The back door opened and slammed shut, then a voice called out. “Mornin’, Shorty!”
He chuckled, calling out even if he wasn’t Shorty. “Morning!”
Footsteps slapped against the tile floor, then stopped. “You’re not Shorty.”
He turned around. Maggie, the redhead from the other night had arrived. Luke’s mouth went dry. It had to be illegal to look that good in a unisex t-shirt. The yellow cotton stretched around her ample breasts, then over a softly rounded stomach and generous hips.
“Oh, Luke, it’s you.” Maggie came closer, and Luke shook himself internally. This was his mother’s employee. They couldn’t afford a scandal right now. Mom’s injury was enough to deal with. “How’s Deb doing?”
“Her ankle’s broken, and the doctor wants her off it for twelve weeks, at least.” He’d already emailed Ross with a request for more leave.
Those green eyes grew three sizes as Maggie’s jaw dropped. Her hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, that’s awful!”
He shrugged. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t need surgery.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yep, I’m cooking this morning. And afternoon.”
“You’re a cook?”
He chuckled. “I used to be. It’s been a while so let’s see if I still got it.”
“Yes, boss.” She saluted him with a wink. “I’ll get the front set up so we can open.” Damn, she was adorable.
“Let’s do this.”
But Luke didn’t have time for reflections on either the mystery of his brother or the attractiveness of his mother’s newest server. As soon as Maggie flipped that sign to “Open,” the entire town apparently decided they were craving breakfast. The Busy Bee wasn’t normally this busy on a Thursday in March, at least not that Luke remembered. Sundays, sure. But Thursday? Didn’t anyone in this town have to work?
The first batch of pancakes came out raw in the middle and black on the outside. Luke tossed them, and adjusted the griddle’s heat. A faint red mark sat below where he was used to setting it. Either Shorty or Mom must have made the adjustment on the old appliance and forgotten to write it down in the binder. Luckily the shiny new waffle iron had a timer and beeped at him when the waffles were done.
Just don’t burn the bacon,Luke told himself as he funneled all this focus into the work. There was no room for thoughts of Aaron’s issues or how delicious sweet Maggie looked.
When Maggie came back into the kitchen halfway through breakfast service, she shook her head. “Everyone’s asking about your mom. What do I tell them?”
Luke groaned and threw his head back. “Small towns.” He huffed a laugh. “Are you from one?”
“No, I’ve never lived in one before.” She leaned against the counter as he flipped an omelet.
“Nothing to do but gossip.” He gave it a quick tap with the spatula, then flipped it onto a plate. Sliding over to the deep fryer, he pulled out the hash browns and plated them. “You can tell them the truth. Someone must have spilled the beans about me cooking this morning.”
“Was it a secret?”
“Doesn’t really matter,” he answered. “You’ll find those are hard to keep around here.”
He plated a waffle, added strawberries and whipped cream, then loaded up Maggie’s tray. When he turned to hand it to her, he found her gnawing on her thumbnail, her other arm wrapped around her stomach.
“Order up.” That jolted her out of whatever rabbit hole she’d gone down in her head.
Taking the tray, she gave him a quiet “Thanks,” and headed back through the swinging doors.
The morning flew by. Luke and Maggie were run off their feet by the time the rush slowed down. When he had a moment, he walked out front to the counter to get himself a drink. Cooking was thirsty work, and the soda fountain was out there. He desperately needed a caffeine hit.
“Luke! You really are back.” At his name, Luke turned and saw Edith Bascom, the owner of The May Tree.
“Hi, Edith. How are you? Isn’t your shop open?”
The elder woman waved him off. “I’m taking a short break. It’s the slow season for me.”
