“Why would I do that? I’ve seen him around, but yesterday’s the first day I’ve ever spoken to him. Have you run a Google search on him?”
“I haven’t.” When Tori just looked at her, eyebrow raised, Hailey rolled her eyes. “Because Rose said she did and nothing came up. But, now that I think about it, she’s not the most computer savvy person in town.”
“I have to go to work now. But I’ll see you Saturday night, right?”
“Yeah. I already picked the movie and everything. Hey, can you bring those cookies you made last time? They were amazing.”
If she could find time to get the refrigerated cookie dough out of the tube and onto the cookie sheet. Not that she’d ever admit it. “Sure.”
The diner was quiet at four o’clock and Paige was talking to a couple of customers toward the back, so Tori went out back to the kitchen in search of her cousin, Gavin. He’d been working at the diner for several years, before Tori had moved to town. It had started out as an after-school job, but he was a great cook and Paige had given him the freedom—and ingredients—to hone his craft. The citizens of Whitford were generally okay with being his guinea pigs, but they were suspicious of any foods they couldn’t pronounce and had almost boycotted over a tofu incident. It was a meat-and-potatoes kind of town, except for the traditional all-you-can-eat fish fry on Fridays.
“Hey, Tori,” he said when he spotted her. He was several years younger than her, with the same dark hair and eyes, and had a younger brother still in high school. “You working tonight?”
“No, I thought it would be fun to roam around the place in a Trailside T-shirt on a Friday night.” She laughed and dodged the towel he snapped in her direction. “What’s the special tonight?”
“Pork tenderloin with a brown sugar and balsamic vinegar glaze.”
She winced. “I wonder how many times I’ll be asked what balsamic means.”
“I’m appeasing the masses by serving it with garlic mashed potatoes and a choice of creamed corn or the spiced, chunky applesauce they loved last time I made it.”
“They did like that applesauce. I ate more of it than I should have myself.”
Paige kept a tally sheet next to the register and they made a checkmark on it whenever somebody ordered Gavin’s special. Over the years, there were more and more checkmarks, and fewer wasted ingredients. He was saving for culinary school, or at least for a move to a city with more restaurant opportunities, and Paige’s support of him over the years was one of the reasons Tori rarely hesitated when the diner needed her, even if it set her back on her graphic design work a little.
Speaking of the boss, Paige walked through the swinging door. “Tori, thanks so much for coming in. I hope it picks up a little or I’m going to feel like an idiot.”
“It’s fine either way. I swear.”
Tori loved her boss. Paige had been passing through Whitford, her car broke down and—long story short—she’d bought the closed-up diner, reopened it and made it her own. When Mitch Kowalski had returned to town to help his brother with the lodge, Paige had made him her own, too.
At five, just enough people started rolling in for dinner so neither of them had to stand around doing nothing, although Tori wouldn’t call it busy. It would be a long night, but at least Gavin’s pork tenderloin was going over well.
Then, at exactly six o’clock, Max Crawford walked through the door. From behind the big coffee machine, she watched him look around the restaurant as he had yesterday.
For some reason, seeing him caused a low hum of anticipation through her body, which she scoffed at. Must have been the porn studio discussion and her dream. It had been a while since she’d treated herself to a fling with a guy, so maybe it was time to dress herself up and drive into the city for a night out.
When he took a seat at the counter, Tori shoved sex out of her mind and went to greet her customer.
*
Max had often heard Laundromats were a good place to meet women. He wasn’t sure why, since he wasn’t one to speak to strangers while folding his underwear, so he didn’t imagine women would be any more comfortable doing so. But he’d tried it anyway, using a comforter that didn’t fit in his washing machine as an excuse to spend time in the town’s only Laundromat.
After spending ninety minutes listening to the life story of a man who was newly divorced, Max had decided the rumor of Laundromats being a good place to meet women was probably started by a Laundromat owner.