But before he started asking questions, he needed to do a little quiet digging. He’d learned early on not to blaze into a town making his intentions immediately known, because folks tended to be cagey when that happened. But, much to his delight, it looked like he would be coming back to the Sunshine Diner.
Chapter Three
Wednesday nights was Monroe’s official night to visit her father. In reality, she dropped past at least every other day to check on him, but Wednesday was the day that was always marked in her calendar. She pulled her old Mazda up in front of her father’s house—the house she grew up in—and killed the engine.
For a moment she simply sat there, exhaustion seeping into her bones. She was always the first one in and the last one out of the Sunshine Diner. Twelve-plus hours on her feet day after day took its toll.
At least today had featured some kind of highlight. A Thor look-a-like with a voice like warm honey and shoulders that could carry the world kind of highlight.
As much as Peony had ticked Monroe off, she could understand being drawn to a new guy. Hooking up in a small town was risky business. If it went south, everybody knew about it and most would pick sides. There were no secrets, not a shred of privacy. Monroe had been single for three years now and it was just the same old, same old. Nothing but a handful of Tims and Marks and Johns who cared about little more in life than fishing and their trucks.
No, thank you.
So yeah, she understood why a hunky out-of-towner would appeal.
“Why are you wasting mental energy on this?” she muttered to herself. “It’s not like you’re going to throw your hat into the ring.”
And even if she did, a guy like that would have his pick. Who wanted a woman with a going-nowhere job, Sideshow Bob hair, and a cranky disposition? No, she needed to forget all about her day and about Ethan the Aussie hottie.
Burying her chin in her sweater as she stepped outside, a damp, icy breeze whipped past and ruffled her hair. Winter seemed determined to hang on as long as possible this year, and every time they had a few nice warm days in a row, a cold front would shock them back into their thick wool socks and down coats. Reaching into the back seat, she grabbed a small plastic crate which had been filled with food and grocery items, and then she hurried up the path to her father’s front door. He opened it before she even had the chance to knock.
“Hey, Dad.” She leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. His jaw was covered in gray whiskers. Some days he just didn’t have the energy to stand at the sink and shave.
She could usually tell how rough his day had been by whether or not he’d shaved. But coming on too strong with her worry was never a good idea, because her father hated to be coddled.
“Monroe,” he grunted, shuffling back to let her inside. He had a wooden cane in one hand, the top of it carved into the shape of a hunting dog, and his AFO—which stood for ankle foot orthoses, a type of brace that helped him walk more steadily—was propped against the wall by the front door.
Monroe quickly glanced away from the AFO. He was supposed to be wearing this new version around the house after he’d had a fall, but her stubborn father liked to wear his slippers and they didn’t fit the brace. After the day she’d had, she didn’t have it in her to broach the topic with him.
“I brought you goodies from the diner. Big Frank made some walnut and basil pesto, and I’ve got a bag of fresh pasta from the Italian place, as well as some olive bread and a hunk of that parmesan you like.” Monroe hefted the box onto her father’s dining room table. “Oh, and I went past the shops at lunch and I saw the new issue of Woodworker’s Journal.”
Her father’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been waiting for this one.”
She handed the magazine over and smiled as he excitedly flipped through it. Woodworking and furniture restoration had been a huge hobby of his before the accident, the one that caused a chain of events that would see him unwillingly retire early. These days the chronic pain had slowed him down, but her father could still be regularly found in his garage working on smaller projects, like building a new spice rack or refinishing a cupboard door. Working with his hands brought him an immense amount of joy and Monroe wanted to do whatever she could to support that.
“I saw they have an article about hand tooling with that guy you like.” Monroe tapped the cover.
“You’re a good daughter,” he said, looking up with a smile. “Now be a dear and get me a cup of coffee, would you? I need to sit.”
“Sure thing.”
Monroe wandered into the kitchen and started the coffee. Then while that was brewing she unpacked the dishwasher and loaded the few dirty cups and plates from the sink. In the early days, her father had tried to refuse her help, but if there was one trait Monroe had acquired from him, it was stubbornness.
“Oh, there’s some mail on the table for you,” her dad called out from the living room. “How long have you been in your new place and you’re still getting notices sent here?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Monroe poured a cup of coffee for her dad and carried it out to him, landing an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “Be honest, you like seeing my name pop up in your mailbox.”
He snorted. “More like I just wish all my daughters would actually move out when they say they’re going to.”
Monroe stifled a smile. Her father liked to grouse that his daughters always had one foot back in the family home—whether it was Monroe’s mail turning up, or Taylor storing her bike in the garage because her new place didn’t have enough space for a car and a motorcycle. Sometimes it was Loren hosting her weekly ladies’ poker night at the kitchen table here, because with four daughters there was never enough peace to do it at her place.
All three of them knew he secretly loved how attached they were to their home, and to him. They might not have had the most money growing up, or the fanciest house, and they’d had their share of loss and heartache, but the Roberts family was never lacking for love.
“Make sure you check them,” he said. “One of the envelopes looked very official.”
Official? Frowning, Monroe went to grab the small stack of envelopes from the table. There were four in total—a bill for her cell phone that she really needed to get redirected to her apartment, some promotional crap that she didn’t remember signing up for, a letter from her high school, no doubt some reunion invite that she would ignore, and…
Yeah, the last letter did look official. But it wasn’t the Boston return address or fancy-looking serif font spelling out the name of an unknown law firm that had her worried. It was the fact that the letter was addressed to Mrs. Monroe Roberts.
And Monroe hadn’t been a Mrs. for some time now.
She’d never changed her surname when she got married, something that Brendan had claimed to support at the time and had then thrown back in her face when things turned sour. Frankly, his family had never accepted her, and the idea of taking their name had made her feel ill.
Probably should have seen that for the red flag it was.
With a shaky hand, she tore at the back flap sealing the envelope shut, peeling the paper away in a jagged strip. Inside was a letter. Ice trickled through her veins, freezing her from the inside out as fear and reality slowly set in. The sheaf of paper trembled in her grip as she read, eyes growing wide and time slowing down so much that all she could concentrate on was the erratic thudding of her heart.
No. No, no, no.
Phrases like we regret to inform you and incorrect paperwork and please contact us immediately peppered the page. But it was a single line that stole the air from her lungs.
Unfortunately, this means that your divorce was not legally finalized and as of now, you are still married to Mr. Brendan James Ankerman.
Monroe stared at the letter in disbelief. Married? It’d been three whole years since she caught her sonofabitch ex screwing around on her. Three whole yea
rs since the shock of finding out the other woman was her very own cousin, Amber. Three whole years since that one event tore a rift right through her family.
“Everything okay?” her father asked from the chair. “I saw it was a law firm and figured maybe you’d forgotten to pay that parking ticket from when you took me into the city for my specialist appointment.”
“Uh yeah.” Monroe’s mind was spinning. How could this have happened? “I completely forgot about it. Not to worry, I’ll make sure it gets paid.”
She hated keeping things from her father, but there was no way she could tell him she was still legally married to her ex. When he found out that his son-in-law was having an affair, he’d wanted to punch the daylights out of him. Only Monroe’s pleading had stopped him.
But it had been no use. Everything had fallen apart.
Her relationship with her aunt had deteriorated when it became clear she was taking Amber’s side, even if she was the one who’d done the cheating. Amber’s brothers had also stuck by their sister. The once close-knit Roberts family had come apart at the seams, and even though Monroe had been the victim in all of it she still hated that it happened.
She regretted…everything.
Not too long after it all went down, Brendan and Amber moved away. The divorce had been settled the following year, with minimal fuss. Monroe had just wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.
But this letter…
It was like ripping all those old wounds open all over again.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I can’t stay.” She stuffed the letter into her coat pocket and went over to say goodbye. He looked up at her with confusion clouding his dark brown eyes. “I just remembered…I think I left the back door unlocked at the diner.”
“You’re working too much,” he admonished. “I know what that’s like. You start to forget things because you’re tired.”
“I’m fine, I promise.” She bent down and kissed her father’s head. “Do you want me to cook up the pasta before I go?”
“No, no.” He pushed up out of his chair. “I’m actually feeling pretty good today. Had a nice nap this afternoon, and I think the new pain meds are working.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
“Come here and give your father a hug.”
Monroe let herself be wrapped up in his arms. For a moment, she was worried that tears might flood her eyes—because her whole world felt like it was flipped upside down—first the diner, now this. But she’d never let her father worry needlessly. He was one of the most important people in her world, and she’d swallow this whole thing down by herself if it would save him an ounce of pain. Her mistakes had already cost him his relationship with his sister, plus his nieces and nephews. Adding salt into that wound was totally unacceptable.
This was her problem to deal with and she would do it like she did most things these days—alone.
…
The diner was more than half full today. It hadn’t been more than half full since…
She couldn’t even remember.
A frown furrowed her brows as she slipped her apron over her head, watching the near-bustling main room over the top of the warming shelf.
Most of the patrons were groups of women. This wasn’t odd in and of itself—they did a meager brunch trade on the weekend and there was a Pilates studio a few doors down, so they sometimes got a small influx after a class had finished. But today was a Tuesday. In late March. And the Pilates studio was closed for renovations.
It shouldn’t be this busy for no reason.
Big Frank stood over the prep station, using tongs to carefully place muffins onto small plates. “Dare I say it, we’re almost out of blueberry and chocolate chip.”
Monroe shook her head. She couldn’t remember the last time they hadn’t needed to foist the leftover muffins onto her sisters or try to send them home with one of the servers. Monroe glanced at the grill and stovetop—both were empty.
“Is anyone ordering an actual meal?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I had one breakfast burger about an hour ago, and the usual scrambled eggs. But otherwise, nothing.”
Huh. Half a diner full with no meal orders. She’d been so worried about getting butts in these seats after her chat with Jacob Sullivan that it didn’t even occur to her a half-full diner could still make no money.
“You must be the only restaurant manager in the country who’s frowning at the fact that they’re filling more seats instead of less,” Big Frank said with a chuckle.
“I’d be happy if we were filling seats with customers who ordered more than a low-profit snack. We need people filling these seats who are going to order an entrée and sides.” She gestured to the dining room. “These people aren’t those customers.”
“Where do you think they’re all coming from anyway?”
“I don’t know.” There were no events in town, not this time of year. “It’s weird.”
Monroe tapped a finger to her chin. Maybe if this was an indication of the type of clientele they were likely to draw, she could get creative with some muffin alternatives. Perhaps, a granola bowl and a rich yogurt from a local dairy farm might be a good inclusion? This could be a clever move, in her humble opinion, because it would help to increase the average price of those orders without increasing the time people sat at the tables.
Just as she was about to head into the office to look over their next order sheet, Monroe caught something interesting happening in the main room.
Ethan.
He was standing inside the door, but only just, and three teenagers were crowded around him, one boy and two girls. Almost every head in the diner was turned in his direction. Ethan had the distinct look of a piece of game in a hunter’s crosshairs. With Jacob’s bombshell about potentially selling the diner so fresh, Monroe felt her hackles rise. If she had any hope of lifting the sales for the Sunshine Diner, then they couldn’t have people loitering and putting paying customers off. All Monroe cared about right now was making sure that this place didn’t get sold. Jacob deserved a successful legacy, and it was her job to help make that happen.
Oh and sure, there was that whole “not divorced” thing to worry about, but Monroe had currently tossed that concern into a mental box marked “shit to deal with later.”
She pushed through the door from the kitchen into the diner, walking with the kind of intent that made people skitter out of her way. Ethan caught her gaze across the room and for a second he looked relieved.
“What’s going on here?” she asked.
One of the teenagers looked at her, scowling. She was about sixteen, dressed like she was twenty-five, and had the attitude of a two-year-old. “You can’t tell me what to do. This is a free country!”’
“Asking a question isn’t telling you what to do.” She felt a surge of satisfaction when the kid’s eyebrows jumped up. “And I was talking to Ethan.”
“You mean Thor.” The other girl giggled. “He looks just like him and sounds like him, too.”
Ethan looked at her over the top of the teenagers’ heads. It seemed like he might try to argue for a second, but instead he turned and headed out the door, his big frame squeezing through the tiny entry.
Do not pay attention to how broad his shoulders are.
“Darlene,” Monroe called out to the waitress. “These three are looking for a table. Think you can squeeze them in down the back?”
The boy looked at the girls. “Uh, actually, we just came for—”
He made a loud oof noise when one of the girls elbowed him in the ribs. “We just came to check out the menu.”
“It’s on the website.” Monroe held the door open for them and stared the kids down. If they wanted to eat, fine, but she was not going to put up with people loitering in her diner.
Not now that the stakes had been raised.
&
nbsp; The teens trooped out and headed up the street, and she followed Ethan out onto the sidewalk. He looked even more delectable today. It was a little warmer out, and instead of a bulky coat he wore a fitted black motorcycle jacket that stretched across his broad chest and his jaw was coated in glorious golden stubble.
The second the door swung shut behind them, Monroe caught several people standing in the window, faces pressed to the glass. One person held up their iPhone and snapped a picture. On the street, a mother and daughter walked past, not even trying to hide the fact that they were gawking.
At least now she was clear on why her diner had suddenly filled up.
Chapter Four
So much for picking Monroe’s brain and getting some breakfast in peace.
“You know, it’s not normal for us to be so busy like this.” Monroe’s curly ginger hair was tied back into a voluminous ponytail. She wore a fitted top in a shade of olive green that suited her complexion and made her eyes appear rich and tinted with dark gold. “It’s the strangest thing.”
I’ve got some idea what it could be.
Ethan was still wearing his baseball cap to ward off the cold. He’d hoped the low brim might give a strong “leave me alone” vibe, but so far no luck.
The only person who seemed to have no clue about his celebrity doppelgänger status was Lottie May. He’d gotten up early that morning to help her haul firewood in from a big shed on the back of the property and had spent a few hours chopping up some more to keep the supply full. And she’d barely said a word to him the whole time.
Talk about bliss.
Ethan had always been a man with a laser-like focus on what he wanted—that focus used to be directed at things like corporate success. Now it was focused on finding out where his father died to see if he had any living relatives in America. That meant anything else was a distraction. Aside from helping Lottie, because the free accommodation served his needs, Ethan wasn’t wasting time or energy on anything outside his goal.
Forever Starts Now Page 3