Page 12 of The Fire Between Us

"Most people don't." I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. "They think it's all about running into burning buildings and rescuing kittens from trees."

"Do you actually do that? The kitten thing?"

"Twice last year," I admit with a grin. "Same cat, too. Mrs. Fincher's tabby has adventure in his blood."

Jennie laughs, the sound making several heads turn. I get the impression she doesn't laugh often, which is a shame because it makes her look even more gorgeous.

"Order up!" Lou calls from the kitchen window.

"That's yours," Jennie says, setting down the coffee pot. "Be right back."

I watch her retrieve my omelet, exchanging a few words with Lou that make the gruff cook nod approvingly. She's fitting in already, finding her place in the familiar rhythm of the diner. It's good to see.

"Here you go," she says, setting the plate before me. "Egg-white omelet with spinach and mushrooms, wheat toast, and fruit cup. Can I get you anything else?"

"This is perfect, thanks."

She starts to turn away, then hesitates. "I, um... I wanted to thank you again for yesterday. Mrs. Gunderson is wonderful, and it seems she has mentioned me to the cottage owner already. I might get to see it tomorrow."

"That's great," I say, genuinely pleased for her. "The Beaumont cottage is in a nice area. Quiet street, but close enough to town that you could walk to work on nice days."

"That's what I'm hoping." She fiddles with her order pad. "Anyway, I'll let you eat in peace."

As she moves to check on her other tables, I dig into my omelet, watching her out of the corner of my eye. There's something about Jennie that intrigues me beyond the obvious attraction—a resilience wrapped in wariness.

I recognize the careful way she holds herself, the quick assessments she makes of everyone who enters the diner, the way she maintains space between herself and most customers, especially men.

I've seen it before in people who've been hurt, who've learned to expect the worst. Hell, I've seen it in myself.

"Food okay?" Lou asks, appearing suddenly at the pass-through window.

I give him a thumbs-up around a mouthful of omelet.

"Good," he grunts. "Your new waitress is working out."

"Not my waitress," I correct after swallowing.

Lou gives me a knowing look that I choose to ignore. "She's a hard worker. Said she's got experience from a place in Minneapolis."

That fits with my theory that she's come from somewhere bigger, possibly running from something—or someone. Not that it's my business.

"Good find, then," I say neutrally.

"Hmm." Lou narrows his eyes at me. "Just remember some of us have to work with her every day. Don't make it weird."

"Why would I make it weird?" I protest, but Lou has already retreated to his kitchen, apparently having said his piece.

I finish my breakfast, leave a substantial tip weighted down by my empty mug, and catch Jennie's eye as I prepare to depart.

"Thanks," I say, gesturing to my empty plate. "Best omelet in town."

"The only omelet in town," she corrects with a small smile.

"The only one worth paying for” I add.

Her laugh follows me out the door, and I find myself smiling all the way to my truck. It's only when I'm halfway home that I realize I never asked when she'd be working next or if she needs help looking at the Beaumont cottage.

Not that I should be involving myself further. Jennie made it through life before Max Davidson stumbled into it; she'll be fine without my continued assistance. Besides, I still have a strict policy against complications.

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