, and while her dad appreciated it, it wasn’t the same. They both missed her mother.
She scanned the room, spotting her reason for being here. Heather Pierce sat in a booth by the window, tapping awayon her tablet, her dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Heather wrote theTaste of Haywoodblog and had stopped Mia on Saturday at the farmers’ market, insisting she wanted an interview.
Heather was friendly, eager, but a little too observant.
Mia shoved the flicker of unease aside. Journalists and bloggers asked questions—that was their job. Still, Heather’s interest felt just a touch sharper than plain curiosity.
“Heather?” She headed over. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Heather flashed a bright smile. “Oh, no problem. This is my favorite diner in the morning.” She closed her tablet cover as Mia slid into the booth across from her. The leather squeaked faintly beneath Mia. Her nerves did, too.
“So, a short history. I try to do a special ‘women building their own businesses’ once a month. I know you’ve been in town for about a year, and you’ve built quite a following already, but you also grew up here. Tell me why you came back? You had a thriving business in New York City; it must be difficult adjusting to small-town life again.”
Mia gave her a small smile. “Well, I came back for my father, who had a stroke. My mom passed a while ago, and he had no one to take care of him.”
“Family first, right?”
“Right. However, it really isn’t a hardship. Haywood Lake is becoming more cosmopolitan as we speak, and I’ve always loved it here.”
“Still.” Heather weighed each hand. “Big city excitement. Small-town simplicity? Charm? Depends on who you ask.”
Mia laughed. “Big city competition. Small-town gossip. Not much different.”
“True,” Heather replied. “What made you jump into catering? Did you do that here before you moved away?”
“I love creating, and I love food. So, going to culinary school fit.” Mia laughed. “No, and I didn’t do it here. I worked at my father’s hardware store until I graduated high school and left.”
Heather nodded, jotting a note. “Your business has grown fast. Faster than some of the more established caterers in town. How has that been going?”
“Going?”
“Well, food folks can be territorial.” She lowered her voice. “The whispers at the farmers’ market were pretty interesting.”
Mia’s stomach tightened. “Whispers?”
“Oh, you know how markets are. Vendors overhear clients switching caterers. Someone saying a new business is ‘stealing accounts.’” She shrugged. “It’s probably nonsense. But I figured if anyone could clear it up, it’d be you.”
The words hit harder than Mia expected. She kept her smile in place even though her pulse was racing. People were saying she stole clients. Her?
The market had always felt safe. Now, the memory of Saturday morning flickered differently. The quick glances. The half-whispered conversations. She chalked it up to exhaustion, but maybe she shouldn’t have.
Mia took a moment to collect her thoughts. Who could be suggesting she was stealing accounts? Outside of Dana and now Sabrina, she hadn’t paid any attention to other caterers. People came to her; she didn’t solicit business. Still, the accusation stung, baseless or not.
“I don’t steal clients.”
“I didn’t think so,” Heather said quickly. “People love you. They love your food. Honestly, that’s why I reached out. A woman like you balancing ambition, caregiving, community ties—yours is exactly the kind of story I want to highlight.”
