She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and—
Well.
Well. Well. Well.
An improbably good-looking man, one she’d never seen before in her life, was seated at a four-person table near the front entrance, his back to the wall.
He was a little too pristine, maybe—she liked to be able to imagine a scar or two on a guy, or see some evidence he’d taken a risk in his life. This guy looked as though someone rushed to shove a mattress underneath him every time he tripped. His shirt was a sort of green linen, simple, sexy, and entirely lintless, his face was a sculptural wonder, and his deep-set eyes were soulful and dark.
She put a little swing in her hips on her way over to him.
He leaned slowly back in his chair and smoldered at her appreciatively with those eyes.
And then smiled slowly.
She smiled in return. She was great at flirting, and this was the kind of guy who wouldn’t take it seriously, given that women probablyonlycommunicated with him by flirting.
“Good morning. I’m Glory. I’ll be your waitress. Are you ready to order, or would you like a moment?”
He studied her a moment. “Glory,” he mused. “Is that actually your name, or the word men exhale when they get a look at you?”
“It’s both. Though that’s not the only adjective that comes up.”
He nodded, thoughtfully, as if that was the answer he’d been looking for. “It’s a perfect fit.”
“Right back at ya, mister.”
He grinned. “Man, I’d love to know where the Misty Cat Cavern here in the middle of nowhere California gets their waitresses. Because every time I come in here I’m knocked out.”
“Gosh, there’s absolutelynothingwomen love more than being lumped in with other women. May I take your order?”
“Forgive me, Glory. Anyone can see you’re one of a kind.”
“Mercifully enough, that’s true. Are you ready to order?”
He grinned again. His teeth were startlingly uniform and as white as that reflective strip down the middle of the highway.
He had the most recent iPhone, lined up there next to his utensils. It kept buzzing little notes and messages in at steady intervals. Popular guy. He glanced down, then returned his attention to her.
“Is Glory your real name?”
“Yes. Why, did you think it was my Roller Derby handle?”
“Mine is Franco Francone.”
She froze. Holy Shit.
He wasindeedFranco Francone.
TheFranco Francone.
He was a little thinner in real life. A little older-looking than he was on television and the internet and so forth. But there was really no question.
“Nowthatname sounds made up, Mr.Francone.” That was pure deviltry on her part.
She knew exactly who Franco Francone was. She wanted to see what he would do if he thought she didn’t.
His handsome face went a little darker in bemusement. “Whatisit with this town? You’d think it was Brigadoon. That cop, for instance...”
