Page 16 of Recipe for Rivals
“Go home,” I repeated. “We can get Lacey in here.”
“She’s in at noon.”
“Pat?”
“Nope. She helps at the school on her days off.”
I wracked my brain, but the rest of the waiters were high school kids.
“I’ll make the meatloaf,” Dal said, freeing me up to waitress.
Gigi didn’t look convinced.
“Between the two of us, we can handle the place until noon,” I pressed. “Go home and rest. What’s the point of having me here if you don’t use me?”
She reached for her cup and knocked it over, flooding the counter and the floor with dark soda. “Fine,” she relented, staring at the mess. “I’ll go take a nap and return less clumsy.”
I picked up a rag and got to work mopping up the drink. “Don’t set an alarm. Just sleep.”
Gigi grunted, but she opened the cupboard and took out her phone, keys, and jacket, so I still won. She paused, looking at the floor. “It’s Phoebe, my old college roommate. Do you remember her?”
“Yes.” I picked up ice cubes and tossed them in the sink.
“She just found out she has a brain tumor. They didn’t give her long. And, you know, she never had children, and Bob has been gone for almost fifteen years.”
“So she’s alone,” I said, realizing why this would deeply affect my aunt. Their situations were not so very different, to say nothing of how much she cared about Phoebe.
“She has friends. Her neighbors are wonderful.”
I put the rag down and pulled Gigi in for a hug. “Go rest. We’ll be fine here.”
She gave a watery smile and sighed on her way out of the kitchen. My heart felt sore from the emotional roller coaster I’d been through over the last few years, but hearing about Phoebe’s situation made me grateful for my health. Carter was a royal tool, but I still had my kids, a warm place to sleep, and bacon whenever I wanted it.
I reached over Dal’s arm and snagged a piece of overdone bacon in the reject pile and chomped down. We couldn’t send it out when it was too crispy, but that was just how I liked it. “Is anyone out there right now?”
“A few cops having breakfast. They might need a coffee refill, and their plates will be ready in about three minutes.”
“Got it.” I pulled a red apron from the wall and tied it around my waist, slipping an order pad and pencil in the pocket. I’d only been on the floor a handful of times to carry food out, and it had been years since I waitressed at a diner in college. It was probably like riding a bike, right? Either way, I’d been jugglingchildren for over eight years, so I could handle a few hours of balancing tables.
I pushed through to the dining room and lifted the pot of coffee from the long Formica counter, carrying it to the booth against the window. Two uniformed officers sat across from each other, sipping at mugs. “More coffee?” I asked.
They looked up in unison. One of them was red-haired, freckled, and wore the curt smile so many cops adopted after years on the force. I would know, because it reminded me of my dad whenever he had been on duty. The other was blond, blue-eyed, and sharp jawed in a way that resembled my ex. He gave me a knowing smile, like he had a secret, and it unnerved me.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Yes, ma’am,” the redhead finally said.
I focused on pouring coffee into his cup, then turned my attention to the blond. “You?”
“Not right now, thank you.”
“Let me know if you need anything. Your breakfasts will be right out.”
I turned to leave when the second cop stopped me. “You new in town?”
Obviously. Having personal conversations with men wasn’t on my list of priorities, but I understood why police officers wanted to know more about me. It was their job to serve and protect, after all. “Yes, I’m here with Gigi for a bit.”
“Only a bit?” Blondie asked.