Back to the Good Fortune Diner (6 page)

Part of it was that she’d always kind of intimidated him, which was stupid since she was barely five-two and 120 pounds soaking wet. She’d always been ultraserious, goal-oriented, her mind always on schoolwork and getting top marks. Nothing distracted her. Not even him.

He remembered when he’d first approached her, asking for help with his English paper, and she’d refused, saying she didn’t have time to tutor him. He’d followed her through hallways between periods and practically begged until she’d reluctantly given in.

She’d been mercilessly focused in her tutelage. She wouldn’t allow him to waste a minute of their time together: she had other things she could be doing, and he was only paying her five bucks an hour. It was the best money he’d ever spent. Thanks to Tiffany, he’d earned his scholarship to Berkeley.

Maybe that was why he felt like a boy waiting to get a scolding from the principal. He was ashamed that he was begging for her assistance again. He should have been paying more attention to Simon’s education.

Part of the problem was he barely got to see his son. They spent less than an hour a day at the dinner table, where volatile tempers regularly clashed over William’s greasy, salty meals. The moment he finished eating, Simon would storm up to his bedroom and slam the door. His hostility should have warned Chris something was wrong. Instead, he’d dismissed it as teenage angst.

But he hadn’t noticed because instead of spending time with Simon, Chris would double-check the paperwork his father had done that day. Early on, when Chris had first taken over the farm, he’d caught his father playing with the numbers to make it look like they were in big trouble. William had claimed it was an honest mistake, but Chris wasn’t about to let it happen again.

He checked his watch. He’d come ten minutes early, and now the caffeine was kicking in. His knee bounced restlessly. Damn. What did he have to be so nervous about? It wasn’t as if Tiffany was going to spank him for Simon’s poor grades.

The door swung open. A slender woman in slim-fitting jeans, a frilly pink short-sleeved blouse and three-inch heels strode in, her dangly silver earrings catching the light. A small designer purse hung off her elbow. Her long, waterfall-straight ebony hair, which cascaded past her shoulders, swayed as she walked to the counter. A pair of huge dark sunglasses made her delicate face look even smaller. Chris watched her place her order, admiring her figure. Definitely not a local. If he had time to flirt, he might ask her out for dinner, but he had other things to worry about.

When she picked up her drink, she gazed around the café. She looked in his direction and raised one hand in a wave.

He waved back automatically, but then his brain seized. That wasn’t... It couldn’t be...?

She started toward him, drink in hand. “Sorry I’m late. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” She set her coffee on the table, revealing the sling around her left arm that he hadn’t noticed before. She lifted her sunglasses to rest on top of her head.

Chris faltered. “T-Tiffany?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Chriiiis?” She drew out his name, uncertain.

Dear Lord. This was not the girl he remembered from high school. Where were the owlish glasses? Where was the headband and ponytail she usually wore? Mentally, he superimposed the image of the Tiffany Cheung he knew. As she continued to scrutinize him, her mouth tightening into a steep frown, he realized this was, indeed, his old tutor.

He cleared the frog from his throat. “You look, um...different.”

Her well-plucked eyebrows lowered. Ah,
there
she was. She still had those parallel lines between her eyes. “How are you?” he asked, trying to recover himself.

“Fine.” She set her purse on the adjacent chair and sat pertly on the edge of her seat, arms folded over the tabletop, exactly the same way she used to when they met for tutoring. “You?”

“Good. Well, a little stressed, I suppose. One of the pigs just gave birth so there’s a new litter to care for. We have new kittens, too. And coyotes have been stalking the area....” He was blabbering. He took a gulp of his beverage and shuffled his feet beneath the table. “I don’t know if you heard...I had to leave school to take over the farm after my dad’s accident. He lost a leg.” He cringed inwardly. That was only half-true, since he’d come home long before that. And he hadn’t meant to go for the pity ploy talking about his dad’s leg. He wanted to explain why he was here.

She nodded. “I heard. I’m very sorry.”

Because his father’s leg had been amputated or because she was disappointed in him? He rubbed his damp palms over his thighs. “He’s all right. And being on the farm... It’s a living, you know? I’m pretty happy. On the farm, I mean. Even with my dad...”

Verbal diarrhea. That’s what this was. He snapped his jaw shut and forced himself to stop talking. She would not be interested in the goings-on at the farm.

Tiffany didn’t say anything for a moment as she stirred her drink, eyes cast down. Her lashes fanned across her cheeks. “I heard you got married and had a baby.”

The coffee tasted bitter suddenly. He reached for a packet of sugar. “Married, and divorced. My son, Simon, is fifteen now.” He paused as regret pricked him. “Daphne’s in L.A. with her new husband.”

He wasn’t sure that was censure in her dark eyes when she looked up, but there was definitely something. Hurt? Resentment?

“Congratulations,” she said, and he quirked his eyebrow.

“On the divorce?”

“On the birth of your son. I guess it’s kind of late to say it, though.”

“Better late than never, right?” He chuckled weakly. Her lips lifted a fraction and she sipped her beverage.

Up close with the afternoon light bathing the café, he noticed the slight swelling in her jaw, the faint bruises beneath a light covering of powder. He’d never thought of her as someone who would wear makeup, but she certainly did now. Her lashes were sooty with mascara, her eye shadow and eyeliner glimmering with a hint of sparkle. Lip gloss made her rosebud mouth appear jeweled. Tiffany resembled a silver-screen starlet. It was all aesthetically pleasing in that glossy magazine way, but he found himself thinking about the girl beneath.

“So, you have any other kids?” she asked, interrupting his frank appraisal.

“No, just Simon...actually, he’s the reason I wanted to see you. He failed English this year. Shakespeare caused him trouble, apparently.”

She gave a ghost of a smile. “Like father like son.”

“I haven’t been around much to help him, so it’s partly my fault.” He glanced into his cup. “He’s going to retake the class over the summer, but I want him to have help, not only in English, but in whatever else he might want to work on. Would you be willing to tutor him?”

She lifted her eyes as if she were studying a menu above his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve brushed up on my Shakespeare.”

“What he really needs is guidance, someone to stick by him and make sure he’s trying. He’s not stupid—I know he’s not, even if he tries to pass himself off as being below average.”

“Something else the two of you share in common,” she said wryly.

“Hey, I genuinely needed the help,” he protested.

“You needed a babysitter.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re selling yourself short.”

“I try to be humble.” Her gaze remained fixed on his.

It was an apt word for her, he thought. On graduation day, when her name was called, she’d glided serenely up to accept her scholarship to NYU, her award for academic excellence and her high school diploma. Barely anyone clapped. Despite all her achievements, she’d simply accepted her prize with a smile, then descended.

That had been the last time he’d seen her. He couldn’t find her after the ceremony. She hadn’t shown up at any of the grad parties, either, but that was hardly a surprise. A week later, he found out she’d left for New York.

Tiffany sat back, her all-business mask dropping smoothly over her face. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in Everville. I’ve been applying for jobs back in New York and could get called at any time.”

“I appreciate that, of course. But Simon needs someone, and I’d like that someone to be you. I’d pay you, of course. I can’t afford much, though.” He named a reasonable hourly rate, much better than the paltry sum he’d given her back in the day, but she deserved more. “You’d come at least three times a week for two hours a session, minimum. You could probably work that around a second part-time job if you had to.”

Those two lines re-formed between her eyes. “You understand if I get a job on Friday, I’m leaving, right?”

“What’s the hurry?” he asked on a half laugh, but she didn’t return his humor.

“I have a life to get back to. My plans have been...interrupted. I need to start working again as soon as possible.” She made it sound as if she were racing against the clock.

Same old Tiffany.
She knew what she wanted, knew how to get it. She was an intelligent, ambitious woman with laserlike focus and a mission. He couldn’t blame her for not staying in Everville when she could have the world.

It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did.

* * *

T
IFFANY NEEDED TO LEAVE
before she embarrassed herself.

Chris Jamieson was
hot.
Scalding
H-O-T.
The golden boy was now a golden man, and staring at him was like staring at the sun. She was going to go blind or melt in her seat if she stayed any longer.

Her crush hadn’t abated. Not one bit. And now, as a woman who’d literally had sex a blue moon ago, she was pretty sure her panties were on fire.

Chris had always been tall, but now he was also big. Broad, with muscles that bulged beneath his fitted T-shirt. His bare forearms sported a fine thatching of dark gold hair, and his hands, with their long, strong fingers used to curving around a football, now delicately curled around his mug. He’d grown into his features, too, his chin and jaw more square and pronounced, the cleft peeking out behind the three-day growth of dark gold stubble. A dimple flashed with every easy smile. Crow’s feet added a touch of worldliness to his avenging angel look. Actually, he looked more like a Norse god, minus the helmet.

He was saying something about his son, but she couldn’t hear him above the silent scream ringing in her ears. His pretty, sculpted lips were moving, but she couldn’t register the sound because, wow, those lips. She bet those bristles tickled.

Staring into his sky-blue eyes was her final mistake. She didn’t know what drowning in another person’s eyes meant until she accidentally sucked her latte down the wrong pipe.

“Are you okay?” he asked as she spluttered and coughed.

“Hot...” she rasped, praying there wasn’t coffee snot hanging from her running nose. He handed her some napkins and worked on the spill around her cup, his hand brushing lightly against her elbow. She yanked it away as though scalded and nearly knocked the rest of her drink over.

“I’m fine,” she snapped. Her cheeks were burning, and tears clumped in her mascara. Dammit, she knew she’d put on too much. She recomposed herself and sat up straighter. “Thank you.”

He grinned. “Can’t have you dying on me yet. Simon still needs help.”

Oh, how she wished he wouldn’t smile and push his hand through his hair like that. It made his T-shirt pull against his chest, made her think of all the wicked things she would like to do to that chest.

She wiped a palm over her mouth as if she could pocket the encroaching smile. “Tell me about Simon. What’s he like?”

“Simon? Well...I guess he’s a typical fifteen-year-old. He used to play baseball, but I don’t think that’s what he’s into anymore. He’s more of a video-games kind of kid. Computers and Facebook and stuff. He definitely didn’t get that from me.” He toyed with his nearly empty cup. “He’s very intelligent when he applies himself. Once, when he was eleven, he fixed the lawn mower all by himself....”

Chris’s words blurred together as he waxed on about his brilliant son. Every word out of his mouth reinforced how much he’d grown, becoming a proud father with a house and a farm. A man with responsibilities, property, a family, a life.

Inexplicably, she was a little disappointed. Where had the rebellious, intellectual, motorcycle-riding teen she’d known gone to? He used to rant about issues like how crass consumerism was destroying the environment, or how the North American obesity epidemic was a crime when children were starving in other parts of the world. He’d been one of the most intelligent and radical kids around, though he’d hidden it beneath his QB persona.

“So, do you think you can help?” he asked when he’d finished extolling his son’s virtues.

She tilted her chin, considering the money. It was more than she’d make mowing lawns, certainly. And it should keep her out of the diner. “All right, I’ll do it.”

He slumped in his chair in relief. They discussed when she could meet Simon and when the best times to tutor would be. Chris handed her a business card, and she wrote her number down for him.

His smile was wide as he took the card from her and clasped her hand. Warmth snaked up her arm and she stuffed down a dreamy sigh. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this. I’ll see you soon.”

Oh, she definitely wouldn’t mind seeing more of him.

* * *

D
ANIEL LOGGED ON
to his instant messenger, cracked his knuckles and waited. He double-checked to make sure the door was closed—he hated being interrupted during his personal time, and he’d been very clear to his family that after hours, when he was in his room, he was not to be disturbed.

Not that they ever listened to him.

It was hard enough to have a long-distance relationship; having one with a general practitioner who was always on call with her patients was like trying to chase the sun as it set over the horizon. Added to the fact that his parents were on him every minute of the day, it was no wonder he hadn’t told them about Selena until nearly a year after meeting her.

The window blinked as Selena88 popped up with her greeting.
Hey, honey bear, how was your day?