Chapter 5 #2
To that end, Luke pulled the dusty binder marked “Recipes” off the shelf in the kitchen and laid it out on the prep counter.
He was going to need it. It had been years since he helped his mom in this kitchen, first as a bus boy after school when she was waiting the tables, then on the line after he was tall enough to flip burgers.
That was back before Mom bought the diner from the old owner.
She and Shorty had taught him everything they knew. Now he had to prove he remembered it.
The back door opened and slammed shut, then a voice called out. “Mornin’, Shorty!”
He chuckled, calling out even if he wasn’t Shorty. “Morning!”
Footsteps slapped against the tile floor, then stopped. “You’re not Shorty.”
He turned around. Maggie, the redhead from the other night had arrived. Luke’s mouth went dry. It had to be illegal to look that good in a unisex t-shirt. The yellow cotton stretched around her ample breasts, then over a softly rounded stomach and generous hips.
“Oh, Luke, it’s you.” Maggie came closer, and Luke shook himself internally. This was his mother’s employee. They couldn’t afford a scandal right now. Mom’s injury was enough to deal with. “How’s Deb doing?”
“Her ankle’s broken, and the doctor wants her off it for twelve weeks, at least.” He’d already emailed Ross with a request for more leave.
Those green eyes grew three sizes as Maggie’s jaw dropped. Her hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, that’s awful!”
He shrugged. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t need surgery.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yep, I’m cooking this morning. And afternoon.”
“You’re a cook?”
He chuckled. “I used to be. It’s been a while so let’s see if I still got it.”
“Yes, boss.” She saluted him with a wink. “I’ll get the front set up so we can open.” Damn, she was adorable.
“Let’s do this.”
But Luke didn’t have time for reflections on either the mystery of his brother or the attractiveness of his mother’s newest server.
As soon as Maggie flipped that sign to “Open,” the entire town apparently decided they were craving breakfast. The Busy Bee wasn’t normally this busy on a Thursday in March, at least not that Luke remembered.
Sundays, sure. But Thursday? Didn’t anyone in this town have to work?
The first batch of pancakes came out raw in the middle and black on the outside.
Luke tossed them, and adjusted the griddle’s heat.
A faint red mark sat below where he was used to setting it.
Either Shorty or Mom must have made the adjustment on the old appliance and forgotten to write it down in the binder.
Luckily the shiny new waffle iron had a timer and beeped at him when the waffles were done.
Just don’t burn the bacon, Luke told himself as he funneled all this focus into the work. There was no room for thoughts of Aaron’s issues or how delicious sweet Maggie looked.
When Maggie came back into the kitchen halfway through breakfast service, she shook her head. “Everyone’s asking about your mom. What do I tell them?”
Luke groaned and threw his head back. “Small towns.” He huffed a laugh. “Are you from one?”
“No, I’ve never lived in one before.” She leaned against the counter as he flipped an omelet.
“Nothing to do but gossip.” He gave it a quick tap with the spatula, then flipped it onto a plate. Sliding over to the deep fryer, he pulled out the hash browns and plated them. “You can tell them the truth. Someone must have spilled the beans about me cooking this morning.”
“Was it a secret?”
“Doesn’t really matter,” he answered. “You’ll find those are hard to keep around here.”
He plated a waffle, added strawberries and whipped cream, then loaded up Maggie’s tray. When he turned to hand it to her, he found her gnawing on her thumbnail, her other arm wrapped around her stomach.
“Order up.” That jolted her out of whatever rabbit hole she’d gone down in her head.
Taking the tray, she gave him a quiet “Thanks,” and headed back through the swinging doors.
The morning flew by. Luke and Maggie were run off their feet by the time the rush slowed down. When he had a moment, he walked out front to the counter to get himself a drink. Cooking was thirsty work, and the soda fountain was out there. He desperately needed a caffeine hit.
“Luke! You really are back.” At his name, Luke turned and saw Edith Bascom, the owner of The May Tree.
“Hi, Edith. How are you? Isn’t your shop open?”
The elder woman waved him off. “I’m taking a short break. It’s the slow season for me.”
“Apparently not for us. I had no idea we’d be this busy.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm.
“Oh, you know this town. We had to get the latest gossip.” Edith batted her eyelashes at him. He laughed. That woman was the furthest thing from innocent.
“You heard about Mom?”
Edith’s concern rocked him. “How’s she doing?”
Luke chugged his soda and poured himself a second one. “She’s okay for now. But she has to stay off the leg for a while so I’m filling in for a bit.”
“She broke her leg?”
He shook his head. “Just the ankle.”
“Oh my, that’s possibly worse.” Edith tutted. “Are you staying with her?”
“Sure am. And Aaron’s still around sometimes.” Not that he was much help.
“Well, if she gets lonesome, you tell her to call me or one of the other ladies. We can come keep her company.”
“That’s very sweet of you, I’ll pass the message along.
” He saluted her with his glass and headed back to the kitchen.
To be honest, he was worried that once she started feeling better, it would be much harder to keep Mom immobile.
Deb Graham had always been on the go, working hard her whole adult life.
It would be difficult for her to sit still for three whole months.
Shorty arrived for the lunch rush, which gave Luke time to call Katya in early. He didn’t want Maggie to have to work a full dining room by herself again that afternoon.
With the four of them, the work was doable.
But the number of tickets above his head had him rushing.
Luke didn’t notice the swinging door opening again, or whether someone was coming or going.
Just as he dropped the battered chicken tenders into the deep fryer, a body came around the bend and bumped into him.
The chicken hit the oil with a splash, and he heard Maggie cry out. Spinning on his heels, Luke realized she’d been the one to bump into him, and the hot oil hit her arm.
“Maggie! I didn’t see you there.”
“It’s alright,” she hissed.
“No, it’s not. Are you okay?” He grabbed her upper arm and she winced.
“Most of it’s on the floor,” she said with a slight grimace.
How could he be so careless? “Shorty, take over for me for a bit.” Luke pulled on Maggie’s arm even as she reached for a rag to mop up the oil from the floor.
“We need to treat this, fast.”
“I don’t want someone to slip.”
“I got it, Maggie.” Shorty answered her. “Go with Luke, honey.”
Luke steered her towards the employee bathroom in the back hallway. When it was just Luke in that bathroom, it was a tight fit. With both Maggie’s curves and his wide shoulders, it became downright claustrophobic.
He flipped the sink on and cool water drenched his hand as he checked the temperature.
While applying the water as her skin started to blister, Luke’s first aid training ran through his head.
All he had to do now was apply a burn cream and a bandage.
Luke debated calling Aaron to cover the rest of Maggie’s shift, wondering how bad his little brother would fight him on it.
He quickly decided it wouldn’t be worth the hassle.
Luke looked down at the arm in the sink.
The smell of oil clung to her t-shirt, to his apron, and overpowered the tiny powder room.
His stomach clenched. The minimal hair on her arms had offered no protection.
Looking up at her face, he realized her eyes had scrunched closed on a wince and he immediately lightened his grip.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Why was she apologizing? He’d hurt her. “It’s not your fault, Maggie. I should have been more aware of my surroundings.”
She shook her head, her eyes still closed.
For the first time, he could look his fill without her running to the dining room.
His gaze fell to her mouth, the fullness of her soft pink lips.
He was so busy wondering what they’d taste like, it took him longer than he’d admit to realize they were quivering, and pale.
His free hand reached for her cheek but didn’t dare make contact.
He clocked her rapid, shallow breaths, the way her freckles stood out against her pale ashen skin, all pointing to a serious burn. God, how could he have been so stupid?
“You’re shaking.”
Green eyes snapped open and stared at him.
“Where’s the first aid kit?” she rasped, her tone trembling.
“Under the sink. You want me to get it?”
“No, I can handle it.” She tugged at her arm but he refused to release her.
His hand slipped down to her wrist, avoiding the worst of the blisters, but something didn’t feel right.
She pulled again as he cataloged her arm with a different eye.
Old scars littered the skin, faint but there, and her attempts to pull away made her wrist click.
As though an old injury hadn’t been allowed to heal properly.
Without turning his head and making it obvious, he noted her posture. Leaning against the wall, her uninjured arm wrapped tightly around her middle, like she expected a blow. Luke was piecing the puzzle together, and he didn’t like the picture that was forming.
“I’m worried you’re going into shock.” She was standing and still conscious so that was good, but he needed to get her sat down somewhere. Preferably after he helped wrap her arm.
“I’ll be fine.” She glared at the sink, like she couldn’t bear to make eye contact any longer. But he wasn’t a wild animal like whoever she was used to dealing with. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
That was exactly what he was afraid of.
“Maggie…” He kept his tone gentle, but stepped further into her space.
Her eyes never moved from the running water but her pupils shrank to pinpoints, her pulse beating against her neck in what he now knew was a flight response.
His free hand reached for her once more, gently landing on her shoulder.
“How about you just keep holding up that wall for me, and I’ll take care of your arm? Is that okay?”