Page 4 of Hard Knock Hero

But the odd thing was, my customer had chosen to sit with his back to the door instead of facing it. Most people didn’t do that, much less military folks.

He dug into his lamb stew, glancing at the window to the street as he chewed. He licked his full lips. Took another bite.

He hadn’t smiled a single time since coming in. But I had learned that men with nefarious intentions often approached with a grin. This guy, whatever his name was, didn’t seem to care much what I thought of him, and I appreciated that. If he could just eat his dinner, pay up, and move along, I’d like him even more.

His eyes flicked in my direction, and I darted out of sight again.

“Saw that,” he muttered, and despite my terrible mood, I fought back a smile.

“Saw what?” I replied.

I needed something to do. I swept up the remains of the glass, then grabbed a rag and went back to the front of the diner. I wiped off a few of the tables, making sure that everything was spotless, as if I might have a rush of customers at any minute. Hey, maybe I would. Why else had I opened today?

At least I still had hope, ridiculous though it was. They hadn’t smothered that out of me yet.

I grabbed the carafe of coffee and walked over to my only patron. His dinner was nearly gone. “How is everything?” I asked, refilling his mug.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad,” I repeated. “I’ll have to put that endorsement on our website.”

“You asked abouteverything. A lot about my current situation is less than optimal.” He pointed his spoon at the stew. “You cooked this?”

“Not sure I want to own it now.”

“The stew is delicious. I just wanted to compliment the right person.”

“Then, yes. I’m the cook. I’m also the waitress and the cleaner too. As you noted before. I’m front of house, back, and everything between.”

“Is that your way of asking me not to make a mess?” He still hadn’t smiled, but I could’ve sworn his eyes were laughing.

“It would be appreciated.”

“What kind of wine did you braise the lamb in?”

That question tripped me up because he hadn’t signaled a switch in topic. But cooking was a subject I could get behind. “A pinot noir.”

We went back and forth a few times on my recipe.

“You cook?” I asked.

“I do.”

I almost rolled my eyes. Was he angling for me to ask more questions? Or did the guy hate sharing personal info? I was about to call him out on it, or offer to bring him the check. I hadn’t decided yet.

Then the bell on the door jingled. I looked up to find Chester Rigsby and his two younger brothers ambling into my diner.

Shit.

My heart launched all the way into my throat. My eye twitched, and the coffee carafe felt too heavy in my hand.

“Evening, boys,” I said, impressed by the nonchalance in my tone. “Grab a seat, and I’ll be right with you.”

“We’re not here to eat, Jessi,” Chester said. “You know that.”

I crossed my arms and shrugged, the coffee pot held like a shield in front of me.

Chester and his brothers were my ex-boyfriend’s cousins. They had their reasons to hate me. Mainly, because my ex had been in prison the last two years. I’d put him there.

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