Page 4 of Second Time Around

Two

Beck had only been on the job a few weeks, but he’d already gotten a good handle on the restaurant’s rhythms, employees, and customers. The gourmet soup and sandwich shop was a far cry from the fine dining establishment he’d managed in Chicago, but it had its perks, the primary one being that he was near his family again.

The day his mom had called and told him she had breast cancer was the day he’d started making plans to return home to Michigan. He’d been so wrapped up in his life in Chicago that he hadn’t thought about his parents aging and getting sick.

At first, he’d made the five-hour trek from Chicago to Rochester whenever he managed to get time off, but the drive had quickly worn thin. When he’d first told his parents he was considering moving back home, they’d been shocked and half-heartedly tried to talk him out of it.

In the end, he’d left his skyrise apartment, satisfying job, and on-off girlfriend, Cassie, and moved back home. So far, the only thing he missed was the job, which meant it hadn’t been such a bad decision after all. Plus, Jenna was here, although he hadn’t seen or talked to her yet.

One of the waitresses came up to him and said, “Can you get someone to cover the carry-out counter so Lisa can take a break?”

He’d just been about to do that when he’d gotten lost in thought, and he snapped back into work mode. “Of course. I’ll take care of it.”

He looked around the busy restaurant and realized the only extra pair of hands were his. He went up to the carry-out counter at the front of the restaurant and said to Lisa, “You can take your break now.”

“Who’s going to cover for me?” she asked, glancing around for her replacement.

“I am.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh.”

He laughed. “Didn’t the previous owner ever cover for you?”

“Tony? No. Never.”

He wasn’t surprised. Some business owners thought themselves above “grunt work,” but he wasn’t one of them. He’d do whatever it took to keep the restaurant running smoothly, from standing behind the grill to running the register to mopping up a spill. It was all in a day’s work.

“I won’t be long,” Lisa said. Then she hurried off as if he might change his mind.

It was getting toward the end of the lunch rush, but there were still several customers who’d come in to pick up carry-out orders. He handled the register like a pro (in his humble opinion) and kept the line moving so nobody had to wait long.

He’d just handed a bag of sandwiches to an exceptionally tall man, and when the man stepped aside to reveal the next person in line, Beck froze.

She was looking down at her phone and smiling, so she hadn’t noticed him yet. Afraid her smile would disappear the moment she saw him, he took the opportunity to soak her in.

Her hair was longer than he remembered, with light blonde streaks running through it. It had that look that his sister was always going on about—beachy waves or something like that. She was wearing a form-fitting white top tucked into a long black skirt and white Converses. A large designer handbag hung on one shoulder, a name brand he recognized—again because of his sister.

Then she looked up and locked eyes with him. He ticked off the emotions as they flashed across her pretty face: shock, disdain, discomfort, and then resignation.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I’m here to pick up a carry-out order,” she said briskly.

She clutched the purse closer to her body as if it were a shield, and her fingertips were white from gripping it so tightly.

“Is it under your name?” he asked. He wanted to ask a million other questions instead, but he went with the simplest one.

“Yes. Jenna Young.”

He couldn’t help chuckling. “I’m familiar with it.” When she scowled, he turned and plucked her order off the shelf behind him. He swore he could feel her eyes boring into his back, and when he turned back around, she gave him a stiff smile.

“That’ll be $13.59,” he said. He was trying to treat her like any other customer, but inside, his heart was galloping. He longed to go around the counter and swoop her into a hug, but she’d probably punch him.

She rummaged around in her large handbag and came up with a twenty-dollar bill. Instead of placing it into his outstretched hand, she laid it on the counter and slid it toward him.

He should have known their first meeting wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. He suddenly felt like a pimple-faced kid who’d been accused of having “cooties” by a girl.

Still, he took his time counting out her change. When he went to hand it to her, she opened her purse wide and said, “Just drop it in here.”

Had she always been this feisty, or was this new? “Really?”