by Mara Jacobs
Charlie Simpson was nursing a broken heart.
Phoebe Robbins was just waiting tables.
Fate brought them together for one night.
Now, amidst the original Worth couples (Lizzie and Finn, Katie and Darío, Alison and Petey, and Deni and Sawyer), and a holiday party with lots of surprises, can Charlie and Phoebe find each other again?
Published by Copper Country Press LLC
Copyright 2013 Mara Jacobs
Cover design by Kim Killion
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For more information on the author and her works, please see www.marajacobs.com
ISBN: 978-0-9852586-8-9
Prologue
Santa Claus has the right idea. Visit people only once a year.
~ Victor Borge
The Friday night after Thanksgiving
“I still say we need to go to a strip club,” said Charlie Simpson's best friend, Jeff.
Or, at least he used to be Charlie's best buddy. Charlie wasn't so sure anymore.
“I don't think so,” Charlie said. For about the sixth time that night.
These days, he only saw Jeff when he made it home to Port Huron for the holidays or some other event. And that was fine with Charlie.
“Come on, man. You've been a total pussy all night. If that's the case, I say we go look at some real pussy.”
Jesus, Charlie thought.
“Jesus,” somebody said quietly. Charlie looked across the booth at his other two pals, Ricky and John, but it hadn't come from them. Apparently they didn't hear it. Then Charlie saw the waitress walking away from the booth next to them, coffee pot in hand. It must have come from her.
He took a closer look at the retreating figure. Figure being the key word. It was hard to gauge her age from the back, but if the white-blonde ponytail swinging across her shoulder blades was any indication, she wasn't as old as the gray-haired waitress who had been waiting on Charlie’s table. This woman was petite, but with lots of curves. Curves that swayed and glided under the retro, knee-length, polyester diner uniform the waitresses wore at this throw-back joint.
Tiny and curvy. A million miles away from the tall and lean figure of Deni Casparich, the woman he worked with and, up until last February, had considered his soul mate.
Well, okay, maybe not soul mate. If he was being honest—and Deni living with their boss, Sawyer Beck, had forced honesty upon Charlie—maybe less soul mate and more best friend who was conveniently of the opposite sex and also conveniently as single as Charlie.
“I'm serious. Let's go find some fun. Enough of your emo bullshit,” Jeff said, pushing at Charlie to exit the booth. “You get home, like, twice a year these days, and I'm not going to let you piss and moan about a chick for the entire time.”
“I've said maybe two things about Deni this whole night,” Charlie said as he cleared out of the booth, then stood aside so Jeff could exit. John and Ricky did the same, both reaching into their wallets and putting some bills on the table. Charlie did as well.
“Yeah, you may have only mentioned her twice, but it's obvious that's where your head is at. Both of them,” Jeff said with a stupid chuckle. Charlie noticed that Jeff hadn't reached into his own wallet. Charlie put a few more bills on the table.
“So?” Jeff said to them all as they stared putting on their coats. “Pussy Palace? Or do we take the bridge to Canada?”
John and Ricky both opted for staying in Michigan, and Charlie tried to figure out how to gracefully get out of going to a strip club with his buddies. All he really wanted to do was go home, maybe heat up some of the turkey left over from his mother's Thanksgiving dinner and then hit the hay.
He lived and worked in the Upper Peninsula, an eight-hour drive from Port Huron. He had come home on Wednesday after work and was heading back Sunday. He used to spend these short visits partying with his friends, but if his attitude tonight was any indication, he'd be spending Saturday night home with his parents watching something on Netflix. And looked forward to it.
As he reached for his coat on the hook beside the booth, he noticed the small, curvy waitress talking with their older waitress behind the counter. She still had her back to Charlie, but he made out what seemed to be the older one handing off her tables to the younger one. She was untying and removing the pink apron from the front of her uniform and handing over her order pad to the younger woman. The older woman pointed at Charlie's table, and the younger woman looked over her shoulder to them.
And right at Charlie. Bam.
“Umm…you guys go ahead. You're right, Jeff, I'm in a pissy mood tonight. I'd just be a drag at the club. I'm going to finish my coffee and head home.” He took a quick look at his coffee cup, praying there was some left. Not that he wasn't going to totally ask the waitress for more the second his buddies were out the door.
He let his coat stay on the hook and slid back into the booth, like he'd only gotten up to let Jeff out. Like he'd intended to stay.
And not as though the bolt from seeing the waitress' face, coupled with that body, wasn't what made him sit his ass down. No need to draw anybody else's attention to her.
Luckily, she now followed the older waitress through the doors to the kitchen, and Charlie inwardly sighed with relief that none of his buddies had seen what a looker had been just yards away from them. No way would they be heading off to a sleazy strip club when they could watch this woman walk away from them for a couple more hours.
Ricky and John seemed undecided, hovering between Jeff, who was already zipping up his coat while shooting Charlie a dirty look, and Charlie sitting back in the booth.
“Seriously,” Charlie said to them. “Go ahead. Have fun. Place your dollar bills strategically. Give me a full report tomorrow.”
That seemed to be all Ricky and John needed, following Jeff out of the diner, with only a “Later, dude,” trailing behind them.
The people at the table next to him cleared out, and there was only one other booth on Charlie's side of the diner with customers. He couldn’t see around the corner of the L-shaped counter to know if there were other people still left or not. He sipped from his coffee cup, taking only the smallest amount, willing the cute waitress to come out from behind the swinging kitchen doors and notice him.
As if the gods had heard him, the door swung in Charlie's direction. He held his breath, praying it was the young waitress. It was. And she was heading in his direction. But then she stopped when she saw him sitting in the booth. She turned around and headed away from him and Charlie almost screamed in frustration. But no, she was only going to the coffee maker and grabbing a pot of the blessed brew and bringing it…yes, she was…bringing it to him.
“Care for a refill?” she asked as she reached him.
“Hmm-mmm,” he mumbled, holding his cup out to her. God, had the words “care for a refill” ever sounded so sexy? Her voice was light, airy and had a familiarity to it that went right to his gut. Up close she was even more angelic looking. Her face was heart-shaped, and her eyes were a de
ep brown that seemed a stark contrast to her light blonde hair.
“There you go,” she said, filling his cup. She turned to walk away, to leave him, and he blurted out, “I didn't go with them.”
She turned back to face him. “Excuse me?”
He put his cup on the table and motioned to the empty seats in his booth. “My friends. I didn't go with them.”
“Oh-kaaay,” she said in a be-nice-to-the-mental-patient kind of way.
“I know you heard them talking about going to a strip club.”
She shrugged noncommittally, and he wondered if maybe she hadn't caught as much of their conversation as he thought. And, more importantly, why did he care one way or another?
But he did. Suddenly it seemed so…
“Important,” he said. “It's important to me that you know I didn't go with them.”
“Listen, it's none of my business if you—”
“But I didn't. Not that I haven't ever gone to one. And I might have even gone tonight, just…because… But then I saw you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I saw you, and it was much more important that I stay right here and hope you walked by than to go out with my buddies.”
The coffee pot in her hand dipped a couple of inches, but she didn't drop it. She did, however, take a much closer look at Charlie. Her scrutiny should have made him squirm, but he held her gaze, didn't look away.
“You would have had better luck at the strip club,” she finally said, then turned and walked away. When she reached the counter, she put the coffee pot back on the burner and went through the swinging doors.
What the hell had he just done? Totally uncool. She was probably hustling out the back door. Or getting a big, beefy short-order cook to come out and kick Charlie's ass.
The door swung again and Charlie braced his hands on the edge of the table, fearing the worst. But no burly cook came out with the waitress. She was alone, carrying a tray. She made her way over to the only other table with diners—a couple in their twenties who sat on the same side of the booth together. She took the bill and cash that they held out to her, and she said something Charlie didn't hear. She made her way over to him as the couple left the booth, put on their jackets and left the diner.
Leaving Charlie alone with his dream girl. And potentially a kitchen full of people.
She made her way to Charlie, putting the money the couple had left her in her apron pocket, still balancing the smallish tray on the open palm of her right hand.
“Hey, I didn't mean to freak you out or anything,” he said to her as she stopped in front of him. “I just…” He couldn't finish. She'd turned those rich brown eyes on him, and he lost all thought.
“You didn't freak me out,” she said, as she pulled a plate from her tray and set it in front of him.
He stared down at the plate, which was covered with a very generous helping of pie.
“Banana cream,” she said. “Gladdie makes the most amazing banana cream pie you've ever tasted.”
He took his eyes from the enormous confection and looked up at her. She was so close to him that if he moved his elbow, it would graze her nicely-curved hip. Much as he wanted to, he didn't move his elbow, but instead picked up his fork and took a bite of pie.
Rich, creamy and yet light-as-air taste exploded in his mouth. “Oh my God,” he said, his mouth still full.
A bright smile crossed her face. It was sweeter than the pie. “I know, right? To die for isn't it?”
He nodded, stunned by her thousand-watt smile. She left him again, but this time she didn't return to the kitchen, but instead, locked the front door, turning the “open” sign around. Then she flipped a switch, turning the outside sign light off.
“Are you closing?” he said.
Idiot. Of course she was closing. “I mean, do you need me—”
She held up a hand as she walked to the wall at the far side of the room and turned off some of the lights. Most of them, really, except for the one nearest Charlie and the ones over the counter.
“You're fine. I've got lots more to do yet. It’s my night to do all the post-close stuff. Enjoy your pie.”
He enjoyed the view more. Watching her turn off things, and cleaning others. Charlie had never eaten more slowly in his life. His forkfuls barely held any of the voluminous pie, trying to make it last as long as possible, while she finished the business of closing up.
Finally, he’d finished the pie and it seemed she’d finished her tasks. She made her way over to his booth. “So, was the pie better than going to a strip club?”
“Definitely,” he said, smiling at her, waving at his empty plate. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” she said. He expected her to walk away, or hand him his coat, but she just stood there, watching him.
“You’re probably in a rush to get out of here, to get home.” He tried to put some questioning in his voice, and tried not to look too pathetic… or too hopeful.
She shrugged, leaning her hip against the back of the booth facing him. “Umm, well, I have finished up all the stuff I’m supposed to…” He sat quietly, not moving a muscle, hoping there was a “but” at the end of that trail off. “But,” (Thank you, God!) “there are always more things that can be done.”
“Before you start those, do you want to sit down? Would you like to talk a little? I’m Charlie, by the way.” He looked at her nametag pinned above the pocket on her uniform. “Phee,” he said.
Phee. Short for Fiona? Not that it mattered to him, he liked the sound “Phee” made as it rolled off his tongue.
She looked closely at him. Charlie tried to look as harmless as possible. Just someone to share a cup of coffee with at the end of a long day. Certainly not some guy who believes you just may be the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
She took a deep breath and let it out, like she’d just made a big decision. To Charlie it felt like it may very well be one of life’s turning points, but he didn’t want to put that pressure on her.
She slid into the seat across from him and said, “Yes, I’d like that.” She smiled brightly at him and then put her head down as if shy. “I think I’d really like that,” she said so quietly Charlie almost didn’t hear her.
But he did.
And he knew that somehow his life had totally changed in this retro diner, nearing midnight, as he sat alone with a waitress.
Chapter One
The only blind person at Christmas time is he who has not Christmas in his heart.
~ Helen Keller
Three weeks later
“You lifted your head. Try it again,” Darío Luna said to Charlie, then tossed him another golf ball, which Charlie teed up on the driving range mat.
“It didn't feel like I lifted my head,” Charlie said, but he took his stance again, determined to keep his eyes on the ball.
“Dude, you're really gonna argue with a two-time Masters champion?” Petey Ryan said from his chair where he sat and watched Charlie hit.
Charlie's head came up, and he looked at Darío. “That's not what I meant. I hope you don't think—”
Darío held up a hand. “Not at all. I know sometimes it feels as if you don't move, but your head does come up just before you make contact.”
“Because I really do appreciate you taking the time.” It was true. Not many people got a professional golfer giving them pointers. And all for the cost of a beer after they were done.
“And we appreciate all that you did for us in making this place a reality,” Darío said, his arms encompassing the huge indoor driving range that Charlie's employer, Summers and Beck, had designed.
The driving range had been open for just over four months and was seeing a nice steady flow of traffic. Considering that the first snow had come to the Copper Country in mid-October this year, it would be a long winter. Having this outlet for the local golfers who would have months and months before they could get back on the course was a nice benefit for the community.
The place was
empty now, though, with just Charlie, Darío and Petey in the cavernous, domed-shaped structure. It was ten at night, an hour after closing, though Petey had been talking to Darío about keeping later hours as the winter progressed.
Charlie took another swing, trying to concentrate on keeping his head down through his entire motion. The club made a crack against the ball, but not the pure, solid crack that came from Darío's swing. Charlie looked down the range and saw his ball skittering along the turf, like a stone skipping across a still pond. Not exactly the effect he was going for.
“Worm burner,” Petey commented from his chair.
“Yeah, I got that,” Charlie shot back.
“Don't get your panties in a wad,” Petey said. “I was just trying to help.” The giant of a man had an angelic look on his face that made Charlie crack up.
“Big help. I can see it was a shitty shot, thanks.”
Petey flashed a grin and leaned back in the office chair he'd wheeled out from behind the counter once the place had cleared out and it was just the three men.
“What's up with you, anyway? You usually like my commentary.”
That was true. Charlie had grown to like Petey's rude comments and crude jokes when they'd worked together on the driving range project. It had been a group effort, but Charlie, not wanting to spend much time with a newly-in-love Deni and Sawyer, worked as closely as he could with Petey and Darío. Somehow that had morphed into Darío giving Charlie some pointers on his swing.
What passed for a swing, anyway. He took another whack at the ball and at least this shot got in the air before hitting the ground. Fifty yards down the range.
“You'll be totally fine, as long as every hole is only seventy-five yards long,” Petey said, chuckling.
Charlie saw Darío shoot Petey a warning look at which Petey shrugged.
A few shots more and Charlie packed it in for the night. “Can I buy you guys a beer?” he asked both men.
Darío shook his head. “No, thanks. I want to get home and see if Katie needs any help packing.”
