“What’s it to you?”
I gave her my warmest smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer.”
“I’m sure that’s just what a serial killer would say.” She put her hand on her hip defiantly.
“Very astute. I’m sure the people in this town can’t get much past you…” I waited.
“Margo. And no. There’s nothing I don’t know.”
My smile widened, and I relaxed my posture, trying not to come off like a giant murdering stranger. “I knew I was asking the right woman. So?”
She looked back to the counter again and then leaned in a little closer. “Hana Monroe. The new owner. She arrived in town a couple of days ago.”
“Owner?” The word came out with too much force, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, news to us too. Apparently, Pete—that’s him with her. Well, he’s the current owner and suddenly desperate to retire, and Hana has bought the place.”
“Was it up for sale for long?” My heart hammered loudly as I spoke, the place suddenly feeling too bright, too busy, too enclosed and open all at the same time, and I longed to be back home behind a wall of monitors where I belonged.
She shrugged. “Not that I know of. I mean, no one tells us anything, but I had no clue he was ready to retire. Good news is she’s keeping us all on, so I guess there’s that, but the place won’t be the same without Pete.”
I turned my attention back to the woman on the other side of the room. Hana twisted her hair up into a messy bun, showing off the thin column of her throat, and the idea of my hand wrapped around it as she whimpered out my name made my cock swell beneath the table.
“Can I get my coffee to go, Margo?” I slipped her a ten-pound note. “And keep the change.”
She offered me a smile that looked a little less strained before disappearing to fill a to-go cup, while I stared at Hana. Dusting my thumb over my lips, I tried not to think about what it would be like to touch her for the first time, to hear her voice speaking directly to me, to feel her curves and know what she smelt like. I’d spent years watching her from a distance; my only worry now was whether my obsession was about to spiral out of control.
Who was I kidding? My obsession had taken over long before now.
So, I guessed the real question was, just how far would I let it go?
2
HANA
“Areyou sure you don’t want me to wait while you lock up? I hate leaving you here on your own.” I looked up from the floor I was mopping behind the counter to find the chef standing across from me, his holdall slung over his shoulder.
I smiled and shook my head. “As big as your muscles are, Jay, I’m okay. You should see some of the places I’ve worked. This place is like Disneyland compared to those. And you must be knackered. Go home, see your wife, and just so you know, I’m getting in some more staff. You’ll still get the same take-home pay, but for fewer hours, so you actually get to put those kids to bed.”
His eyes widened. I’d only been here for a couple of days, but the hours my staff worked were stupid, and it was time for a change.
“Well, I won’t argue with that. I loved working for Pete, but he was so stuck in his ways, so it’s nice to have some fresh blood in the place.”
I offered him a smile and shooed him out the door, locking it behind him. The truth was, I needed a minute. This move happened so fast that I was still catching my breath and trying to get used to my new surroundings.
I walked around the counter and sat in a booth, letting my gaze take in the pink neon lighting and retro decor of what had beenPete’s Placefor apparently decades, but was soon about to go under a name change toThe Diner.
“What do you think, Tony? Is this finally home?” I raised my eyes upwards as if I’d find my dead big brother there, looking down on me, telling me how proud he was of me for finally building this new life for myself. I knew it was stupid, but since Tony left me when I was fifteen—God, how is it eleven years ago already?—I felt like he was watching over me. I couldn’t explain it, but since I started living on my own, I felt his presence everywhere. I used to think he was keeping an eye on me, but since I decided to make this move, that feeling had gone—vanished overnight—as if someone had cut the cord to our connection. And I hated it. It was like I’d lost him all over again.
I pressed my hand to my heart, knowing I should shake it off and stop being ridiculous, so I gave myself a second to really feel the pain of his loss, and then, I rolled my shoulders, stood up and finished cleaning up so I could go home and eat the leftovers I needed to remember to retrieve from the fridge before I left.
Thirty minutes later, I was pulling down the shutters on the windows, trying to balance the tray of lasagna, my purse, phone, and my keys in the other hand, cursing myself for not being more prepared to step out in the dark street at this time of night.
“Can I help?”
I screamed as a voice came out of nowhere.
“Shit. Sorry. I’m Simon. I saw you struggling and thought I’d help a damsel in distress.”
