How the Playboy Got Serious. Shirley Jump
of the guys, waiting for him down the street. There, they had beer and women, and—
And the same thing he had done every night for the past six years. He’d been there, done that, as the saying went, and wanted something else. What that something was, he didn’t know, but maybe if he stayed here a little while longer with this woman who hummed while she worked a tough job, he’d figure it out.
* * *
After the third day, Stace had to give Riley some credit. Not a lot, and not easily, but she did. The playboy, who from what she’d seen and heard, had never seemed to be much good at anything other than goofing off, had put in several hours at the diner and stayed to clean up afterward. They’d been through a half-dozen waitresses in the past year, and few stayed after tangling with Walter, or getting Frank on a bad day.
But Riley, the last person in the world she would have picked, had stayed. Why? If this job was just a lark—the well-off spending a day in the shoes of the other half—then why was he still here? Did he really need the money?
What she’d heard and read of the McKennas suggested they weren’t hurting in the cash department. Then why was the youngest McKenna hoofing it at a diner?
And why did she care? She didn’t need a man in her life. She barely had enough room for herself.
Still, she liked that he had put in the hours, and she had to admit, she was beginning to like him. Look forward to seeing him. And his damnable smile. Even as she told herself to steer clear of his charm.
After working together for a few days, they’d worked out a system of partnership. They had cleaned half the tables already, and stacked the chairs to ready the floor for mopping—a big job, after two solid days of rain and muddy footprints. Frank was still in the kitchen, taking care of the dishes and next day’s prep. Stace had offered to help, but stubborn Frank had insisted on doing the job himself. For a long time, he’d had a couple of helpers in the kitchen, but since the business had taken a downturn, he’d taken the entire kitchen load on his own shoulders. She sighed.
Frank had talked about traveling the world a hundred times, but never taken a step toward his dream. His health had been poor, something she was sure the stress of the diner augmented, and that just increased her determination to save her pennies and buy out Frank, something she’d offered a hundred times to do, and always he’d said no.
Maybe if she could increase sales he’d be able to hire back some help, and afford some time off. Either way, it wasn’t something she could change today.
Stace paused to stretch her back and work out some of the kinks. She bent her neck right, left, then let out a deep breath.
“Tired?” Riley asked.
“Always.” She tried to smile, but even that was too much right now. The day had been long, and had a long way to go yet. Jeremy would be leaving school soon and that meant her second shift as temporary mom to a difficult teenager was about to start. Frank had increased the volume on the radio, and his favorite oldies pulsed in the bright space. She cringed at the memory of Riley catching her in that unguarded moment a couple of days ago.
Riley studied her for so long she finally looked away, pretending that she was inspecting the diner. Why did his mere presence affect her so?
“Why don’t you take a load off?” he said. “I’ll get the rest of this.”
“I really should—”
He jerked out a chair and waved toward the seat. “You really should sit, and let me help you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re tired.” He took the rag out of her hands, before she could protest. “And because I’m not nearly as bad as you think I am.”
Exhaustion finally won the battle, and Stace dropped into the chair. “Just for a minute.”
Riley grinned. “Take as many minutes as you need.”
In fast, efficient movements, he tackled the rest of the tables. He removed all the salt and pepper shakers, then the sugar dispensers, before wiping them in quick but thorough circles. He’d paid attention to her instructions, clearly. Her respect for him inched upward another notch. Still, the pampered marketing exec didn’t belong here, and she wondered for the hundredth time why he had taken the job.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“What?”
“Why are you here?”
“I work here. Remember?” He flashed that grin at her again. The man smiled a lot, that was for sure. And if she’d been the kind of woman looking for a man who smiled like that, well, she’d be…tempted.
But she wasn’t. Not one bit. Uh-uh.
“I know that. I meant why did you get a job here, as a waiter? Don’t you work at an ad agency or something?”
“I used to. I got…fired. Sort of.”
“How does someone get sort of fired?”
“I worked for my grandmother. She thought it was time I found other employment.” He finished the last table, sent the rag sailing toward the bucket of dirty dishes, and waited for it to land with a satisfying thud before he returned to where Stace was sitting. He spun the opposite chair around and sat, draping his arms over the back. “She gets these ideas sometimes, and this was her latest.”
“Ideas? On what?”
“On what’s good for the McKenna boys.” Riley chuckled and shook his head.
Stace’s curiosity piqued. She told herself she didn’t need to know anything more about this man than whether he would show up tomorrow. She knew his type. Knew better than to fall for a smile and a flirt. But that didn’t stop the questions from spilling out of her mouth. “And what is good for the McKenna boys?”
“Hard work, beautiful women, and a good Irish stout.”
She laughed. “Beer? Your grandmother really said that?”
“I might have added that one.” Another grin. But Riley didn’t expound on much more than that, and she realized even after three days, she knew little about him.
“And you have, what, two out of the three?” she asked.
“Right now, I have none. Unless Frank keeps some good, dark beer back there.”
“No, definitely not.”
“Then I’m batting a thousand.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “You got the hard work over the last few days.”
“True.” He leaned forward, his blue eyes zeroing in on her features. “What about you? Why are you working here?”
She looked away. “It’s my job.”
“I know that,” he said, repeating her words from before. “But what I want to know is why. You’re smart and efficient. You could do a hundred things other than waitress.”
She bristled and got to her feet. “We have a floor to clean. I can’t sit around all day.”
“Sorry.” Riley rose, too. “I shouldn’t have probed. I don’t like people poking around in my private life. I shouldn’t do it to you.”
“Remember that, and we might just be able to work together.”
It was her way of warning him off. She didn’t want to get close to him, or to any man, right now. She had her priorities—working hard, saving money, and raising Jeremy—and there was no room in her life for a man like Riley, who’d just drain her heart and leave her empty in the end.
His gaze took in the glistening tables, the stacked chairs. “We did pretty good today.”
“We did. Thanks for the help, and the rest. I needed it.” She tossed him his apron.