Page 3 of Dining for Love

Chapter 2

Reid

IS THIS REALLY happening? Every pair of eyes have locked on me in the past five minutes, even the ones that look like they belong to tourists. Less than twelve hours in town and I’m already the center of attention in this small town diner.

It’s…unnerving, to say the least.

But I can handle it. I’ve spent eight years in the Miami Police Department, three of those undercover, so what’s a little staring? Besides, these people are far less intimidating than the scum I’m used to. The diner itself is cozy, decked out in retro red booths and black and white Formica floors. An honest to goodness jukebox is nestled in one corner, and a yellowing Coca Cola clock hangs on the wall behind the counter. I get the sense that the place has been around a long time, and while it’s clear there are modern updates, the hat tip to nostalgia is alive and well. I take a sip of coffee and turn my attention back to the grinning man opposite me.

“Good, huh?”

I raise an eyebrow. “It’s no Cuban coffee, Uncle Jack.”

He chuckles, then points a finger at me. “Watch your tone, young man. And it’s Chief Mac around here.”

“Got ‘em all fooled, huh?” I joke.

“Exactly.” Then he crosses his arms and leans across the table, all traces of humor aside. “You sure you’re safe here?”

I scoff. “Perfectly. With the arrests we made thanks to my undercover work, the Bunnies are on the run.”

“You wereshot.” His voice is full of pain when he says it, as though he was the one who took the bullet.

I shrug it off. “It’s a scratch, and it could have been a lot worse. You, of all people, know it’s a hazard of the job.”

He levels his gaze on me. “Let me rephrase this. You were shot when you were found out.”

Okay, fine. He’s got me there. I shift in the booth, trying to find a spot that isn’t too lumpy. “Listen, Chief Muñoz knew I needed a break, and what better place than a little town on the coast of Alabama? Charming, by the way.”

Jack harrumphs with a smile, letting me off the hook like always. “It looks charming, but we’ve still got our share of crime, Reid. No drug cartels like what you’re used to dealing with in Miami, thank goodness, but it’s not exactly a leisurely stroll every day on the job.”

The waitress, Willa, brings us our food, and I flash another smile at her. I can’t help the little bit of harmless flirting. She blushes furiously, and it’s stupidly satisfying. In Miami, guys like me are a dime a dozen, and no one gives me a second glance.

Willa’s cute. Natural. Nothing like most of the women I’m surrounded by back home. She wears no makeup, and her long dark hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail with too-long bangs falling into her eyes. Her clothes are worn and appear way past their prime. The overall effect is of a woman comfortable in her own skin—most of the time. Right now, she can’t look at me without turning multiple shades of red, and I’m far too pleased by it. She leaves, as flustered as the two other times, and I turn my attention to breakfast. It’s good. Solid food that’s easy to do, but there’s something extra in it that tells me it’s made with care.

After a few minutes, another person approaches the table. There’s no stopping the cataloging my brain does on autopilot: male, late twenties, trim build, glasses, neatly trimmed beard, no visible tattoos.

“Chief Mac, good to see you.” The man turns a friendly glance at me. “And who’s this?”

“Reid, Matty. Matty, Reid,” Uncle Jack grunts, then goes back to shoveling hash browns in his mouth. Clearly the man is a fan of the food, as well.

I hold my hand out for a shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Matty responds. “You look like a…wait, don’t tell me.”

I glance at Jack, who stays focused on his breakfast. I’d be suspicious if it weren’t for the way his mouth twitches.

Matty snaps his fingers and points at me. “Got it! Horses.”

I lower my fork. “What?”

“Goats, then. Definitely a hooved animal.” Matty crosses his arms and studies me. “Llamas?”

I eye him. “Respectfully, what the hell are you talking about?”

He laughs, completely at ease with what feels like an incredibly insane conversation. “I’m a veterinarian. I can usually tell what kind of animal a person likes within seconds. You seem like a horse person.”

It takes me a minute, but then I start laughing. What kind of town have I found myself in? Even better, what kind ofpeoplehave I surrounded myself with? “I’m from Miami, my friend. No horses for me.”

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