Page 1 of All for You

Chapter 1

Rachel

The clatter of ceramic plates, the gentle clink of silverware, and the hum of conversation surround me. The syrupy scent of Mrs. Martinez’s famous pecan pie wafts through Bluebonnet Café, along with the pungent aroma of freshly brewed coffee. With every pot I make, I feel a little more settled into this new chapter of my life. I never envisioned starting over in a place like Cupid’s Creek, Texas, population six thousand and thirteen. But here I am.

Honestly, I had no clue where to go when I decided to leave New York. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a destination. I didn’t even know if my leaving would be temporary or permanent. I just packed my bags, turned in my key to the doorman, jumped in my newly purchased battered car, and drove.

And drove and drove. Frankly, I’m surprised the car made it this far.

I also didn’t realize I’d been looking for a place where the sky stretched wide, and the possibilities felt endless. Turns out, a sleepy little farming town between Houston and San Antonio was my destination.

And my safety net for the past two months. This not-so sleepy cute little town has already come to feel like home. And I’m half-way to making it my permanent residence.

Balancing three plates along my arm reminds me of how far I’ve come. Some people back home might think I’ve fallen a peg or two, but I feel more alive here. More real.

Free.

In Cupid’s Creek, I’m not Rachel Anderson, the middle-class executive assistant from Queens who finally grew a pair and skipped town before making the biggest mistake of her life.

Now, I’m just a friendly waitress at the diner who always remembers your order and has a kind word to spare.

“More pie?” I ask Mr. Henderson, the high school principal, and a regular customer who likes his apple pie à la mode, as I top up his cup with a fresh dark roast.

He chuckles. “You know me well. Thank you, Rachel.”

“I’ll have that brought out to you in a few minutes.” Smiling, I move on to the next table. “Here we go, folks.” I set down their plates with practiced ease. “Chicken fried steak for you, Tom. And the usual for you two lovely ladies.” Tom is a middle-aged man who brings his mother, Edna, and his widowed sister, Clara, into the diner at least once a week. They argue like cats and dogs, but their love for each other is reflected in their eyes and the little things they do for one another. Like Tom helping his mom cut her meat because her shaking makes it difficult. Or Clara pushing aside the sugar packets, so Tom doesn’t spike his coffee and his blood sugar.

Edna picks up her fork and stabs it into the pile of creamy mashed potatoes. “Thanks, darlin’. How are you settling in? Still liking our little slice of heaven?”

My grin widens. “I love it here. It feels more like home every day.”

And it does. As I head back to the counter, I glimpse myself in the mirror over the counter. My shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a short ponytail, a few wayward strands framing my face, and my cheeks are pink from the heat in the kitchen. The soft green of my apron brings out the hazel in my eyes; and for once, I don’t hate what I see. My curves fill out my clothes more than I’d like, but there’s a sparkle in my makeup-free eyes that I haven’t seen in years.

“Rachel, a little makeup and a few pounds won’t kill you. Don’t you want to look good for Matthew? And you really should do something with your hair. Maybe try blonde?”

Closing my eyes, I push the memory of Mom’s sharp, hurtful words out of my head, focusing instead on the cheerful chatter of the patrons around me.

“Rachel, table seven needs a refill,” Sheila calls out, snapping me out of my reverie.

I refill Martha Jenkin’s tea and then head to the back room for my ten-minute break, my sneakers squeaking faintly on the linoleum floor. The little room in the back of the café is actually an office, but it feels like an escape, tucked away from most of the noise and activity up front. Cluttered shelves, faded carpeting, and a comfortable recliner gives it a lived-in charm, and the cutout over the built-in counter allows us to see into the diner. Everything about this café, this town, is unlike my life in New York.

I love it here.

Sheila joins me, leaning casually against the stainless-steel counter, one hip cocked and a smile on her weathered face. Her short-cropped dark hair frames her cheeks in an effortlessly chic way. Under her apron, she’s wearing a simple black T-shirt that accentuates her athletic build, paired with jeans that have seen better days. I hope I look as good when I’m in my fifties.

Sheila was the first person to befriend me when I hit town. Hungry, tired, and needing a shower after being on the road for three days, I’d stopped for coffee and an opportunity to stretch my muscles and rest my eyes while deciding where to spend the night. She fed me, chatted me up, and offered me her spare room. And I never left. Well, I did get a small apartment that is twice the size of the one I had in New York.

“Still scared to talk to the handsome cowboy?” She teases, a playful glint in her bright blue eyes.

“Am not.” My cheeks heat with my lie. This woman, who I’ve known for less than sixty days, who welcomed a stranger into her home, already knows me better than any friends, family or even my ex-fiancé ever did. And she’s quickly become my new best friend regardless of our age difference.

But deep down, she’s right. Travis Kincaid, with his troubled brown gaze, ties my tongue in knots every damn time I see him. I’ve even swapped tables to avoid talking to him.

“Uh-huh.” She’s clearly not buying it. “One of these days, you’re gonna have to go right on up to him and say, ‘Howdy, cowboy. Can I take your order?’”

I laugh at her exaggerated twang.

“He doesn’t bite.” She cocks her head and scrunches up her face, her eyes twinkling. “At least I don’t think he does. There must be a reason he always sits in your section, and a reason you refuse to wait on him.”

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