by Amelia Wilde
“Daddy—” Minnie is reaching for a basket with little plastic containers of jam.
I put my hand on hers and pretend to shake it. “We’ll get pancakes in just a minute.”
“Good morning.” The voice doesn’t sound middle-aged. “Welcome to the Short Stack.” There’s another woman coming through the door, eyes on her apron, and holy shit she’s not middle-aged. She’s young and gorgeous, and her auburn hair is pulled into a shining bun on the top of her head, perfect somehow even though it’s that messy style that I can’t stand. That I usually can’t stand, anyway. “I’m—”
She brings her hands around in front of her, reaching for her notepad, and her eyes come up to meet mine. They’re green and clear and huge, and they go wide at the sight of me, her words stopping abruptly.
My heart pounds in my chest. I want to look away, but I can’t. I absolutely can’t.
Oh, shit.
3
Valentine
The guy sitting at the front table—my favorite table in the house—isn’t one of a crowd of old men who will require constant tending and refill after refill of coffee while I dodge hands that “accidentally” reach towards my ass. He’s not an old man at all.
He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Sexiest person, if I’m being honest, and one look into his blue eyes has heat rushing down my spine and up into my cheeks.
I was saying something. What was I saying? I have to keep saying it—that’s what I’m here to do—but he’s scowling at me, looking at me with a certain darkness in his blue eyes, and it’s utterly captivating and terrifying all at once.
He’s not alone.
That fact hits me a few long heartbeats later, when the tiny figure in the high chair facing the window spins around, a big grin on her face. “Heyo,” she says, waving a chubby hand in the air at me. “Pancakes. Pancakes, pease.”
Snap out of it, Valentine. A toddler I can handle, and at least she’s forced my gaze to her so I can suck in a deep breath.
“Wow,” I say, my voice way too high. I sound like an idiot. I clear my throat, but my entire body is pulsing with the sight of this man, the energy radiating off of him and filling the entire front room of the Short Stack. I have to get it together. “Pancakes coming right up.” Oh, shit. Should I be taking an order from a toddler without even getting permission from—well, he must be her dad, if he’s here with her, especially this early. He looks young to be a dad, but then again—
It takes everything I have to look back into his smoldering eyes. “Let me start over.” I’m practically choking on every single word out of my mouth, and I have no idea why. “I’m Valentine, and I’ll be taking care of you this morning.”
“Great.” His voice is low and gruff, a little gravelly, like he’s short on sleep. If he has a toddler, he’s probably always short on sleep. My mind spins into overdrive. I have no idea who this man is, and I’ve never heard of him before. He must be new in town, because I can’t imagine that the old biddies who come in around ten on the weekdays would keep him a secret if he were one of their grandsons. He reaches for a menu, his muscles flexing beneath the fabric of his gray t-shirt, and suddenly I can’t breathe again.
“Pancakes?” His daughter is looking at me with the most charming grin I’ve ever seen on a child. I have to resist the urge to sit down next to her and strike up a conversation because I’m pretty certain it would be the cutest damn thing ever to grace the face of the earth.
“You did a good job ordering pancakes, Minnie,” he says to her, eyes moving over the print on the menu. “I’ll have the All-American breakfast.” He gathers up the other menu, and that’s when I realize I’m still standing in the middle of the room like an idiot.
I move closer to the table, which is like throwing myself into the surface of the sun. I take the menus, and one falls out of my hands and back onto the table. The little girl bursts out laughing, the sound pure delight. “You drop it.” She points at the menu and I grin down at her while I pick it up.
“I did drop it, yes.” God, my voice sounds so weird and strange that I can hardly believe it’s mine. I turn my attention back to this man—this unbelievably hot man—and try again. “You said the All-American, right? White, wheat, or rye for the toast?”
“Rye.” He doesn’t return my smile, though the corner of his lip quirks upward a little.
“And did you want hash browns or American potatoes?”
“I thought it was the All-American breakfast.”
My face can’t get any hotter, but then it does. “Well, it is, but we offer two kinds of—”
“I know. I was joking.”
“Oh.” I laugh, but it sounds nervous. I wanted it to sound confident. “I couldn’t tell there for a minute.” And now I just sound hokey and small town and like everything I don’t want to be in this moment. In this moment I want to be so irresistible that he can’t help but get up from the table, take me by the hand, and...
...and what? Abandon his ridiculously cute daughter in the middle of the restaurant, not to mention any other customers that might come in and need my waitressing skills?
Not going to happen. Not now, not ever.
“Hash browns.”
“Great choice!”
His eyes are so blue. They’re like the ocean. They’re like the lake on a calm day. They’re like a million clichés, only they’re alive in a way that I’ve never seen before. Alive and unhappy. Alive and almost tortured, his expression is so intense. I could just fall into those eyes.
Which is exactly what happens.
I’m in the middle of trying to decide whether his eyes are more sky-like or ocean-like when his daughter leans forward and sticks her head into my field of vision, her head almost parallel with the table. “Thank you!” She chirps the words, waving her hand, and I realize I’ve been standing here, silent, staring at this man for so long that I’m surprised he didn’t say a thing.
And now I’ve been dismissed by a toddler.
“You’re so welcome!” I tell her, wishing desperately that the blush would disappear from my cheeks, and turn on my heel.
I’m three steps toward the door when it hits me—I didn’t ask him about his eggs, and Jesus, it’s painful, having to stop and turn around with his eyes still burning into my back.
He’s still not smiling, but he is looking at me, his arms crossed over his chest, something close to a smirk on his face.
I clear my throat. “Oh, and there was one more thing.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not giving you my number.” His tone is so flat that I know it’s not a joke. Not this time.
“I wasn’t going to—” I swallow my pride and the sudden wound rising in my chest, because damn, was that an asshole thing to say. Only every nerve is so alive with him that I can’t think of anything to say back. I’m lost for a witty retort. “How do you like your eggs?”
Something flashes through his expression—guilt?—but he doesn’t apologize. He’s going to say that he likes them fertilized, isn’t he? I almost laugh out loud at the joke he hasn’t made, that he wouldn’t make, not with that brooding attitude. Eggs. Focus on the eggs. “Over easy.”
“Great.” It’s a real effort to get the words out now. “I’ll be right back with that pancake.”
I’m in the kitchen before it comes to me. I wouldn’t take your number even if you gave it.
Damn it.
4
Ryder
The second she disappears back into the kitchen, her shoulders tense beneath her black t-shirt, I sag against the seat and suck in a deep breath. It’s like all the air is flooding back into the room.
I run a hand through my hair, and Minnie finally achieves her main goal since we’ve walked into the restaurant. She overturns the holder in the middle of the table and clutches a packet of grape jelly in her little fist. “Help me?” She holds out the packet, her eyes big and blue, a little grin on her face. My heart literally gets warmer, though it’s hard to tell
beneath the fire that’s rushing through my entire body.
I don’t want Valentine, the waitress at the Short Stack, this strange café in a town I don’t want to live in. I don’t want anything to do with her. I especially don’t want her to come back out here and smile at me the way she was smiling at me before, somehow shy and confident at the same time. I definitely don’t want to wrap one arm around her waist and steer her toward the back of this place, where I’m sure there’s some sickeningly charming bathroom that I can take her into and lock the door behind us, push her up against the wall, and—
“Daddy, help!” Minnie waves the jelly insistently at me, pushing it toward me, and I take it in my hand, pulling at the plastic corner. This isn’t the kind of thing I normally let her do in a restaurant, but my head is a blur, and I have to collect myself before Valentine comes back.
Why did I have to be such a dick?
Not that it matters. I’m going to give her a big tip, and then I’ll be on my way. We’re never going to see each other again after this.
I laugh out loud at the thought. It’ll be work to avoid her in a town this size. Valentine can’t just work at the café twenty-four hours a day. She at least has to go grocery shopping, and there’s only one place in town that’s not so expensive it makes my head spin.
I close my eyes for a few moments.
“Spoon?” I unwrap a spoon from the napkin in front of Minnie’s high chair and hand it to her. She digs into the jelly, beaming at me like I’ve handed her the keys to a kingdom a hell of a lot better than this place. “So good,” she says, and I laugh again. The knot at the center of my gut untwists a little, like it always does when she smiles, when she laughs.
I don’t know what I’m thinking, letting myself get swept away like this by the waitress, of all people. She’s the last thing I need right now.
Now or ever.
Minnie points out the window. “I heard a doggie! Barking!”
“Do you see a dog?”
Focus. Focus on the only person who matters in the entire world.
I carry on a conversation with Minnie about the dog, which comes into view a minute later. It’s a golden retriever, clearly excited as hell to be alive. I can’t say I felt the same when I walked into this café. The only thing I was excited about was the prospect of not having to make breakfast after the long hell that was last night. Listen, even if your daughter is cute as hell, when she decides she’s afraid of her own blankets at two in the morning, after you’ve finally convinced yourself to fall asleep...
Well, she’s only two. And here in the café, while she giggles and eats jam out of the container with a too-big spoon, I can’t even be pissed at her.
“One pancake, coming up.” Valentine sings the words like I didn’t just dismiss her out of hand. My chest goes tight thinking about saying those words to her, but I can’t force an apology out of my mouth. Her face is still scarlet, but she puts the plate delicately on the table just out of Minnie’s reach.
When Minnie sees the pancake, it’s like she’s won the lottery. She clutches her small fists in front of her and grins so wide I can see almost all of her teeth. “Mickey Mouse!” She points at the pancake, which is, no shit, in the shape of a Mickey Mouse, with a whipped cream smile on it. “A happy face!”
“It is a happy face!” Valentine exclaims, her eyes going wide like she’s just noticing the whipped cream for the first time. “You’re a lucky girl!” She doesn’t look self-conscious until she looks back at me, her mouth pressing into a thin smile like she’s trying to play it cool and failing. “Your breakfast will be out in just a minute. I thought I’d bring the pancake out first, since—” She tries again. “I hope you don’t mind waiting another minute.”
“We don’t have any other plans.” I mean it to be lighthearted, some kind of a joke, but I’m so fucking terse instead that Valentine blinks. She doesn’t flinch, but I see the falter in her smile, the flicker in her big green eyes.
I want to make her smile.
I want to do more than make her smile, but none of the things flying through my imagination are in any way appropriate for the Short Stack café.
“Well, that—that sounds like a relaxing day.” Relaxing? With a two-year-old? I don’t think so. “Do you like the beach?”
“Beach!” Minnie chirps, already digging her spoon into one of the whipped-cream eyes and putting it in her mouth as fast as she can. “Playground!”
“We do have a beach with a playground, right by the lake,” says Valentine, looking at Minnie, who puts on her most beguiling expression.
“More ice cream?” Minnie holds up her hands in a plea sweet enough to break anyone’s heart.
“Do you mean whipped cream?” says Valentine, cocking her head to the side.
“Yeah!”
Valentine looks back at me. “Is that okay?”
I put a smile on my face. I’m sure it looks hideous as hell. “Of course.”
Valentine grins, and the sight of her smile makes my entire chest go warm. She disappears into the back, coming back a few moments later with an industrial-sized can of whipped cream in her hand. She holds it over Minnie’s pancake. “Tell me when!” Minnie just claps her hands, giggling, and Valentine starts to put more whipped cream onto the pancake, the hiss of the can making Minnie laugh harder.
Then she says it—the thing I’ve been waiting for her to say all this time, the thing I’ve been dreading since I walked into this place, the thing that pisses me off, rage flooding my veins.
5
Valentine
I know it’s a mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth. His little daughter, Minnie—how fucking cute is that?—is laughing as I put dollop after dollop of whipped cream onto her pancake, and I’m so lost in the moment that I let them slip out without thinking, like some kind of idiot.
“Oh, your mom is going to be mad at me when you get home!”
I feel him tense. I don’t have to look at him to know that he’s gone stiff, his jaw clenched. The little girl doesn’t seem to have heard me—she can’t be more than two—but the shift in the air is like a cold front slamming into the restaurant and freezing my blood in my veins. Goosebumps prick at the back of my neck.
Do something. Do something, Valentine, before this turns into the most awkward moment in the history of the world.
“Listen,” I say, straightening up, forcing myself to look into those endless blue eyes. The hard set of his chiseled jaw sends a shiver down my spine. He’s pissed. “I shouldn’t have assumed—”
I’m in such a hurry to get the words out that I completely forget about the whipped cream. I’m still holding it when my hands clench in a nervous reaction, pressing down on the nozzle of the canister and spraying a hefty dollop right into the handsome stranger’s face.
The entire world freezes.
His blue eyes go wide, the whipped cream stuck on the stubble on his cheek.
Holy shit.
What did I just do?
I’m torn between wanting to join in his daughter’s laughter and wanting to run the hell away, as fast as my legs can carry me. Is he going to be livid? There aren’t any other customers yet, but they could arrive any second to find this man shouting at me, or at least shouting at me for as long as Sharon would let him, which probably isn’t very long.
“Daddy! Face!” Minnie’s voice breaks into the moment, filled with glee. “Daddy’s face!” she says again, and both of us look at her. The blonde curlicue at the back of her head shakes with laughter, and she waves her fork in the air, pointing it at her dad. Then the fork clatters to the floor, and she covers her mouth with her little hands, letting out a big belly laugh. “Daddy ice cream! Face!”
I look back at him just in time to see the shield over his face crack and crumble in the face of his daughter’s laughter, and something in my heart surges with a warmth I have no business feeling about him or any other man at this point, really. He looks at the little girl and raises one eyebrow
. “Is there something on my face?”
This is the new funniest thing she’s ever heard, because she points again, giggling with her nose wrinkled. “Daddy’s face!”
“What is it?”
He eggs her on, and suddenly I feel like an extra in a movie starring the two of them. What’s my line? Do I just make a graceful exit back to the kitchen and go on with my life, like a normal person?
“I’m so sorry about that,” I say as Minnie’s laughter dies down and she reaches toward her plate, scooping up whipped cream with her finger and popping it into her mouth.
At the sound of my voice, I see his guard go back up—only not all the way. His shoulders aren’t quite so tense. He narrows his blue eyes, and one corner of his mouth quirks upward in a smolder that’s not quite a smile. A liquid heat spills down my spine.
“You too!” cries Minnie when she finally catches her breath. Her eyes are shining with laughter, and she stabs her finger in the air toward me, small eyebrows raised. “You too!”
“It’s only fair.” His voice is a smooth rumble, and when I look back at him I swear I feel it all the way down to my— “You put whipped cream on my face. She’s right. You should have some on yours, too.”
I raise my eyebrows back at Minnie and try to ignore the thunder of my heart. “I need some on my face, too?”
“Yes!” She throws her head back and claps her hands together. “Your face too!”
“Well, I guess—” I raise the canister toward my own cheek, slowly, slowly, and Minnie can’t handle it. Peals of laughter ring out over the restaurant and for once I don’t care if anyone else walks in.
“No way.” He’s a movement beside me, a strong, muscled movement in that t-shirt that clings to his biceps. I shouldn’t swoon into his arms, right? That would be too much. That would just be too much. This man, with his blue eyes, with his unbelievable smirk, reaches for the oversized canister of whipped cream in my hands and plucks it away, then locks eyes with me.