by Jill Shalvis
No one had ever handed her anything. Instead they took one look and judged her on looks alone. So she had good genes, so what? Being blond and smart didn’t mean jack diddly unless she was respected for it, which she wasn’t.
From out front, someone called for the waitress.
Ha! She knew even less about how to be a waitress than she did how to cook.
But if she was going to make this work, if she was going to prove her worth to her family for once and all, she needed to learn both, and quickly.
So, what first? Where to start?
“You turn on the stove.”
Damn, but she already knew that low, husky voice all too well. She turned and, yep, sure enough, there stood Riley. He touched a hand to his hat, setting it back on his head so that she could get a good look at his rugged, tanned, far-too-good-looking face, and the grin that went with it. “Let me guess,” she said in the most alienating tone she had. “Your doughnut break isn’t over yet.”
He just laughed good-naturedly. “Actually, I prefer ice cream to donuts, thanks.”
“Don’t you have some bad guys to catch or something?”
He walked straight toward her, still smiling. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead and his dark eyes were sparkling with good humor.
He was invading her space again.
And he just kept coming, his wide shoulders taking up most of her view, his long jeans-clad legs closing the gap between them with alarming speed.
She stood her ground and lifted her chin, daring him to come closer.
He did. Then closer still.
When he was within a foot of her, so close she could see the tiny laugh lines fanning out from his eyes, she caved and backed up.
At her movement, his grin spread and he reached out, brushing her hip with his long fingers. Forcing herself completely still was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, though she didn’t understand why. He was just a man. She wasn’t afraid of him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, cool as a cucumber and proud of it. He didn’t have to know her heart had nearly accelerated right out of her chest.
All because of a touch.
He flicked the knob on the range, heating it. Then he looked at her, mischief in his smile, in every inch of his strong, masculine, sexy, slightly dangerous-looking body.
Dangerous because she liked strong, masculine and sexy.
Too bad she didn’t like him.
“Just getting you started,” he said.
“Oh.” Her voice was breathless, and irritated. She cleared her throat.
He was still far too close.
“What did you think I was doing?”
“Um…” The phone on the wall rang and Holly dove for it, pathetically thankful for the diversion. “Hello!”
“Is this Café Nirvana? I need to speak to my daughter.”
“Mother!” Holly gripped the phone tight, never in her life so happy to hear anyone’s voice, even her mother’s. “Where are you?” she asked, hoping the answer was close.
“Your father and I have decided to take a vacation.”
“But…you’ve never taken a vacation in your life.”
“I know. It’s definitely time, don’t you think?”
No. No, she didn’t! “Mother, I’m glad you’ve decided to take some time for yourselves, but don’t you think maybe now is a bad time?”
“It’s the holidays.”
“Exactly my point,” Holly said, relieved her mother was coming back to her senses. “You can’t take a vacation over the holidays. It’s…too crowded.”
“Which is why it’s so perfect. We’re going to avoid all the crowds by taking a cruise.”
“A cruise.”
“A month-long cruise of the Greek Islands, isn’t that exciting? We’ll be back before Valentine’s Day.”
Holly’s stomach sank to her toes. “That’s a very long time. What about the café?”
“Oh, the Nirvana? You said you would handle it. It’ll sell sooner or later.”
Holly gripped the phone tighter. “You said a month.”
“Give or take. And you’re always saying you wish we would take your exploits more seriously.”
“Yes, but—”
“And as we’ve been telling you for years, there’s no time like the present.”
Over the line Holly could hear the murmur of a crowd, then the unmistakable horn blow of a ship, a very large ship.
“Gotta go, dear.”
“But—”
“Take care of that place. We promised you would.”
“Yes, but—”
Click.
Holly stared at the receiver in her hand and felt as if she’d been run over by a Mack truck. “Gee, Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.”
She was on her own in this.
A small part of her felt like running. It wasn’t an alien feeling; she’d been running from things all her life. And all of it came down to her own fears. When the tough got going, so did Holly. That had always been her motto.
But no longer. It had to stop, now. Especially when her parents probably expected her to do just that.
Which meant she had to swallow the urge to make for the door, and figure this mess out instead. By herself.
“Everything okay there, princess?”
Damn, he was still here. Probably waiting for her to fail, just like her parents. He’d pegged her as a spoiled, stubborn, selfish city girl.
Well, she was a spoiled, stubborn, selfish city girl. But she was here, it was done, and she was going to come out on top.
And she wasn’t going to let anyone see her struggle to get there, that was for damn sure. With a cool smile in place, she turned and faced Riley McMann.
He stood there looking for all the world as if he’d been born in that tacky apron he’d put on.
“Why are you still wearing that?”
“Someone’s got to carry out all that food you’re going to be cooking.”
She was going to have to cook. And she could barely boil water. This just got better and better. “I need to hire a chef like yesterday,” she said to herself, considering. “I could place an ad—”
“No go.” Riley smiled sweetly—she was beginning to mistrust that smile—and said, “The local paper comes out only once a week.”
“Let me guess…and today’s the day?”
“I’ve got it spread across my desk as we speak.”
For some reason, his tone and words combined to create an incredibly naughty picture in her head, one of the sheriff standing in his office, looking down at what he had “spread across his desk,” and it wasn’t a newspaper, it was…her.
Okay, clearly she’d been too long without sex.
But now that the picture was in her brain, she couldn’t get rid of it. She glanced at him to see if maybe he’d been provocative on purpose, but he only looked at her from those fathomless, innocent eyes.
Only problem was, no man that breathtaking, that sure of himself, that in charge of his emotions, could ever be innocent. In fact, given his looks, charm and personality, plus his authority in Little Paradise, she’d bet that good Sheriff Riley McMann hadn’t been innocent for a very, very long time. He probably had every single woman—if there even were any—falling all over themselves to catch his attention.
They were welcome to him. Holly had put herself out for a man before; she’d even gone to great lengths to keep him. She’d still gotten hurt. Numerous times, in fact.
Never again.
The next man in her life, if there was one, would be a man who couldn’t get enough of her, who loved everything about her, unconditionally.
The next man in her life would not be one Riley McMann.
“You could place an ad for next week,” he said helpfully.
Great, wouldn’t that just be nice. An entire week without help. “Terrific. Thanks.” She gave him her best I-could-give-a-damn-everything-is-in-control smiles. “I’ll just get started cooking.”
He sent her the smile right back, though he was watching her with a look too personal, too direct, for two complete strangers. “I’ll serve your customers coffee, and whatever you manage to wrangle up,” he said.
Neither of them moved. Around them, the air seemed to sizzle, which confused Holly. She’d never felt anything like this. He was just a cowboy, rough-edged and far too casual for her tastes, and yet already he’d somehow gotten under her skin.
He glanced at his watch. “After that, though, you’re on your own. I need to get back to my office by three for a phone call.”
“I’d rather be on my own right now.” Brave words, not such a brave heart, but she meant it. She wouldn’t accept help, especially his.
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head and reaching out, untied the ribbon he’d put around his waist. It meant she had to touch him, but she’d touched plenty of men before, so it should be no big deal.
But it was.
The minute her fingers brushed against his belly, her entire body tightened. It was only because he was an exceptionally fine male specimen, she told herself, careful to not meet his mocking gaze as she hung up the apron.
“You’re going to refuse my help?” He looked shocked, as if no one had ever turned him down before.
“Yep.”
“Well then, princess—or maybe I should be calling you Ms. Stubborn?”
“Just…go.”
He stood there for another moment, watching her. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I always am.”
His lips curved. “Yeah. I guess you’d better get busy.”
He seemed so calm. Of course he did! He wasn’t about to cook and serve a room full of strangers!
“Call me if you change your mind.”
And admit she was wrong? Not likely.
He left her alone.
Alone.
With a stove.
Well, wasn’t this just a fine and dandy mess? But with the determination and grit that had gotten her through far worse disasters than this, she got busy.
Busy destroying pan after pan.
3
WHAT AN IRONIC twist of fate. Holly had spent much of her adult life flitting from one job to another, gaining a myriad of experiences that she could use in life, and yet the one thing she needed now—okay, the two things—were both something she hadn’t a clue about.
Cooking and people skills.
Anything else, anything, and she might have been able to wing it. Well, cooking she could learn if she had to. After all, they did have a little invention called a cookbook.
But the people skill thing… Being sweet and kind and warm to complete strangers who didn’t know her from Eve? Serving them whatever they needed, and doing it with a smile so that they’d want to come back? That involved trust, lots of it, and Holly didn’t trust easily. She didn’t trust at all.
This was going to be the biggest challenge of her life.
But she wouldn’t give up, even if it meant gritting her teeth and forcing smiles until her jaw was tired. Whatever the people in Café Nirvana wanted, she would find a way to give them. The business would thrive, the Mendozas would eventually sell it, and her parents would look at her with stars in their eyes.
And she could go home.
Home.
That she didn’t really know where home was had her smile faltering there for a moment, but she’d figure that out, too. Soon as she got this serving thing down.
Since Holly had burned just about everything she’d ever attempted to cook, she decided to go with the theory that it was late afternoon by now, and therefore between lunch and dinner, when no food was required.
And what would she do about dinnertime? Well, she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. For now, though, she’d been hiding out in the kitchen long enough. She picked up a pitcher of ice water, pasted a smile on her face and headed out to the lion’s den—er, dining area. Show time.
The first thing she did was scan the counter.
Not that she was looking for the tall, rugged and annoyingly handsome sheriff, because she wasn’t.
And anyway, he wasn’t there. A good thing, because he both distracted and flustered her.
And no one was allowed to live once they’d flustered her.
She was doubly glad she hadn’t let him help her because she really hated to be indebted to anyone. Holly Stone made her own way in this world, and she always would.
The tables had practically emptied out, not a positive sign. With her smile still glued in place, she walked to the closet table and nodded to the man who sat there glaring at her.
He weighed 250 pounds minimum, and looked as if he lifted cars for a living. His striped uniform shirt was streaked with grease and the tag on his right collarbone said his name was Dan.
“Hello, Dan,” she said in what she hoped was a pleasant voice. She’d read somewhere people liked to be called by name. She started to fill up his water.
“I wanted food,” he said. “An hour ago.”
“I know,” she said in her nicest voice. “But there’s a small problem with that. There won’t be any more food served until dinnertime. Not today.”
“What?” He was not only unpleasantly surprised, but angry on top of that. “You’re kidding me. What kind of restaurant doesn’t serve food?”
This didn’t bode well for her tip. She kept pouring, determined to make things okay. “Well, you see—”
She broke off when he let out a high-pitched, very girly scream and stood up, dancing around, flailing his arms, looking like Tinkerbell on steroids.
She’d overfilled his cup. Ice water right in his lap.
Well, darn it, he’d distracted her! She whirled to grab a towel off the counter—and wasn’t it ever so wonderful to see that Riley was back, sitting there as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.
“Problem?” he asked.
Holly ignored him to rush back to her dancing customer. He had a huge water stain across the front of his pants. “Here.” She tossed the towel at him because she wasn’t about to dab at his lap herself.
It hit him in the face.
He stopped bouncing, yanked the towel away from his mouth and glared at her. “You,” he said.
He towered over her, really, really unhappy about having ice water poured over his…parts.
“Now, Dan.” Riley stood up, a friendly smile on his face. “It was just an accident.”
Dan didn’t respond to that, just gave Holly one of those looks that made her nervous for her own body parts.
“And with it being such a hot one outside,” Riley continued easily, “I’d think all that cold water would cool you right off, just like a nice swim in a stream. Don’t you think, Dan?”
Dan drew in a deep breath before he grimaced at Riley. “Yeah, a cool stream.”
“That’s it. Why don’t you just sit on back down now and relax?”
“Don’t worry, Sheriff.” He shook his head. “I like you too much to cause any trouble here. You can sit back down, too.”
Riley nodded and smiled warmly as he did just that. “Good man, Dan.”
“But I ain’t coming back. Not without Marge serving me. She never spilled water on me that made my d—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “I miss her already.”
Holly was just relieved that she was still among the living, and that Dan didn’t do anything else but finish drying off before walking out.
Without tipping her.
The entire room had fallen silent, which wasn’t saying much since she had only three other tables with people at them.
Oh, and the grinning sheriff—she couldn’t forget him.
Without a word, she went into the kitchen. What an idiot, she told herself. Spilling water like a nervous little ninny. She wasn’t nervous!
And she wasn’t a ninny! She was Holly Stone, woman with nerves of steel.
Determined, she searched the huge refrigerator and came up with a
fresh apple pie—thank God. Renewed with hope, she went back out to offer it to her dwindling customer base.
“Looking good,” Riley said as she passed him.
She wondered if he meant the pie or her, but then she figured he must have meant the pie because she was still wearing hot pink over red silk, for God’s sake, not to mention she was beginning to sweat.
She looked about as far from good as you could get.
“Uh…Holly?” Riley called out to her. “Holly!”
He spoke earnestly, but knowing he just wanted to rub her failures in, she kept going. With her hands full she couldn’t see her feet, and in the aisle between the counter and the tables, she tripped over a lump that screeched “meow!”
The pie flew through the air and landed on the lap of the woman with the perpetually slipping glasses.
Mindy, the librarian, she told Holly, swiping the pie off her glasses.
She didn’t tip when she left, either.
On her hands and knees, Holly scrubbed at the floor, trying not to acknowledge the self-pity threatening to swallow her whole.
Only three feet away from her were the long legs of the sheriff. He still sat, calm as you please, at the counter.
With all her might, she wished she’d spilled the pie on him.
Harry, who was freshly awoken from his nap, thanks to her, leaped to the counter. Right in front of her, only inches away from Riley’s drink, he sat down and began to wash himself.
Oh, perfect. Her customers were dwindling fast, and she had a big, fat, ugly cat sitting on the counter, cleaning his paws.
Disgusted, she stood and tried to shoo him off.
Clearly insulted, Harry leaped again, aiming for the closest table. According to Murphy’s Law, this was naturally one of the few tables actually occupied by a paying guest.
The man there stroked Harry. “Don’t worry about that mean woman who hates cats,” he crooned, glaring at Holly.
From behind Holly came something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Whirling, she glared at Riley, but he was just sitting there, looking guileless.
She sent him a long look for good measure, but he simply leaned back, stretched his lean, toned body out, put his hands behind his head and winked at her.
The man who Harry had practically attacked was heading for the front door.