Читать книгу The Christmas Wedding Swap - Allyson Charles - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Luke Hamilton stared at the black and chrome of his Harley like it was a dying friend. After the mechanic had told him it would be at least a week until the part he needed would arrive, Luke had tuned the man out. It would take a day or two after the part got there to fix the damned thing. What in the hell was he going to do for a couple of weeks in Pineville, Michigan? When he’d driven through the town he had thought it quaint, charming even. A slice of Americana from a bygone year. But when his bike had spluttered, wheezed, and flat-lined in front of the old courthouse, the small-town charm had clogged his throat.

“…probably gonna run you, oh, twenty-five hundred.” The mechanic ran a rag over a gear. A streak of grease stained the patch on his blue pinstriped coveralls, making the name “Fred” look like “Fled.”

“Wait. Twenty-five hundred? Dollars?” Luke spluttered. That pulled his attention back quick.

“Sure as hell ain’t donuts. And that’s if we can get the part through Bertie. If we have to find another supplier, well…” Fred shrugged his shoulders, an apologetic gesture that didn’t look sorry at all. Of course, Fred didn’t have to pay the exorbitant amount. But if it’d get him out of Pleasantville, Luke would pay it. He didn’t have much choice. The tow truck driver who had taken him to Gas and Stuff the day before had told him it was the only shop in town that worked on motorcycles.

He rubbed his palm against his right eye, trying to ease the stabbing pain that had become an altogether too frequent visitor since his life had turned to crap. Twenty-five hundred bucks. He sighed. What the hell? That was a bill he could actually afford. “Okay, order the parts. And I’ll pay for any rush you can put on it.”

Fred tucked his rag into his back pocket. “Will do. And I’ll probably get my loaner back in a day or two if you need it.”

“Thanks.” Luke strode through the large garage door, zipping his jacket up against the biting wind. He didn’t know why he would need to rent a car in Pineville. The downtown was small enough to walk in twenty minutes. He’d found lodgings just a couple of blocks off Main Street, a lot with six small cabins. His unit had a kitchenette, a TV, a single bed, and not much else. But it felt more private than the other motel in town. And privacy was what he needed. He’d been able to pay cash for the week, a precaution that might have been wasted. Luke didn’t know if process servers could access credit card records, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. His restaurant, his livelihood, was at stake.

An entire week in Pineville. Maybe more. Sighing, he hiked up the street and turned left when he hit the main drag. His steps sputtered to a stop. Yesterday, the town had been a work in progress, stores changing out their front windows from the oranges and browns of autumn to a blaze of reds and greens. Now it looked like Christmas had vomited all over the small downtown.

He was used to nice Christmas displays. The big department stores of Chicago had their windows. Hell, he even had his staff decorate a little tree in the corner of his restaurant and hang twinkle lights over the exposed rafters. But downtown Pineville was like a Christmas theme park.

Behind his reflection in the window next to him, a metal tree stood in as a makeshift hanger for delicate bits of lace and satin. His mouth dropped open. An array of panties, a mix of red, green, and white; polka dots and stripes; some with bows on the front; and one sexy red thong with a big bow hanging down the back were draped from the metal arms, making them the weirdest ornaments Luke had ever seen. A Santa hat topped the tree where a star should be. Luke stepped back and craned his neck to look at the flowery pink writing above the window: Satin & Lace. He’d never seen that in a Chicago window.

The next storefront was a whirlwind of wintry whites and icy blues and pinks. Icicles and stars hung from the ceiling, the breeze from a shopper pushing through the front door causing them to sway. A little girl wearing a blue princess dress and an elf hat had her little fingers pressed to the window, eyes wide, trying to take it all in. He stepped around her parents, the couple so fused to each other’s sides as to make one block.

Christ, even the lamp poles were wound with thick vines of green garland. Wreaths adorned with large red bows hung from each one. Christmas was all well and good, but this was a bit much.

With time to waste and a desire to escape the Norman Rockwell image, Luke quickened his pace and made for the coffee shop across the street. The front windows were painted with snowmen and reindeer and who the hell knew what else. He rolled his eyes and pushed through the door. He released a deep breath when he saw the interior was fairly normal. A small tree of ornaments stood on the counter by the register, but aside from that and the front windows, The Pantry was Christmas-free.

He made his way across the black-and-white-tiled floor to an empty seat at the counter. Sliding onto the red stool, he plucked a laminated menu from behind the napkin dispenser in front of him. He sniffed the air, and his shoulders unclenched a bit. At least he wouldn’t be deprived of good food that week. The main restaurant and the areas he could see behind the counter all looked clean, and the waitresses were tidy in black slacks and cream-colored smocks.

Except for the woman chatting with a customer at the end of the counter. Even just seeing her profile, he knew it was her—that mess of a woman he’d helped the day before after she’d slipped and spilled her bags. He’d been distracted over his bike, but he remembered a round bottom, an obnoxious sweater, and a cute pink blush on her cheeks.

Today, she didn’t look quite so messy. Her clothes weren’t fancy: tight jeans that fit her just right and a white V-neck t-shirt. Half of her platinum blonde hair was pulled off her face, with a long trail of curls falling down to her shoulders. The way she was resting on her elbows, Luke knew the customer she was talking to was getting a nice view of her cleavage.

Luke pursed his lips. Maybe he’d been too hasty turning down her tour guide offer.

She threw her head back and laughed at something the man in front of her said, her neck arching just the way Luke liked when he—

She straightened and looked right at him. Shit. He tried to school his features. No need to be caught ogling the crazy bag lady. She nodded to her customer and made her way down the counter, stopping in front of Luke with her pad out.

“What can I get for you?” Her smile was friendly, professional, and held no hint of recognition.

Luke narrowed his eyes. What the hell? Had she hit her head when she’d fallen? Luke might not be a model, but he knew he was far from forgettable. Women came onto him all the time at his restaurant. Shit, he even got propositioned by men on occasion. Part of that might have been because of his position as head chef and owner of Le Cygne Noir. The restaurant industry had its own subculture of celebrities, fans, and groupies, and Luke Hamilton was one of its rock stars. But even before his fame, he more than held his own when it came to the fairer sex.

So when a crazy bag lady—okay, a cute crazy bag lady—acted like he was as unremarkable as last week’s blue plate special, it kind of ticked him off—and got his competitive juices flowing, making him want to wipe that feigned indifference right off her face. It had to be an act. A woman didn’t flirt with a guy one day and forget him the next.

Game on, lady.

Then he remembered she was getting married. He drew his eyebrows together. Why had she asked him out if she was engaged? Was showing strange men around town something the residents of Pineville did automatically? Michigan’s version of being neighborly?

His gaze flickered to her left hand. No ring. Running a restaurant, it was understandable that she might not wear one. And she did run this place; Luke could tell. She either owned it or managed it.

“Do you need more time to look at the menu?” she asked. “I could get you some nuts while you wait. Maybe some almonds?”

A slow smile curved his lips. So she did remember.

She raised an eyebrow and tapped her pen against her pad, bored.

Luke cleared his throat. That wasn’t the usual response he got from women. “What’s good today?” he asked, leaning in and upping the wattage on his never-fail smile. She was engaged, and his code wouldn’t let him plow in another man’s field. But he would at least charm her into a little harmless flirting or a sincere smile. Something. A coffee shop owner in Podunk, Michigan, wouldn’t be the one woman immune to his charms.

Palms flat on the counter, she edged toward him, a hint of cinnamon and vanilla coming with her. “Honey, everything I do is good.”

He chuckled. Sassy. He liked sassy.

She lifted an eyebrow, her dark brown eyes glittering under the fluorescent lights, calling him on his bullshit. She would be no man’s pushover.

“I like a woman with confidence in her work, but everyone has a specialty.” He glanced down at the menu. Solid comfort food, and all sure to clog the arteries by the time a person hit fifty. He wondered what type of oil she used back in her kitchen. “Or a recipe you’re exceptionally proud of. For a man who helped clean up your little spill yesterday, I’m sure you must have some good recommendations.”

The slightest pink flush stained her cheeks, and Luke leaned back in his seat, savoring the moment. The blonde was cute when she was flustered, and if he couldn’t get a smile, he’d be satisfied with her blush. Knocking a woman off-kilter was always a definite advantage.

Not that she acknowledged his advantage. She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You picked up a couple bags of candy. Get over yourself.”

Luke glanced to his neighbor on the right, but the man kept shoveling food into his mouth, seemingly unsurprised by the woman’s snark. Luke could never get away with talking to a customer like that at his restaurant. But maybe she was only that way with him. He had wanted to provoke a reaction.

The blonde looked across the diner. “Hey, Joe, clean your crap off the table next to you. I’ve got paying customers who want to sit down.”

Okay, then. Not only with Luke. He leaned forward. “You must not have had this restaurant for very long.” The woman was obviously in over her head, poor thing. Probably half crazy from planning her wedding. “If I could give you a piece of advice…”

Her gaze cut back to him, sharp as a razor. “Listen, buddy, there’s nothing you have to offer that I could possibly want, least of all your advice.” She tapped her pen on her pad. “Now, what are you hungry for?”

“Allison!” a harried voice called.

His blonde straightened and looked over his shoulder. “Hi, Sadie. What’s up?”

A pretty woman stepped next to him, looking as panicked as a stray mutt cornered by the dogcatcher. “When can you take a break? I really need to go over my list for the wedding. I’m so behind, but I know you’re busy. Do you have five minutes?”

Cute Bag Lady, aka Allison, nodded and pointed to a stool at the end of the counter, two customers away from Luke. “Have a seat and get out your list.”

Sadie bit her lip, looking at Luke. “It can wait until you finish with your customer.”

A snort. “He can’t decide. I’ll get back to him later.” She moved away and leaned over the counter in front of Sadie. She turned to the side to look at the notebook Sadie placed on the counter, giving Luke a superb view of her curvy backside. It almost made up for her dismissal.

He shucked his jacket and hung it on the back of his seat. He’d obviously struck a nerve when he’d reminded her of her wipe-out. Although he didn’t understand why women got so embarrassed about shit like that. As long as you didn’t turf it with a butcher knife in your hand and wind up shish kebabbed, it was all good.

Another waitress came by with a pot of steaming coffee, and Luke flipped his mug over. And almost wished he hadn’t. He grimaced. The coffee tasted like diesel. But the mug was warm, so he wrapped his hands around it and settled in, trying not to make his perusal of Allison too obvious. With a view like that, he was content to wait for his food. And he had nothing but time on his hands.

What was he going to do with himself for a week in Pineville? The two-month road trip he’d hastily planned two days ago was going to be bad enough. The thought of all that time out of the kitchen was enough to give him hives. But at least he’d be on the move, seeing something new every day, keeping busy.

Allison shifted, and Luke could see the wear on the seat of her stone-washed jeans. Not that he’d been eyeballing her ass. “That’s done, that’s done, and that will be done by the end of today,” she said, taking a pen from her friend’s hand and checking off items.

Sadie leaned back in her seat. “Oh my God. You’re a lifesaver. I really should be paying you. You’ve planned my wedding more than I have.”

“As maid of honor, that’s my job.” She reached behind the counter and grabbed a coffee pot and a couple of mugs. “Besides, you’re paying me for the cost of the food.”

“Yes, but not for your catering services,” Sadie said, exasperation in every word. “You deserve to be compensated.”

“It’s my wedding gift.” She lifted her platinum hair off her neck and flapped her hand, blowing air on her nape. “And speaking of catering, I want you to try the appetizers. Ramon has some baking in the oven, but they should be close enough to being ready for you to get an idea. I’ll be right back.”

She sashayed into the kitchen. Okay, it was probably a normal walk, not a sashay, but pretty much any way she moved in those jeans was going to look sexy. And she wasn’t engaged. There was no way a woman with her own wedding to plan would agree to cater someone else’s, no matter how good a friend.

Luke drummed his feet against the floor. That opened up a whole bonanza of possibilities. He had a week to turn bag lady’s snark into something a lot sweeter. Pineville was suddenly looking anything but boring.

A shriek and a slew of heated Spanish came from the kitchen. An angry man yelled that he quit. A pan crashed into a sink, and a door slammed before the kitchen quieted. Aside from Sadie, who was chewing her lip like it was made out of chocolate, no one else seemed to take notice of the shouting in the kitchen. As kitchen fights went, it had been tame.

Allison stepped through the swing door, a towel wrapped tightly between her two hands. She shuffled over to her friend. “Uh, Sadie?” She cleared her throat. “We may have hit a little snag. Nothing that I can’t fix.” She was quick to add, “But a temporary problem.”

Rubbing her temples, Sadie closed her eyes and took deep breaths. After a couple of moments she clasped her hands in front of her and said, “Okay. What’s the problem?”

“Ramon just quit. He wasn’t going to be doing most of the cooking for your wedding reception—I am—but…”

“But without your head cook here, you’ll have to take over and won’t have time to cater my wedding.” Sadie nodded her head twice, as if answering a question only she could hear. “I should have listened to Colt. He wanted to fly to the Bahamas, get married on the beach, and have our honeymoon all together. One easy package. But I had to plan and organize this—”

Allison grabbed Sadie’s hands. “Everything will be fine. I promise. I’ll figure it out.” Her eyes told a different story. She was worried.

Luke glanced through the order window into the kitchen, pursing his lips. An idea formed. He had at least a week with nothing to do…

“Why’d he quit? Can you get him back?” A thread of desperation wound through Sadie’s words.

“No.” Allison’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “He got another job, and I guess decided to wait until the most inconvenient moment to walk out. He and I have had some fights before about his smoking. And it wasn’t cigarettes. He wasn’t a fan of my meddling.”

Luke stood. “I can help.” Both women turned to look at him, twin expressions of surprise crossing their faces. “I’ve got nothing to do for a couple days, so I can help in the kitchen, at least until you find a new cook.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got it covered.” She turned her back on him, dismissive.

His back tensed. Little Miss Bag Lady didn’t think he was good enough for a diner? “I can cook.” He put his hands on his hips. He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend his culinary chops or why he was determined to see that smile from the blonde again, the one she’d given him yesterday, the one that had been tentative, resolute, and hopeful, all at once. But he wanted it. And he did have a week with nothing else to do.

Actually, he had two months to waste, two months until the statute of limitations ran out on the breach-of-contract lawsuit a vendor was trying to nail him with. When he’d heard a process server was looking for him two days ago, he’d taken off on his motorcycle, determined to avoid the summons that had his name stamped across it. Two months was a long time to be away from his restaurant, but he had great managers and sous chefs who could follow his recipes to the last teaspoon. The drop off in business that might occur with his absence was a necessary gamble. If he got served and lost the lawsuit, his restaurant would be gone.

Maybe a road trip across America wasn’t the way to go. As a hideout, Pineville, Michigan, would be close to perfect. Who the hell would think to look for him here? The charm factor of the town had just doubled.

He stepped to Sadie’s side and reached a hand across the counter to his sexy bag lady. “Hi, I’m Luke.”

She sighed and took his hand. “Allison.” They stood there for a beat, hands and eyes locked. “And thanks for the offer, but I need someone with at least line-cook experience. Just because you can fry bacon for breakfast doesn’t mean you can cook in a diner.”

He tightened his smile and his hand. “I can cook more than bacon. You’re short a cook today. Let me fill in, and I’ll show you what I can do.” He’d cook the best damned food this greasy spoon had ever seen.

Tugging her hand from his, she rubbed her palm along the hip of her jeans. “I don’t—”

“That sounds like a great offer. Don’t you think, Allison?” Sadie turned wide, pleading eyes on her friend. “At least until you can find someone else.” Spinning her stool around, she gave him a grateful smile. “My wedding is on Christmas Eve, and it’s really too late for me to hire another caterer, so you are doing us a huge favor. Isn’t he, Allison?” Silent communication passed between the two women.

Allison took a deep breath, the white cotton of her shirt stretching across her generous breasts. “Yeah, yeah.” Shrugging, she lifted one side of her mouth, giving him half a smile. “Thanks for your offer. As long as you can follow my recipes and my orders, you’ve got yourself a job.”

The triumph of getting Allison to agree faded. What had he done? It had been a long time since he’d taken orders in a kitchen, and the thought made his eye twitch.

Allison leaned over the counter, and stared at his feet. Her shoulders sagged, and she muttered, “Crap,” under her breath.

Luke glanced down at his boots and back at Allison, for the first time wondering if maybe her quirkiness bordered more on crazy. And what did that make him? He had convinced the woman to hire him for a job he was supremely overqualified for and had at least the next week to look forward to taking orders from a ballbuster with a foot fixation. Not his smartest move. Being a competitive guy, he looked forward to making her eat her words about his abilities right after she ate his cooking. But that satisfaction was hardly worth working in a greasy spoon. He could only guess that the lack of sleep from months of worrying about his restaurant had clouded his judgment. Rocking back on his heels, he blew out a deep breath.

There was nothing for it. He’d made the offer. And truly had nothing better to do.

Luke Hamilton, voted one of the top ten chefs in America for two years’ running, was now a fry cook at a nothing diner sitting smack-dab in the middle of nowhere.