“I also saw the listing mentioned housing through the inn next door, and I just want to be upfront that I would need to take advantage of that if it’s still available. It won’t affect my performance—if anything, being five steps from work means I’ll never be late.”
I paused, took a breath, then added honestly,
“I really want this job.”
Silence.
Then slowly—very slowly—the man unfolded himself from behind the counter and stood up. And that’s when I saw his face.
He was tall with dark hair that needed a cut and a jaw that hadn’t seen a razor in a couple of days. Warm brown eyes. And he was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Not annoyed. Not bored. More like…quietly entertained.Like my nervous speech had turned out to be the unexpected highlight of his morning.
“That’s quite an introduction,” he said.
His voice was low and calm, like everything else about him.
“Thank you,” I said quickly, holding his gaze even though it was suddenly harder than expected. “I mean every word.”
He opened his mouth?—
And the kitchen door swung open.
A small, sharp-eyed woman strode out, wiping her hands on a dish towel tucked into her apron. She looked at me, then at the man behind the counter, then back at me with an expression that could only be described as delighted.
“You must be Riley,” she said. “I’m Bobbi Ludington. I own this place.”
The room seemed to shift a little.
I turned slowly toward the man behind the counter. He’d crossed his arms and was now definitely smiling. Not a big grin—just a small, settled smile that suggested he’d been holding it in for a while.
“Harlan,” he said casually. “I was fixing the drawer.”
My entire speech replayed in my head at double speed.
I’m a hard worker. I learn fast. I really want this job.
All delivered enthusiastically to a man who’d been lying on the floor with a screwdriver.
I turned back to Bobbi. “I’m so sorry,” I began. “I thought?—”
She waved a hand. “Don’t apologize, honey. That was the best interview I’ve heard in ten years, and I wasn’t even in the room for half of it.”
She studied me for about two seconds with the laser-focused attention of someone who had been reading people across a counter her entire life.
“You’ve got waitressing experience?”
“Two summers. I can bring references?—”
“You start tomorrow. Six a.m.”
I blinked.
“Lauralie will show you the ropes. She’s been here long enough to know where the bodies are buried.”
She quoted an hourly rate, explained the room at the inn next door, told me to come back after nine for paperwork, and then disappeared into the kitchen like she’d just checked another item off her to-do list. The whole thing took maybe ninety seconds.
I stood there, slightly stunned.
“Congratulations,” Harlan said.
