The alarm on her phone made Tori Burns jump, and she cursed under her breath as she silenced it. Time to wrap up the digital design—mostly of science fiction, urban fantasy and horror book covers—that was her primary income and head to her part-time job. She hadn’t been on the schedule at the diner, but Liz, who worked the morning shift, had asked Tori if she could cover for her for a couple of hours.
She changed her faded flannel shirt for a Trailside Diner T-shirt and brushed her hair into a ponytail before walking up the street.
As soon as she saw Tori walk through the door, Liz untied her apron and folded it neatly. She’d been Liz Kowalski until she married Drew Miller, the Whitford police chief, who was sitting at the counter in civilian clothes. Interesting.
“Thanks so much for covering for me,” she said.
“Not a problem.” Tori took her apron from where she’d stashed it under the counter and took the order pad from Liz. “Got a hot date?”
Liz looked at her husband, a light blush coloring her cheeks. “Just something we have to take care of. It’s been quiet today, so there’s nothing to catch you up on.”
“Go.” It was obvious she was anxious to leave. “Enjoy the time off.”
Tori watched the couple leave, hoping her suspicions were right and they were off to the city for a doctor appointment. It seemed as if the entire population of Whitford had been anxiously awaiting pregnancy news from the Millers—to the point Fran at the Whitford General Store was offering bribes in the form of discounts to anybody who could confirm Liz was in the family way.
Liz hadn’t been exaggerating when she said it was a quiet morning at the diner. It was more like dead. Even though the ATV trail system that had revived Whitford’s economy was still open, four-wheeler traffic cut down considerably once school was back in session and families stopped taking weekend trips. And it would be at least a couple of months before the snowmobilers started filling the tables.
But at this time of year, there tended to be what passed for a breakfast rush and then a crowd for lunch. The in-between was very, very slow.
Tori didn’t mind, though. She hadn’t taken the part-time job at the diner for the money. It had been her way of getting out of her apartment so she didn’t turn into a total hermit, and a way to get to know people in her new town. Now, a couple of years later, she was still working there. It was good exercise, she enjoyed the work, and she not only had family in Whitford, but now good friends, as well.
Today, she was restless. Even if she wasn’t worried about missing out on tips, being busy made the time go by. Not being busy made it seem like the hands on the clock were moving in slow motion. Working that morning had thrown her off a little, too. She usually did her computer work during hours that aligned more with a second shift, but a lot of authors were trying to get books ready to release for the rush of readers who’d get new devices and gift cards for Christmas. While she was choosy when it came to taking on new customers, just keeping up with her existing clients meant working extra hours. Her hours at the diner were usually a nice break, but standing around straightening sugar packets just so her hands had something to do seemed more like a waste of time than anything.
Her mood perked up when a tall, blond and very hot guy walked through the door. He was dressed in jeans that were just the right amount of faded and a cream cable-knit sweater, and he was alone.
Max Crawford, Whitford’s very own man of mystery.
She watched him pause, scanning the empty restaurant, before taking a seat at the counter.
“Are you looking for somebody?” she asked, setting a napkin and silverware in front of him. Maybe he was meeting somebody for lunch. Somebody who hadn’t shown up yet.
“No. I was just expecting it to be busier. There isn’t anybody here.”
“People will start coming in for lunch soon. And, in the meantime, you get all of my attention.”
His eyes widened a little and she noticed they were a soft green color. “I...don’t know what I want yet.”
“Here’s the menu.” She pulled it from the rack and set it in front of him. “Do you know what you want to drink? Coffee?”
“A chocolate frappe?”
“Coming right up.”
While she made the frappe, Tori watched him study the menu. She’d seen Max Crawford before, but always in passing. Walking by each other on the sidewalk didn’t give a girl a chance to really appreciate looks like his.
While the blender whirred, blending milk and ice cream and syrup, she watched him unwrap the silverware rolled in the napkin she’d set on the counter. He folded the napkin precisely in half and then lined up the knife, fork and spoon, fiddling with them until they were just so.
She’d heard a lot of gossip about Max Crawford, but nothing of substance. The whole rumor about him being a serial killer because nobody knew what he did in his basement that required its own security system was more a joke than anything—a crazy story that probably started because people didn’t know anything about him.