Chapter One
Sabrina
“I can do this,” I tell myself for the millionth time. I’ve been doing this job for a few days now, and I’ve totally got it. He’s another customer, nothing more. The pep talk I’m giving myself seems to be working, but then I realized my feet aren’t moving.
I’m firmly planted in one spot, which isn’t hard to do since the floor is still a bit sticky. It’s most likely from the tray of drinks I spilled. Why do people cheer when someone drops a tray? As if it’s not embarrassing enough. At least I’m frozen in the back of the restaurant and not in front of the entire diner.
“Are you going to just stand there?” George barks at me, making me jump. Why does he feel the need to snap out all his commands? It doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse. For me, all it does is bring back memories of my father.
“Sorry.” When I reach into the front of my apron, I notice it’s already smeared with several stains. I’ve only been here for an hour and I’m already a freaking mess. Grabbing my notepad, I hold it tightly in my hand and let out a sigh.
This is not how I thought my life would turn out, but then again, it never has been. One by one, all my choices vanished and now I’m back in Mittenville. The town that hates me. Well, it’s hate by proxy because I never did anything to them. My father is the one they loathe, but he’s skipped town.
When I was younger, they treated me like royalty, but honestly, that wasn’t much better. It was always fake, and at least now I know what they really think. I don’t much care for my father either, but promises are promises. Right? I’m not so sure anymore. When my thoughts turn to my grandfather, I push away my doubts about being back in Mittenville.
“Don’t make Booker wait. He never comes in here.”
George lit up like a Christmas tree when Booker walked through the front door and set the bell off. That bell haunts my dreams. I should get excited when I hear it because it means another customer is coming in. All it does is make dread build in my stomach.
Booker Pine is the new royalty in town. His ranch has expanded significantly over the years, and he’s really made a name for himself. In fact, they put it on the outside of the library. I used to love that place. Anytime I could talk my father into letting me go to town, that's where I went.
Not that I can blame everyone for falling all over Booker. I felt the same way the first time I laid eyes on him. Since then, every time I see him he still causes my heart to flutter with excitement. Along with other parts of my body.
“Maybe Joy should take him?” I suggest. She’s been here forever and can work this place with her eyes closed. It’s actually impressive to watch her go. She tries to help me out but I have two left feet and keep messing up every order. Joy says if I calm down I won’t be so flustered, but the harder I try, the worse I make it.
"No, I want to send something that might convince him to come back."
“Then should I take him one of the cinnamon rolls?” Joy even bakes all the pastries here. I could live off the cinnamon rolls, and now that Christmas is closing in, she’s been adding festive sprinkles to the icing. At this point I’m already kind of living off them because she gives me extras for free.
“What?” He cocks his head to the side. I don’t know how the little chef hat stays on his shiny, bald head. Don’t you wear a hat when you cook to keep your hair out of the way? The only hair George has are his overgrown eyebrows and the ones in his nose.
He stares at me, and I’m familiar with the expression. My father gave it to me all the time, and it’s the one that makes me feel dumb. Or at least they think I’m dumb. At this point I’m wondering if they are right with how often I make a fool of myself.
“I meant—” He waves his hand to my face and then down my body. I step back, and the sound of my sneakers peeling from the sticky floor has him barking at me again. “Just go!”
I turn around and rush through the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the dining area. I’m not waiting around for George to finish what he was about to say.
A few people turn to glance my way, and I slow my steps. I don’t want to draw attention to myself as I make my way down to the other end of the diner. My eyes land right on Booker, but I can’t see his face. His head is down while he reads the menu, and his Stetson hat conceals him.
“Watch out.” A body slams into my side, and it makes me drop my notepad.
“Sorry,” I mutter, seeing it’s Parson. I lean down and quickly grab the notepad before I keep moving to get away from him.
“You will be,” I think I hear him say under his breath.
He’s one of many that are always glaring at me. In my entire life I think I’ve said three words to the man. I know of a lot of people from this town, I just don’t know them. When I was growing up, that wasn’t allowed.
Booker raises his head, and those piercing green eyes of his lock with mine. Once again, a flutter sets loose inside of me and I’m the one to break eye contact first. It’s challenging to know what Booker is thinking or feeling since his expression is unreadable and he’s always so stoic.
I’ve heard about all the good things he’s done for Mittenville since I got back to town, but he still remains standoffish. It’s not hard to hear what’s happening in town while working at the diner. I hear everything without even trying.
“Morning,” I chirp a bit too loudly.
“It’s afternoon,” someone corrects me from behind.
I ignore it, which I’m sure isn’t helpful. That’s part of the problem. Everyone believes I'm a snotty brat that has fallen from grace. They don’t know my father would raise hell when I was younger if I dared to speak to anyone. He never wanted anyone close to me and told me they didn’t need to know our business.
Now it’s made me shy and not really great with conversations. It’s easy for me to ignore the comments since I did it for years at home.