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Chapter 1

“Your stalker’s back.”

Anna glanced over her shoulder when her co-worker, Tiffany, nudged her arm. Sure enough, the guy she’d secretly dubbed Mr. M—for mystery—sat at the boothclosest to the front door.

The same table he’d sat at the night before and the night before that.

Her table.

She turned back to Tiffany. “Would you stop calling him that.”

“What?” She gave Anna a tell-me-I’m-wrong face. “He’s sat at your table every night this week.”

That wasn’t unusual. Though there were times he disappeared for stretches of time, Anna noticed in the three months since she’d been working at the diner, he came in more often than not.

She shrugged a shoulder. “So, he likes the pie.”

Tiffany raised a blond brow. “And he only likes it at your table?”

Anna shrugged again. “Maybe he likes the view.”

“He likes the view all right. Just not the one outside. He’s into you.”

“Mr. Franklin sits at the same table every day. Are you saying he’s into me too?”

She laughed. “Probably.”

Anna scrunched her nose. Mr. Franklin was ninety if he was a day. “Besides, the guy’s only said three words to me—apple, pie, and no. And I’m pretty sure apple pie can be counted as one.”

Tiffany shook her head. “There’s no hyphen so it counts as two.”

Anna rolled her eyes. Tiffany was an English major in her last year at CSUN—California State University, Northridge—and Anna was just a wee bit—okay, maybe a lot—envious that she almost had her degree. “Whatever. What I’m saying is, you’re wrong. He’s not into me.”

Tiffany tilted her head, a lock of hair falling over her forehead which she shoved away, trying to stick back into her ponytail, but it had a mind of its own and flopped right back down again. “I’m not wrong. I’ve seen it. His eyes follow you when you’re not looking.”

Done with the pointless conversation because, at the end of the day, it didn’t really matter, Anna grabbed the coffee pot off the warming plate and turned on her heel, rounding the counter. But she did it with a tickle in her belly because even though she knew Tiffany was wrong, Anna secretly wished she was right. Not that she had the time or energy for men at the moment, but a little bit of fantasy wasn’t a bad thing. And boy was Mr. M a good candidate for a starring role. With his light brown hair, blue eyes, and light-tan complexion, he was handsome, just not in a classical way. No, he had a ruggedness about him and a hardness in his eyes that said he’d lived life and hadn’t watched it pass by through the window of an expensive sports car. His broad, squared jaw was clean-shaven that day, but earlier in the week she’d seen him sporting a few days’ worth of scruff, and honestly, Anna wasn’t sure which look she liked better. Add to his attractiveness a drool-worthy body with muscles the likes of which could rival any of the actors who starred in Magic Mike and that made him definitely fantasy worthy.

Mr. M’s gaze was focused out the window as she approached his table. Her eyes traveled to the pane to see what held his interest, but all she could see in the inky darkness was her own reflection staring back at her. Reaching for his coffee mug, she filled it, leaving enough room for cream which she knew he took, and slid it back in front of him. Catching the movement, his attention shifted to her hand, which he watched intently as she pulled her ticket book from her apron pocket.

“What can I get for you tonight?” She already knew what his answer would be. He ordered the same thing each time he came in and it never varied. But still it was best to make certain. If there was one thing she’d learned while being a server, it was that people were unpredictable.

“Apple pie.” He had a deep, gruff voice that carried a faint accent, but he’d never strung enough words together for her to determine which one.

She wrote down his order and tucked her pad away before grabbing the handle of the coffee pot. She thought about asking him his name before she left—so she could stop thinking of him as Mr. M, but like always, she chickened out at the last minute. Not that it mattered because his eyes were already back to staring out the window, dismissing her.

That was likely for the best. Reality never lived up to fantasy anyway. She’d discovered that with her two unsuccessful attempts at boyfriends. There hadn’t been anything really wrong with Tommy. The problem was, she’d crushed on him her whole junior year of high school and had built him into some paragon of manliness. It hadn’t been his fault he fell short of her expectations when they finally did get together in their senior year. They’d lasted three months before calling it quits, neither one overly heartbroken—which she knew for fact when he went back with his old girlfriend a few weeks later.

Then there’d been Jessie. God, he’d been cute with his long brown bangs that he was always brushing out of dark-blue eyes. They had the same English class her first semester of community college and she’d spent more time watching him than their professor. Anna had been practically giddy when he’d finally noticed her and asked her out. They’d gone on three dates, he’d gotten what he’d wanted from her, and that had been that. He’d never returned her phone calls and, not wanting to be the needy girl, she had stopped calling after leaving three messages. She’d gotten the hint. That had been over two years ago and was the last time she’d tried any type of relationship, instead focusing her energy on getting her life together.

Waitressing wasn’t her dream job, but it was a paycheck and beggars couldn’t be choosers. She’d like to go back to school, finish her degree, but she’d maxed out all the classes she could take at the local community college. She needed a bachelor’s degree in education to become a teacher, andthatshe couldn’t afford. At least not yet.

One day it would happen though.

They say if you want something badly enough, you can make your dreams come true. Anna wasn’t sure how true that was, but she did know sitting around waiting for something good to happen wasn’t going to get it done. If she wanted to make something of herself, she needed to work hard, stay focused, and live cheaply. She also knew that hunky strangers who ate pie wouldn’t be conducive to that goal—no matter how much said stranger made her stomach flutter.

Back behind the counter, she ditched the coffee pot and dished up a slice of pie, sneaking a peek at the clock over her head.

“Only thirty more minutes until closing,” Tiffany announced. At Anna’s dumbfounded look, she chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not a mind reader. I saw you look at the clock.”

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