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2
BRYNN
Brynn set the plate with a club sandwich in front of the older man at the counter. “Here you go.”
He gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Brynn nodded and walked to the coffee machine behind her. Her feet ached, as they always did after a ten-hour shift at the High Tide diner. She picked up a cloth and wiped the drips from the blue Formica counter, then glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost done.
The door opened, letting a rush of cool fall air into the establishment. Several tall men with leather cuts walked in, and Brynn tensed as they took a booth in her side of the restaurant. She swallowed, lifting the coffee pot with one hand and tucking menus under her arm. Grabbing four mugs with the other hand, Brynn dangled them off her fingers, straightened her shoulders, then took a fortifying breath before she walked over and set the cups on the table between them. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” the roughest-looking man with a scar down the side of his face answered.
She handed out the menus and poured them each a cup of java. “I’ll give you a minute.” She returned the pot to the coffee machine and went to the kitchen.
Betty-Lou, one of the owners of the diner, looked up from the pastry table in front of her and smiled. “I think I made one too many apple pies. You might need to take one home to David. Oops, I mean Danielle.”
Brynn’s mouth tilted up briefly in gratitude. Betty-Lou was one of two people she’d told this week. The woman was a saint who’d saved her when she and her child were on the verge of starving, so Brynn shouldn’t have been surprised that she was so accepting about Danielle.
“She’ll love it,” Brynn answered.
Fred, Betty-Lou’s husband, walked in from the doorway to the diner. “Hey, sweetie-pie.” He smacked his lips on Betty-Lou’s cheek.
She blushed and shooed him away. “You old flirt.”
“That’s why you married me. We both know it wasn’t because of my good looks.” He chuckled and turned to Brynn, giving her a playful wink. “I believe the boys out there are ready to order.”
Brynn nervously looked to Betty-Lou. Betty-Lou’s face softened, as if the woman could read Brynn’s emotions. “Who is it?”
“The Pirates,” Fred answered, pulling out an apron for himself.
Betty-Lou turned to Brynn. “The Pirates are a biker gang from the seacoast. They help women and children involved in domestic violence situations. You know those ones you see on the internet that surround kids or women on their way to court? Or leaving their abusive partner? That’s what they do,” Betty-Lou filled her in.
Those rough-looking men out there did that?
“That isn’t all they do.” Fred gave his wife a knowing look.
Betty-Lou straightened. “There’s never been any proof they take it further.”
“So they’re . . .” Brynn wasn’t sure she wanted to finish the sentence.
Betty-Lou smiled. “They’re a little rough around the edges, but they’re good men.”
Brynn nodded, plucking her order pad from her apron as she turned and left the kitchen. She scanned the room, making sure no one else had slipped in while she was in the back. The old man at the counter was half finished with his sandwich, a newspaper in his hands. All that was left were the four men in black in the corner, their heads leaning in, as if they were discussing something private.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, her skin prickling, as if she was being watched. She searched the room again. No one was paying her any attention. Her gaze flicked to The Oyster Bookstore across the road. Danielle was there, no doubt poring over her books. I wish she could go to school like her friend Aspen. Education was important. And Brynn wanted more for her daughter than she’d ever had.
She squared her shoulders and walked over to the bikers. “Are you ready to order?”
“I’ll take the biggest, greasiest burger you got with a side of fries,” the one closest to her said, placing his menu on the table in front of her.
“Sounds good to me.” The man with dirty-blond hair and piercing blue eyes next to him agreed, passing his menu down.
“Make that three,” the gruff, bearded man in the corner said.
She scribbled on her pad, looking to the man with the scar. “Should I make it four?”
He shook his head. “Nah, I’ll have the cobb salad with extra grilled chicken.”
