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Brock continued, “This ismydiner, and with all due respect, ma’am, I’ve been doing a good job so far. I don’t need someone else coming in here and trying to turn The Yummy Cowboy Diner into some fancy hipster joint with twenty-dollar burgers.”
Mrs. S’s lips thinned as her blue eyes turned sharp and stared right into his soul.
Brock met her gaze, his own eyes narrowing.
He’d been putting in twelve-hour days, seven days a week, ever since Mama went into hospice, and the diner wasstillbleeding money. But maybe if he just worked a little harder, he could make this place work without Ms. Fancy Pants Chef telling him what to do.
Because this washisplace.
More importantly, it had been his mama’s place. And his second home, growing up. No way in hell was Brock going to disrespect her memory by saying or even thinking that Mama had done a bad job with this diner. Even if it was a little worn around the edges, it was comfortable. It was part of the town’s history… and his.
Business partner or not, if Mrs. S thought that he was going to throw away the fruits of Mama’s blood, sweat, and tears, she had another thing coming.
It was bad enough that Kenny had quit. The old guy had been Mama’s right hand for years, and Brock could only imagine what she was thinking right now, looking down on him from heaven.
Mrs. S’s expression abruptly softened. She sighed. “Yes, of course I respect your decision to keep the diner open after Pamela passed away. I agree with Summer that your food is outstanding, and Frank always thought so, too.”
Brock relaxed fractionally.Okay, maybe she’s on my side, after all.
But she wasn’t done talking yet. “You’re a very hard-working young man, Brock, and I have faith that youcanmake this diner a success. But, based on the financials that Frank and I reviewed just before he passed, you really do need some help on the business side of things. Especially if you’re going to expand operations as we discussed when we…I… invested in this diner.”
Brock saw the shadow of grief cross her expression before she lifted her chin resolutely and continued. “My granddaughter is a professional chef from one of the best culinary institutes in the country, and she has experience running a world-class restaurant in San Francisco. She could help you figure out a way to make necessary changes while still keeping the spirit of your mother’s diner.”
“No. No way.” He shot his best death-glare at Summer, the one that lit a fire under his kitchen staff’s asses when they were slacking off.
She returned the gaze, her cornflower eyes wide and innocent, and shook her head minutely. As if she hadn’t been in on her grandmother’s plan.
Hah, serves her right!he thought darkly.Looks like that damned list of hers has come back to bite her in the ass.
That rankled. Especially since he was well aware of The Yummy Cowboy Diner’s shortcomings.
But, dammit, I’m already working all day and night! What else can I do?Aloud, he said, “And even if I wanted to do some kind of fancy dining room renovation, I can’t afford to close the diner for weeks or even months of construction.”
“It wouldn’t have to be acompletetear-down,” Summer said. “Just a refresh of things like the booth upholstery, maybe some new tables and chairs, a fresh coat of paint, and… decluttering.” She turned to Mrs. S. “Grandma, I know I promised to help you, but even if Brock wanted my help—which he doesn’t—this is amuchbigger project than I feel comfortable tackling while I’m in town.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Brock agreed eagerly. With an effort, he added, “I know you mean well, Mrs. S, but I can handle this. I’ve got some plans in the works.” That part was a half-truth, but he didn’t want to encourage Mrs. S to offer any more “help.”
Summer caught her lower lip between her teeth as she stared down at her half-finished plate of meatloaf. Her brow creased, as if she was thinking of more ways to criticize his food and his diner.
Liquid fire pooled in Brock’s groin as he imagined what it would be like to kiss those sweet, plump lips.
Maybe he could just fuck that expression of superiority right off her face. He hadn’t gotten laid in…Holy hell, has it really been that long?
Trying to keep this diner afloat had consumed pretty much his entire life over the past year. He’d walked into the kitchen the day after Mama’s funeral and submerged himself in work to keep his grief at bay.
“Promise me you’ll at least sleep on it before making your final decision.” Mrs. S’s voice derailed Brock’s lust-filled train of thought.
His face heated, and he hoped to God that his expression—and, more importantly, the front of his jeans—hadn’t betrayed his dirty fantasies about her granddaughter.
“Fine,” he said grudgingly. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” Mrs. S smiled sweetly at him, her blue eyes the same cornflower shade as Summer’s. “We’ll be back for lunch tomorrow. We’ll talk then.”
“Great,” he said, unable to fake any enthusiasm. “Enjoy your food, ladies.”
He spun on his heels and marched back to the kitchen.
The sight that greeted him as he strode through the swinging door was the opposite of what he wanted. Instead of frantic activity, everything seemed to have ground to a halt while he was away.
