Just Desserts

Just Desserts

Tricia Quinnies

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

Copyright © 2014 by Tricia Quinnies

JUST DESSERTS by Tricia Quinnies

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Media Group, LLC.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Published by Swoon Romance

Cover designed by Najla Qamber

Cover Copyright © 2014 by Swoon Romance

To Patsy and Al Penske
 

Just Desserts

Tricia Quinnies
 

Chapter One

Sadie scribbled his order down and put the scrumptious man out of her mind. The customer sitting in her booth was so sugary he could sweeten up her tartest lemon bars. She ripped the order off the pad and clipped it to the wheel hanging from the diner’s kitchen alcove.

Her dad, Paul Maxon, yanked the slip off the archaic stainless-steel contraption. It spun about, squeaking louder than the Foo Fighters’ tune playing on the jukebox. “Veggie burger and sweet potato fries, again? Doesn’t he know this is Wisconsin, land of meat and cheese?”

Sighing, she glanced at the hunky guy who hungered for a meatless meal. As usual, so engrossed in his tablet, he hadn’t heard her mulish father. “The guy’s eaten lunch here once a week since June. I heard Mr. Veggie Burger is a contractor. He’s renovating the Wrigley mansion across the lake. Appreciate repeat clientele, Mom used to say.”

“Yeah, I know. Your mother and her damn heart-healthy organic menu. Fat lot it did to help her out.” Shaking his head, he ambled around the stainless-topped island toward the back of the kitchen. He disappeared into a cloud of cold mist from the open freezer door.

Sadie scrubbed at a spot of ketchup crusted on the pink counter top. Waiting on tables, planning desserts, and surrounding herself with the comfort of Ms. Katie’s Diner had helped heal her heart, but not her dad. They had both hoped the gods of holistic health would shine on Kate Maxon—the believer in all things healthy, crunchy and granola-y, but her mom still died.

The silver boomerangs, etched into the linoleum, had faded and her wrist ached. In one week she would be back in Chicago to finish her thesis and her dad had the diner to keep him busy. Sadie stopped scrubbing and spied on the contractor as he stared down at his tablet. She noticed that his sandy hair showed streaks of white blond.

Veggie-man looked up and smiled.

Busted.

“Can I get anything for you?” she blurted.

He shook his head.

She hustled to check on the only other customers in the diner. The last of Monday’s lunch rush. Seated at the parlor table nestled in the bay window niche, the couple was so entranced with one another they had let their mango-lime parfaits melt into smoothies.

As she loaded their dishes on her tray, Sadie looked out the window at Lake Geneva. The water lay still beneath the oppressive August humidity. In the middle of the lake, an LG Coast Guard boat towed a Hobie wave runner to shore. Not enough wind on the lake to propel the bright yellow and orange sail had left the boaters stranded.

Down the street at the lakeside farmers market, tourists from Chicago, left over from the weekend, and local cheese-head farmers blurred together. They all seemed to move in slow motion under the white canopy tent on the pier.

Irritated by the waste of fresh mangoes, which were so fresh but a pain to peel, she let her loaded tray bang on the counter and went to refill Mr. Veggie Burger’s cup of coffee. As she poured java into his mug, her mind drifted.

Seven more days and she’d be with Bryan, again. He had planned to visit her in Lake Geneva last May, but decided to take off and go hike around Europe.

“Like Rick Steves,” Bryan had joked, when they last spoke before he took off for Amsterdam.

Sadie had laughed at the comparison since the two of them had watched the popular PBS travel show religiously. And Bryan, like Steves, wore khaki trousers.

Bryan had texted her that he was back in the States, but she still had no idea what day he was coming to help her move back into her Bucktown flat. She wanted to continue as if nothing had interrupted their newbie relationship. It had started to warm up right before Sadie had come home to be with her mother.

“Whoa. Stop. What are you doing?” A husky voice crashed into her prayerful plans.

She jerked her hand back and hot coffee splashed across Mr. Veggie’s table, just missing his iPad.

“I’m so sorry.” Sadie rushed back to the counter, grabbed a damp bar rag, and jogged back to his table. She wiped up the spilled coffee. “I didn’t ruin your tablet did I?”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

His voice, a scratchy baritone, was smooth and reassuring. She stopped scrubbing and looked at him. For a moment, Sadie wondered how he might kiss. Were his kisses deep? Or nimble and airy? Kisses so light, like meringue which melted fast and left her wanting more. Embarrassed, she shook her head to break free from her fantasy and stepped away from his table. “I’ll see if my dad’s finished with your order.”

“Ah. I knew you were his daughter. How’s he doing today?”

“Excuse me? He’s fine. How did you know—?”

“It’s pretty apparent you two are from the same stock with your red hair and green eyes. Hard to miss the resemblance. And the Irish roots.”

“Are you calling us a couple of breakfast cereal leprechauns?”

“No, you’re way too tall for the magically delicious type. But from the way I hear you two butt heads, I’d say Celtic blood runs thick in your veins. How’s that for stereotyping?”

Laughing, he tilted his chin up.

Sadie spied silver flecks in his blue eyes.

“You know a lot about us.” She turned to fetch his order, more unnerved by his easy nature.

“Wait. I didn’t mean to piss you off. It’s the album covers. The U2 albums on the walls. Your dad stops to look at
Rattle and Hum
every time I’m in the diner.”

“Oh right. U2— the RED dude. What’s his name?”

“Bono?”

“Yeah.” Sadie purposely blanked out her mom’s favorite Irish band.

After she had died, Sadie insisted that her father keep all the band memorabilia hanging on the walls to cover the ancient cracked plaster. Most days she avoided looking too hard at the stuff.

“Look, Mr. …”

He chuckled and offered her a handshake. “Quinn Laughton.”

“Sadie Maxon.” She grasped his hand and shook it formally then ogled the beautiful yin yang symbol tattooed on the back of his wrist. “Thanks for keeping an eye on my dad. I think. It’s been a rough year for him.”

“For you, too. From what I hear.”

Her breath hooked on the back of her throat. She spent so much energy running the diner and worrying, she’d perfected killing pain like Oxycodone. Quinn’s kind voice, his words, infringed on her mind-numbing survival tactics.

Once she moved back to Chicago and away from the diner—and far from the memories—the dull ache in her heart, from the loss of her mother, would disappear. Then her dad could have the diner to himself. She was certain that fixing and repairing it would keep him busy. There wouldn’t be enough time to think about his broken heart.

“Order up!” Her dad’s voice boomed in the almost empty diner.

Sadie hurried to get Quinn’s sandwich and returned to serve him.

“Why don’t you sit down for a break?”

She was so surprised it was like he’d asked her to strip and play Twister with him. She rarely took time to rest, but Quinn stopped her in her flip-flops.

Her last table, the lovey-dovey couple, waved goodbye. The cowbell on the front door clanged as they cleared out…to find a bedroom likely. With two hours before the dinner crowd trickled into the diner, she plopped down across from him in the booth. Sadie stretched her legs out along the red vinyl-covered bench and dropped her head back against the wall. From the corner of her eye, she watched him eat his burger.

“Delicious. As usual,” he murmured, still chewing on the first bite.

“House specialty and please don’t start to make yummy noises. At least wait until you have dessert. Georgia peaches covered with sprigs of fresh basil and whipped cream.”

“Sounds tempting.” He lifted one blond eyebrow. “How come every time I order my burger your dad cusses?”

“You don’t miss anything, do you? I would think you have more important matters over at the old Wrigley house than the inner works of our tiny diner.”

“Ms. Katie’s Diner is as historically important as that mansion once owned by a bubble gum baron. Retro diners like this one are rare and they’re in danger of becoming extinct. The counter is an original Brook Stevens’ design. Those silver boomerangs are a fifties collectors’ dream. I’m surprised that you, or your dad, haven’t had to sift through a boatload of offers to buy this place.”

He shook rock salt on his sweet potato fries.

Hungry, Sadie resisted pulling one of his fries off the plate to pop into her mouth. “There’ve been offers but my dad would never sell. It’s like a gastronomical shrine. My mother poured her heart and soul into every recipe.”

“What about you? Would you sell it?”

“What? No! Wait, now I get it. You’ve scoped us out all summer, haven’t you?” She sat up straight. “You’re like a vulture circling about just waiting to swoop in to pick off what’s left of my family.”

***

Quinn flinched at Sadie’s outburst. He had admired her one-woman operating system on a regular basis all summer. Her determination, in the midst of cracked ceiling plaster, to keep the diner and her father working, impressed him.

Ms. Katie’s lived up to its reputation. The food was four-star quality, and it occurred to him the diner would be a terrific investment. But that wasn’t why he had already offered to buy the place from Paul Maxon.

Sadie and Paul worked so hard to keep the diner from sinking. The sadness bothered him. The retro fifties place felt just as Sadie had said—a shrine. But in a restaurant full of stainless steel, linoleum, and plastic, it was a cold dead shrine in dire need of repairs.