Page 13 of Falling for the Wrong Guy

“You never know when a pelican in need will show up on deck,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll see you later, Oscar.” Before I left, I turned back. “Oscar—do the words ‘lyin’ talk’ mean anything to you?”

He twisted to get a better look at me. “Did you just call me a liar?”

I put up my hands. “No, no, not at all. It’s just I need to find something here in Whisper Cove, something important, and the only clue I have for finding it are the words Whisper Cove, rocks and lyin’ talk. I might even have those wrong.”

He pushed to a stand. His legs bowed outward at the knees, like a cowboy or a man who’d spent a lot of time out at sea. Still, Oscar was amazingly steady on those bent legs. “Someone’s pulling your chain. No idea what those words have to do with Whisper Cove. What is it you’re looking for? Buried treasure?” he asked with a laugh.

I smiled. “Something like that, Oscar. Well, I’ll see you later.”

ChapterTen

Aria

“Three orders up,” I called through the window. The morning had been busier than expected. The fog had burned off early, and it left behind a crisp, pleasant fall day, apparently reminding customers that it was pumpkin pancake season at the café. Isla had helped me develop the special recipe based on one that Nonna used to make. We’d updated the flavors with a touch more nutmeg in the batter and a whipped maple butter to top them. I flipped over the six pancakes I had on the griddle.

“I can’t manage all the tables by myself,” Linda complained behind me. She tended to be a bit whiny, but this morning she had every right to complain. Our second server, Terry, had called in sick, and Linda and I were running the whole shebang. I desperately needed to hire that cook. After the morning rush, I’d take the time to comb back through the applicants. Maybe I’d missed someone with potential.

“I’ll be out in a second to take some orders.” I noticed the three orders were still in the window. “Get the food to the table before it gets cold.”

Linda huffed loudly and moved with plodding footsteps toward the order window. I pulled the last pancakes off the griddle and turned down the heat. We were nearing the end of the breakfast rush, thank goodness. Since most of the regulars had come through for breakfast, I expected a slow lunch hour. And I was happy about that, which showed just how badly I needed a cook. As the owner, I should have been hoping for a busy lunch hour, not a slow one. I yanked off my apron, tucked some of my fallen hair strands behind my ears and grabbed a pen and pad.

Linda was delivering food. There were still two tables with menus, which meant two tables that had not placed their orders. The first was a table with June Nelson and her two best friends, Pauline and Karen. They were retired schoolteachers who’d worked together all their lives and now lived together in a beach house on the cove. Since the person at the other table was still sitting behind his menu, I stopped at June’s table first. “Morning, ladies. What can I get you?”

“Well, Aria, we’re debating whether to have the sausage or bacon with our pancakes,” June said.

“Only you are debating that, Junie,” Pauline said. “I’ll have the bacon.” She patted the menu with confidence. “No, the sausage, I think. Nope, the bacon, final answer.”

June laughed. “So glad you’re decisive this morning. I’m going with the bacon, too, and so is Karen.”

Karen opened her mouth to protest, but June tilted her head to the side.

“Remember, Aria is still looking for a cook, and she’s running the kitchen. The least we can do is support her by streamlining our orders. Three orders of pumpkin pancakes with a side of bacon.” June was always the leader, so the other two just nodded along.

“Coming right up. Do you need more coffee?”

“Actually,” Karen started.

June put a hand on her arm. “We’re fine, dear.”

“Thanks. I’ll bring the pot when I get a chance.” I winked at Karen.

“Two more orders of pancakes. Sides of sausage,” Linda said as she scurried past to the coffee station. So much for the streamlined orders.

I hurried across to the other table. The man lowered the menu at the sound of my footsteps. We both stared at each other as if the other was an alien from another planet. A flannel shirt was stretched tightly across his shoulders. “Well, good morning, Rocky. Small world. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

I was immediately on defense, straight posture, lifted chin and all. “And why not?”

He shrugged. “Just thought you seemed more the business type, you know—highly efficient in a pair of high heels and pencil skirt.” He shrugged one massive shoulder, stretching the flannel shirt even more. “I’m enjoying the pencil skirt vision.”

“Well, you were wrong.” I didn’t feel the need to mention my first career as an uptight businesswoman in high heels and a pencil skirt. “And the funny thing about that is I pegged your type exactly.”

He put down the menu and smiled up at me. “And what type is that, exactly?”

“Drifter. Troublemaker. Always ready to stir things up.”

“You might be right about some of that. Now, can I order food, or do you reserve the right to deny service to a troublemaker?”

I pressed the pen hard against the pad. “What would you like? The pumpkin pancakes are very popular.”

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