I can’t help but giggle at that.
Marge leans forward and playfully smacks Casey upside the head. “If it bothers you, do your own laundry, and be grateful her mama is pitching in. Men, bless ’em, always complaining about something,” she adds with a sigh.
“Don’t drag me into it,” Shep cuts in. “Just ’cause Casey’s grumbling about getting help doesn’t mean we’d all look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Marge rolls her eyes. “You’re no better. Remember that winter you were sick, and your mama did your laundry? She accidentally tossed your only white collared shirt in with a red towel, and you carried on about it for days like it was the end of the world.”
Shep huffs out an exasperated sigh, but I don’t miss the faint flush creeping up his cheeks. “I had a meeting with the manager of a world-famous country band about having them play at the honky-tonk and didn’t notice the damn thing was pink until it was too late to find something else to wear.”
“It was priceless. He looked like a strawberry milkshake,” Casey snickers.
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh as I picture Shep muttering under his breath and adjusting his pink collar. “I don’t know, Shep. Salmon might be your color.”
He strokes his mustache, doing a poor job of hiding his amusement.
Suddenly someone yells Marge’s name from across the room, and we all turn to see an elderly man waving his empty mug in midair.
“I’ll be there in a minute, George,” she shouts, then turns her attention back to us. “Best get back to it soon or folks will startfussin’. Owner’s duties, I suppose. Shep, you and the pretty lady know what you want? Same as usual for you?”
His eyes light up, a small smile forming on his lips, clearly touched that she remembered. “Yes, ma’am, and a cup of coffee. I reckon Noelle might need a minute with the menu.”
“What’s the usual?” I ask, glancing back and forth between them.
“The rancher’s special—two eggs over easy, four strips of bacon, hashbrowns, and biscuits smothered in gravy, made from Shep’s mama’s secret recipe.” Marge rattles it off like it’s second nature. “She helped me get the menu together when I opened this place. Folks loved her additions, but I never could get her to go into business with me.”
That’s when it hits me—Shep must’ve learned his exceptional cooking skills from his mom, which makes it even sweeter that he’s been using them to make me feel at home during my stay.
“That’s because the hours were long, and she liked being home evenings and weekends,” Shep says, his tone warm. “Still, she sure loved coming by to lend a hand when the diner got busy.”
“She was a treasure, and she sure adored you and your pa,” Marge replies with a wistful smile.
I step closer to Shep and slide my hand into his, giving it a squeeze. A silent reminder that I’m here for him and thankful to share this moment.
The same man calls for Marge again, and she hollers back, “Don’t get your britches in a twist. I’m comin’.” She leans in, speaking to me. “These folks have no manners. Want to take a look at the menu, sugar?”
I shake my head. “I’ll have the biscuits and gravy, a side of fruit, and hot chocolate if you have it.”
There’s no chance I’m missing out on trying a recipe created by Shep’s mom.
Marge flips open a small notepad and jots down our order. “Sure thing. I’ll have that out in a jiffy. Take a seat at the bar till a booth opens up.”
“Bring their food to our table when it’s ready,” Casey pipes up. “Can’t let Shep skip out on this year’s Christmas Eve tradition. Besides, Amy will want the inside scoop on him and his woman.”
I rather like the sound of being called Shep’s woman.
“You got it,” Marge says as she slips away to handle her disgruntled customer.
Shep and I follow Casey through the diner, weaving between tables. When we reach a booth in the back, Casey slides in, motioning for us to sit across from him. Judging by the half-empty cup of coffee and orange juice on the table, they’re still waiting for their breakfast order.
I scoot in first with Shep right behind me, his hand settling possessively on my thigh under the table.
A woman steps out of the nearby hallway, who I assume is Amy. She’s wearing a red sweater that stretches across her round belly, with brown hair piled into a messy bun. Her hazel eyes brighten when she spots us.
She’s practically glowing, and it makes me wonder what it will be like to be pregnant someday. As an only child, I’ve always wanted siblings, so having a big family of my own has been a lifelong dream. A series of images flashes through my mind—Shep and I finding out we’re expecting, our baby nestled in my arms in a rocking chair by the fire, and the three of us visiting Maple and Blaze at the barn.
I mentally scold myself for letting my imagination run wild when things between us are still so uncertain.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Amy exclaims when she joins us at the table, tucking a rogue chestnut strand into the bun atop her head. “You must be Noelle. Casey told me Shep broughtsomeone special to the honky-tonk the other night, and I was hoping to get the chance to meet you.”
