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Okay, today, she was going to take that step and leave all the boring white behind. She was going to do what she’d always wanted to do. She pulled the shirt off the hanger, tugged it over her head. She looked into the mirror again and smiled.
Yes. This was the right thing. This was her taking control and focusing on what was important. Her business.
She finished dressing and headed to the door, feeling better than she had in a while. Today, she was going to cook. She was going to make food the way she’d always wanted. And that’s all she was going to do.
She didn’t even think about Morgan. Much.
* * *
WHEN TARA WALKED in the front door of her diner, the sun was barely up, and she froze. He was back. Figures.
Morgan sat in his usual spot, a newspaper in front of him, a coffee in hand.
“He came in about an hour ago,” Wendy said as she passed, carrying a tray of dirty dishes.
She was not going to get sucked in again, Tara told herself as she walked across the dining room. She had a business to run, and Morgan Thane had no place in that plan.
She headed toward the kitchen, letting the swinging doors swish behind her, hard. Normally, she caught them, but she just wanted to get away. Maybe hide.
After dropping her things in the office, Tara stomped over to the baker’s table. Pulling the eggs out of the fridge, she smacked them against the side of the big bowl that perpetually sat there, ready to use. Crack, sploosh. The eggs fell into the growing puddle of yolks and whites.
She didn’t have to look at the recipe. This was one of Mom’s, one Tara had made since she was a kid. She yanked a wire whisk from the rack above and proceeded to beat the eggs into a frothy mix.
“I’m sorry.” Morgan’s voice startled Tara. She dropped the whisk, and the metal handle flipped over the bowl’s rim to skitter down the front of her pretty shirt.
She turned and stared—or was she glaring?—at him. He took a step back. Glare, she’d bet. Looking away, she tried to control her features.
“Sorry,” he repeated. “Again.” He stepped toward her, close, warm and smelling of the coffee he’d been sipping, the faint scent of the damp morning and something else. Something she didn’t even try to identify. It was the smell of Morgan—a man who drove her crazy.
“It’s fine.” She grabbed a dish towel and mopped at the glop of egg on her shirt. At least it would wash out. The shirt wasn’t ruined.
“No, it’s not.” He didn’t go away. “I shouldn’t have startled you. Among other things.”
She fought the chagrined smile as she turned back to the eggs. Focus, she reminded herself, focus.
“Can I help?”
“Uh…no.” She wasn’t used to having anyone offer to help in the kitchen. Her staff, yes, but no one else. Not her brothers and certainly not customers. “Grab a chair from the office.” She pointed to the open door, since the industrial kitchen wasn’t normally a place people sat and there wasn’t much other choice. “I don’t mind the company.”
Maybe he’d offer up that explanation he’d promised her. She refused to ask. He had to take the first steps here.
Morgan came back with her mother’s chair, and she almost said something. It looked so small next to him. He spun it around, sat and stacked his big arms across the back. She should take a picture, except her phone was in her purse in the office.
The silence while she worked was uncomfortable. Did he notice it, too?
“I owe you an explanation,” he said.
“Ya think?” She looked pointedly at him and he laughed.
“Yeah, I do. About more than just the trip to the urgent care.” He paused as if thinking over what to say. “I left the other day and didn’t even say goodbye, and I’m sorry for that.”
“I appreciate that.” She waited for him to continue. This was all on him.
“I went home.” He paused. “Jack seems to have taken a liking to you.”
“Really? He seems nice enough.”
“Don’t let him fool you. He’s tough.”
“That doesn’t make him bad.” Who were they really talking about here? Neither of them spoke for a long time.
