Prove Me Wrong (23 page)

              Kat picked the first one up. Some of the ink from the front of the envelope had smeared off over the years.

              She hadn’t read or opened these letters in a long time. She had learned to put this part of her history behind her.
After all
, she had told herself countless times,
it had only been one night.

              But even still, she had kept the letters. She couldn’t bring herself to throw them away.

             
I prefer those North Carolina stars. They’re warmer. And beneath them, there’s a pretty girl and some blueberry pie waiting.

              Kat took another gulp of her wine.

              Had she really seen Jason tonight? It had felt like a ghost had come back to her. And of all places, in a dive bar like Reggie’s.

              Uncle Doughy had told her that if ever she was in trouble to go find a man named Reggie Black. He would help her no matter what. She had gone to find this man to ask for a loan. She needed more money to keep the diner afloat. With decline in business all across the town, Doughy Pop’s was having a harder time making ends meet.

              But instead of a possible angel investor, she had found the devil of her dreams.

              Jason.

              He seemed taller than she remembered. And broader. And more powerful. She remembered his arm around her as he had pressed her against him, protecting her from the brawl. She remembered his strength as he easily kept her near, not letting her scoot even an inch away until they had reached safety.

              But his face was darker. His scruff was thicker and his face more lined. He looked like a man who was living a haunted life. His eyes, which had always been sharp and potent, now looked absolutely lethal. He seemed honed to a razor blade’s edge. Cross him wrong and he would cut you.

              Yes, a man like that
would
stop writing, Kat deduced finally. She finished the rest of her wine.

              It was just as well that that dream died as well. There was no room in her life now for princes and fairy tales. Her uncle had died. Her brother was sick. And she was about to lose the only semblance of a home she had ever had.

              Lying down her bed, Kat realized maybe it was finally time to throw those letters away.

Chapter
Seven

              The diner door chimed as Kat walked in. Malcolm was in the back cooking. He had taken over the role of cooking after Uncle Doughy’s death. Kat had originally wanted to be cook but management of the home and restaurant took too much time for her to be behind the stove.

Malcolm’s head popped up through the order window and nodded at his sister.

              Kat quickly threw her purse under the register and grabbed an apron. She had had to drop off Dillon at the hospital for his treatment in the morning. A year or two ago, she would’ve been worried about leaving the diner short, but these days, with how slow business was, she knew Malcolm would be okay.

              Janelle bustled by, smiling. Janelle was a local high school student who Kat had quickly hired after Uncle Do’s death. Janelle was sweet and hardworking and a blessing to Doughy Pop’s.

              Looking around, her prediction had been right. The place wasn’t even a quarter full and Janelle was covering all the tables. So tying her hair back, Kat quickly hefted the tray of clean glasses to stack below the soda machine.

              As she worked, she heard Malcolm’s voice through the order window, “How was Dill?”

              “Oh you know him,” Kat replied, carefully stacking the glasses. This was not a time she could afford any broken glasses. “Taking it like a champ as usual.”

              If anything, she wished Dillon would complain more. His quiet strength and resolve broke her heart. He had missed so much of his childhood because of his illness. And yet, he worked to keep any hardship to himself because he didn’t want to add to the burdens of his brother and sister.

              Kat shook her head before a tear could escape. “You know,” she said, quickly changing the topic, “have you seen the bank recently? On my way in, I saw all these trucks outside the bank with like new furniture and equipment. Like new ATM machines.”

              “That’s nothing,” Malcolm countered. “Haven’t you seen Hoyt’s?” Hoyt’s was the local grocery store. “They’ve torn down the whole front face of the store. I asked Hoyt what was happening and he said that he was redoing the whole front. There was a stack of lumber out back.”

              Kat paused, squatting on her haunches as she processed this new information. “How is that possible?” she asked, thinking aloud. “Where’d he get the money for so much work?”

              She couldn’t see him but she knew Malcolm had shrugged in the pause of silence.

              “But he looked excited about the work,” Malcolm said. “No wonder, of course. That place was sorely in need of a makeover. But I still don’t know where the money came from. And the bank—I don’t know where they’re getting all that new stuff either.”

              Kat didn’t either. The bank was an independent credit union. They weren’t even part of a huge national chain. So where did this money for sudden renovation and improvement come from?

              Kat gasped as a thought hit her. She jumped up to her feet so she could stare at Malcolm through the order window.

              Eye wide, she said, “You don’t think it’s those buyers from New York, do you? Maybe they’re giving money to pretty up the town before they buy it all up.”

              Malcolm paused, spatula in hand. He seemed to think this theory over before shaking his head.

              “Don’t you remember that town meeting a few months back? Hoyt was the most against the buy out. He would never take money from those people,” Malcolm said, flipping pancakes with a furrowed brow. “But it
is
weird. I wonder who else would have the money for such a big project.”

              Kat knew Malcolm was right. Hoyt Floyd owned the local grocery store and was dead set against the buy out. He wanted Hoyt’s to have nothing to do with it in protest.

              But then where did he get the money? And where had the bank gotten its money?

              But as the bell ringed over the door with new customers, Kat shrugged off the thought and threw herself into work. Making sure that Janelle was managing the front well, Kat headed towards the kitchen to whip up another batch of her vanilla almond scones, which were quickly becoming a town favorite. She had been improving the baked goods menu of Doughy Pop’s slowly but surely and she was pleasantly surprised to see just how well the townspeople were receiving the expanded menu items.

              Baking required focus. Measurements had to be precise and temperatures exact. So focused was Kat that she did not hear the door ring as a customer entered. She did not hear Janelle through the order window taking the customer’s order. She didn't even hear Janelle repeating the order through the order window.

              It wasn’t until Malcolm had slammed his spatula against his grill that Kat looked up. Jerked out of her focused meditative state, she turned around and saw her brother glaring out the order window.

              Kat’s baking station stood at the opposite end of the kitchen. She couldn’t see out through the order window which was directly next to the grill. But she could see Malcolm’s scrunched face and grease spattered glasses as he glared through the window.

             
What was going on?

              “Tell him we don’t have cheese,” Malcolm nearly snarled.

              Kat could hear Janelle’s surprised voice at the opposite end of the window. “We don’t have cheese? But for table three’s order, you just made—”

              “Well now it’s out. And a Denver omelet has cheese. But there’s no cheese. So no omelet,” he said in a clipped voice.

              Kat stared at her brother in astonishment as Janelle’s steps retreated, presumably to tell the customer the unfortunate news.

              “Col, what are you talking about?” Kat started, her hands floury and half in the mixing bowl. “We just ordered 20 pounds of—”

              Janelle had returned. “He said that any omelet would do then.” It was clear by her wavering voice that Janelle was a little nervous to be caught in the middle of this awkward interaction.

              Malcolm didn’t skip a beat. “We’re out of eggs,” he said flatly as a dozen uncracked and pristine eggs sat in a bowl next to him.

              “Uhhhh,” Janelle started, clearly seeing the same.

              “Malcolm!” Kat chastised. “What is wrong with you?”

              Wanting to save Janelle from this highly unusual behavior from her brother, Kat pushed through the swing door out to the front of the restaurant. Almost immediately, she wanted to swing right back in.

              Sitting at the end of the bar, near the order window, was Jason Daniels.

              And he was looking right at her.

              As if someone had a direct accelerator to her heart, she could feel her pulse racing as she looked at the man with the smoldering gaze sitting calmly at the end of the diner bar.

              He looked a little different from when she had seen him a week ago in Fayetteville. He had shaved the long dark scruff off. His hair was trimmed and slicked back. And instead of the all black ensemble she had seen him in that night, he wore a green flannel shirt and jeans. The shirt was rolled up at the cuffs, giving Kat a tantalizing view of his well muscled forearms.

              He seemed like a hallucination of that soldier she had met two years ago, the man who had taken her breath away and had stolen her heart.

              But Kat wasn’t fooled. She still saw the tightness in his jaw. She saw the darkness in his eyes. There was something changed in him. He was not the same man she had seen sitting at table six two years ago. That man had been powerful but sweet. Quiet but charming. There had been something still a little boyish about him.

              This man, the man that sat at her restaurant bar, exuded something far more dangerous. There was a whiff something lethal about him. You could tell he had been in danger, touched it, slept with it, and had breathed it every day for years. There was nothing boyish about this man. He was 100% all man.

              Kat approached the end of the bar. Through the order window, she saw Malcolm glaring at Jason, clearly remembering just who the man was.

              “Err…” Kat started, unsure where to go in this situation.

              Jason took the lead. “Apparently Doughy Pop’s has fallen short a few key ingredients,” he said dryly, unbothered by Malcolm’s fierce squinting glare.

              Kat looked over at Malcolm, giving him a look that said,
cool it.
But her brother took no heed. She knew he was feeling anger on her behalf but at the end of the day, they still had a business to run.

              Jason’s lips twitched. My god, how could a lip twitch look so sexy? Kat covertly pinched her thigh under her apron.
Get a grip!
she chastised herself.
Remember who that man is.

And Kat remembered. He was the man who had let her go.

              “How about some coffee then?” Jason asked, never breaking his gaze with Kat.

              Janelle moved for the coffee pot when Malcolm suddenly spat out, “We don’t have any coffee!”

              Janelle, Jason, and Kat both eyed the completely full coffee pot, standing piping hot on its hot plate.

              Malcolm made a grumbling noise. “No mugs,” he said petulantly.

              “Malcolm, stop,” Kat said in a voice that brooked no argument. She pulled out a thick mug and poured Jason a cup of coffee.

              A noise of annoyance and frustration was heard through the window as Malcolm returned to his grill, smacking his spatula unnecessarily hard onto the grill.

              As Kat put the mug in front of Jason, she left a track of flour on the countertop. “Sorry about that,” she said as she took a washcloth to wipe away the flour but wasn’t very successful since her hands were covered in flour.

              Jason took a sip of his coffee. “Seeing all that flour makes me think of your blueberry pie,” he said in a low voice that brought back too many memories for Kat. “I’d love a slice.”

              Kat looked up at him. This was the same man that had ignored her letters and had roughly pulled her out from a biker bar, telling her casually that her only hope for survival was dead. She couldn’t let her heart falter.

              And yet….

              “We don’t have any blueberry today,” she said. “But I have lemon meringue, if you still want pie.”

              Jason nodded, a small smile appearing at the corner of his lips. “That sounds perfect.”

              Janelle jumped past them. “I’ll get it!” she said cheerily as she hopped off to fetch the pie.

              A beat passed between them.

              “What are you doing here?” Kat blurted suddenly. This was a long way from Fayetteville. And after so much time had passed.

              “If I recall, you had asked that I come back to Peytonville someday,” he said, his gaze never wavering.

              Kat felt a sudden shyness and surprise at the mention of her letters. Yes, she
had
asked him to come back one day. But she had asked him that two years ago. She had asked him before he had decided to forget her.

              “So is that what you’re doing? Here for a visit?” she asked, trying to infuse her voice with as much casualness as possible.

              Janelle returned and placed the pie in front of Jason. He took a huge forkful and then closed his eyes as he gave a low hum of pleasure. “It’s hard to believe anything could taste as good as your blueberry pie but this sure does come close,” he said, taking another heaping bite.