by Winters, KB
“It’s okay, Jaxy, bunny will be okay. Mickey was just playing,” I tried to explain to the inconsolable toddler as we hurried across the postage stamp yard in front of our townhouse. Regardless of my explanation, Jax only cried harder as he picked at the munched ear of his favorite toy. As I sprinted, I silently prayed that Hilda would be handy with a needle and thread to mend it before Jax went into a full-on melt down.
Hilda was waiting outside for us and broke into a huge smile as soon as she saw baby Jax and the stress wrapped around my stomach loosened. At least I knew he’d be safe and in good hands while I was gone. “Good morning,” she called.
“Morning Hilda,” I said, struggling to hold onto Jax who began flapping his arms, trying to reach for Hilda. I smiled and passed him off. “So, we had a little bunny emergency this morning, bunny might need a trip to the hospital,” I said, throwing Hilda a wink as Jax showed her the place where the ear was pulling away from the head, a tiny swath of cotton exposed.
“Well you’ve come to the right place, Mr. Jax. Bunny will get the best care possible,” Hilda responded, snuggling Jax close.
I pressed a kiss to Jax’s tawny head. “You hear that, kiddo? Ms. Hilda’ll fix him up while mama is at work.”
Jax waved a hand at me as I backed a few steps down the drive. “Thanks Hilda, you’re an angel!” I called, going back across the small yard that separated our attached homes and began fumbling for my keys.
“Have a good day, mama!” Hilda said, helping Jax wave at me as I fired up my old hatchback and pulled out onto the street. As I drove away, my eyes welled up—as they always did—wishing I could stay home with Jax.
Like I used to…
“No,” I shook my head. “Nope, nope, not today,” I scolded myself. I refused to let myself get lost in the tangle of memories and pointless wishing that things could be different. That was my old life, and I was never going back to that again.
It was startling how much my old life still haunted me. It had been two years since the day I’d found out Mitch was cheating on me with his secretary, Hannah Neal. In a way, it felt like a bad dream, and if it weren’t for Jax, I wondered if I’d even think about the dirt bag at all. As it was, we had gone through a nasty, drawn out divorce trial and custody battle, and not two months after it was settled, Mitch and Hannah had run off to Maui and eloped on the beach.
In the end, I’d walked away with joint custody of Jax, just enough child support to get by on, and a reversion back to my maiden name. I was Katherine Anne Ryan again, and as far as I cared, would remain that way for the rest of my life. Despite Mitch’s rush back down the aisle, and everyone’s prodding that I move on and start dating again, I had little desire to ever go down that path again.
Not that I had time anyways. After the divorce became final, I’d been forced to take a job at a small diner, just to make up the difference between what child support would cover and what I needed to keep food on the table and the electric bill paid on time. Meanwhile, Mitch and Hannah had recently upgraded the house I’d shared with him for nearly five years, adding on an extensive horse barn and mother-in-law home on the back of the property. Mitch had more money than he knew what to do with, but that had also afforded him a far superior legal team during the divorce, and made sure that I didn’t get a penny more than I needed to survive. And then, like clockwork, allowed him to swoop in and spoil Jax with anything a small child could imagine, including our dog Mickey, who had originally been adopted to stay with Mitch and Hannah, but he and Jax had become inseparable—unless a stuffed toy was at stake--so like it or not, I also ended up with 50/50 custody of a Golden Retriever mix.
When I wasn’t working my ass off in the diner, I went to school three nights a week to get interior design training. That had been the only positive to come out of the divorce, it had forced me to take a long look at my life and re-examine everything that I wanted from my life, and although my degree was in finance, I’d quickly discovered that I wasn’t made for a 9 to 5 job in the corporate world. Along the way, I’d discovered my new passion and had somehow managed to get Mitch to pay for my schooling as a condition on our settlement.
“Kat! Thank God you’re here!” my co-worker, Patrice, hollered at me before the doorbell had even finishing ringing as I pushed into the diner. At the sound of her frantic call, I wanted to pivot on my heel and march right back outside again. She wasn’t the type to stress easily, so if her tone of voice was in line with whatever was going on behind the counter, I knew that I didn’t want to deal with it.
I took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as I counted to three in my head, before going to find her. She was standing at the far end of the counter and beckoned me over with a “hurry up” wave of her hand. “What’s the big emergency?” I asked, approaching her slowly. “No one’s even here yet. Don’t tell me Harry forgot to bring in the cash drawer again.”
“No, no, that’s not it. Look!” She pointed out the window and I followed her gaze across the street where a large, yellow moving truck was pulled alongside the curb in front of a small retail space that had been vacant for months. It had been a kids clothing shop once upon a time, I remembered buying some of Jax’s baby stuff there, but since the owner had moved to a bigger place, the shop had remained empty, like the two other vacated shops on either side. Harry, the owner of the diner, often lamented that if the businesses in the strip mall kept going out, he’d have to retire early and move to Boca due to the lack of foot traffic.
Patrice and I watched as workers unloaded a variety of equipment from the truck. I strained to see what they were moving in. A few wingbacks, black leather chairs followed a large twisted metal sculpture, and then a large chest that looked like it was used to store power tools.
We were still gawking, and both jumped, startled by the sound of the doorbell chiming near the front door. “I have to go put my hair up and get my apron,” I told her as I scurried back to the kitchen where there was a small section of wall set up for employee belongings. Nothing was locked up, but we each had a hook where we could hang our purses, coats, and aprons. I threw my long hair into a ponytail, smoothing the top to pat down any fly-aways, and then slipped on my apron, tying it behind me on autopilot as I headed back to the front of the small diner.
It was nearing seven o’clock, and our morning rush was about to begin. We were nearly the only place in our part of town where people could stop and get a hot breakfast before shuffling off to work.
I grabbed the pot of coffee, on my way to the hostess station. Patrice had seated a few tables of regulars, and I smiled at each in turn as I wove through, filling coffee mugs. When I reached the last occupied table, I stopped short, not recognizing the hulking form sitting with his back to me—a very defined, muscled back—I noted, as I started again and stepped to the table. Normally, during the weekdays, we saw the same crowd over and over again. The back I stared at was not a regular. Not by a long shot.
“Good morning,” I chirped, raising the pot of coffee that was nearly depleted. “Coffee?”
The stranger looked up at me and my heart jumped into my throat. The man sitting in the booth was striking—his blue eyes pierced mine and stole the breath right out of my lungs. He had sandy brown hair, touched with strands of gold that made me wonder if he worked outside in the sun. His skin was a light brown, and smooth, except for a thin layer of stubble that covered a chiseled jaw line. His shoulders were broad and strong, the muscles easily displayed through the thin, black muscle tee he was wearing. But, perhaps his most intriguing feature was the copious amount of black ink covering nearly every inch of his arms, each set stopping neatly at the wrist. I didn’t mean to stare, but couldn’t tear my eyes from tracing the lines of each tattoo as it blended seamlessly into the next design. Most of it looked tribal, dark, and dangerous.
“Yeah,” he said, and for a moment, I forgot my own question.
He slid the white ceramic mug to the edge of the table, prompting my brain back into action, and I
quickly filled the cup to the top, careful to not spill a drop. “Do you need to see the menu?” I asked him, slowly regaining my focus.
“Sure,” he answered, flashing a hint of a smile at me.
I reached into the pocket of my apron, but struck nothing but a few stray straw wrappers and a pencil. My cheeks flushed. “I’ll go get one, one sec,” I said.
The man smiled and gave a shallow nod as I turned away and rushed back to the hostess station. I grabbed a stack of menus and was stuffing them into my apron, when Patrice came up behind me and whispered, “Who is that?” into my ear.
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Patrice came beside me and smiled like the cat that ate the canary. “Well, how about you go find out. I know he’s sitting in my section, but tell ya what, he’s all yours honey.” She winked and wandered away before I could vocalize my objection.
I went back to the table, steeling myself for those dangerous blue eyes. I handed the man a copy of the menu. “Here you are, take your time, and let me know if you have any questions.”
I spun on my heel, ready to bolt, when his soft voice interrupted my getaway, “All right, first question, what’s your name?”
I was going to kill Patrice…
“My name?” I sputtered.
“Yeah,” he smiled, and crossed his arms casually on the table top.
“I’m Kat—Katherine,” I answered, unable to stop staring at his biceps that were even more impressive as his shirt stretched tight, struggling to contain them as he leaned forward.
“Which do you want me to use? Kat? Or Katherine?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
I couldn’t think straight long enough to answer his question. What was he asking again?
“Sorry, is that a weird question?” He asked.
“No, no, it’s not. Sorry, um, Kat works. That’s what people call me around here.”
He smiled deeper and my stomach flipped over. “Kat then. I’m Jace, it’s nice to meet you.”
I nodded, and then gestured to the menu, trying to do anything to get rid of the awkward feeling that was overwhelming me. He had to be at least eight years younger than me and I didn’t have a clue what I was thinking. “Anyways, that’s the breakfast menu, but if you want something from the lunch menu, I can usually sweet talk Benny, our cook.”
“I bet you can.”
I spun on my heel and nearly knocked Patrice over as she slipped past me with a tray of water glasses. We tangled together for a second, in a dance that would have almost been elegant except for the frantic pawing from both of us to keep her tray upright and not shower ourselves and the nearby guests with ice water. “Sorry!” I shouted as she finally righted herself and hurried away from me to the next table over.
I shot one more glance back at Jace, who was watching the whole scene with an unreadable expression on his handsome face, and then darted back to the kitchen. I gave myself two minutes to get it together, and then left the safety to go tend to my tables, leaving Jace’s for last, until I’d put in the other orders.
“Anything look good?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the small order notebook in my hands. At his silence, I made the mistake of glancing up, and caught him staring up at me. Well at least he’s not staring at my boobs, I sighed. “On the menu?” I prompted, surprised by my own sauciness.
He raised his eyebrow and his full lips twitched with the beginning of a smirk. “I’ll try the spinach and mushroom omelet.”
I jotted it down, even though I knew there was no way I’d forget it, funny how his order instantly became engraved in my brain. “Is toast okay with that?”
“Sure.”
I stepped back with one foot, ready to charge back to the kitchen, but his eyes froze me in place. “Is there… something else?” I didn’t know why I was being such a pain in the ass, it wasn’t like me to be so gruff with customers, but there was something about Jace that rattled me.
He shook his head and said, “Nope.” I walked away to put in his order, but felt his eyes following me as I crossed the small diner and pushed into the kitchen.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of busyness. Monday mornings were always like that, though. I figured people needed a little pick me up before entering their workweek grind. Unfortunately, people were also a lot crankier because it was Monday—and because they needed to get to work, as opposed to a Saturday or Sunday morning which had a much more leisurely pace. I went to Jace’s table as few times as possible, always hurrying away before he could ask more questions or try to ensnare me in any further conversation.
When the diner had nearly emptied, Patrice was clearing her tables, and I was down to my last two tables. I started across the room to pick up the check, but Patrice shot me a signal that she had it under control. I tried to ignore her, and went to one of my few remaining groups, but she swooped in to take the check before I could get there. She flashed a devious smile and I sighed before going back to Jace’s table. He’d stacked his plates and utensils, and was draining his coffee mug when I approached.
I’d spent the better part of the past hour trying to figure out what it was about him that had me so unglued, but it was a tossup between the tattoos, the muscles, the dark, brooding manner, and then there were the striking, piercing blue eyes that set my heart running for cover every time they landed on me. And then there was his face. He couldn’t be any older than twenty-five. And here I was—a thirty-two-year-old single mother with barely a pot to piss in.
Case in point…I thought, finding myself the center of his attention once again. I held up the coffee pot. “How was everything?” I asked, intentionally softening my tone.
“Really great, thank you,” he answered, flashing a heart stopping smile, before scooting out of the bench seat. I took a short step back as he stood up and was surprised when he towered over me. I was nearly five foot eight, but he was head and shoulders above me, probably at least six three. “I’ll see you next time.” He nodded and then left the diner without so much as a glance back as he crossed the street and went right into the shop with the moving truck out front.
“Oooh, looks like you met the new neighbor!” Patrice cooed in my ear as she passed by with a tray full of dirty dishes.
Great. Just great.
Chapter Three — Jace
It was nearly impossible to focus on the movers when my mind was so firmly glued on the gorgeous waitress across the street. No matter where I was in the shop, my attention kept creeping back to the front windows, which, I’d noted, had a prime view of the diner, and I’d seen glimpses of Kat a few times as she worked.
“Mr. Winslow?”
I whipped around at the sound of my name, and found myself face to face with the head mover. He jerked his chin behind him, indicating the two men who looked to be struggling to keep a hold of the opposite ends of my pool table.
“Right, that goes upstairs in the apartment,” I instructed, feeling a pinch of guilt as the two men began carrying the table towards the steep staircase at the back of the shop. At the top of the stairs was a loft, which also had a large, industrial sized metal door that led to the overhead apartment. It was the reason I’d rented the shop in the first place. I’d be able to live directly above my tattoo shop and hoped it would help me establish a better work-life balance. Back in Chicago, I’d lived across the city from where my shop was, and never went home, often crashing on the worn leather couch in the front of the shop for days on end. My move to this small town had raised a few eyebrows, even pissed a few people off, but I could feel it in my gut, it was the right move.
Something had to change or I’d work—or drink—my way into a very early grave.
“Hey, guys, careful with that,” I called out, hustling across the room to assist two other movers who had just hauled in a metal sculpture of a larger than life tattoo gun. It was a custom piece, made by a fan of my tattoo reality show, Ink by Jace. Although, I was pretty sure that if dropped, the sculpture would fuck up the
floor, rather than the other way around, and I hated the thought of it getting fucked up. I helped the movers get it situated in the corner by the reception desk, and then made my way back to my original task, hanging up my neon shop sign in the window, because it needed to be done—but also, because it gave me the best chance of seeing that sweet Kat.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since I’d met her over breakfast. It had been ages since a woman had captivated me like that, and the fact that she certainly hadn’t been trying, only made her more appealing. I’d checked her left hand and hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, but a woman like that… was sure to have someone in her life. She hadn’t flirted, had barely acknowledged me, but I could also tell she was attracted to me, her body language changed whenever she was near me, or when she thought I was watching her.
The sign buzzed to life as I hit the switch and I looked over at the diner, wondering if she would catch the light. After a few minutes, I gave up on getting her attention, and went back to the desk as the movers finished unloading the boxes for the shop, and began hauling furniture and boxes upstairs to the apartment.
Two birds one stone, I thought, thinking of the fat stack I was saving by only having one move. Not that it mattered much. I hadn’t had to worry about money since my reality show had taken off the year before. If anything, I had more than I knew what to do with. My business manager was always chasing me down with new ideas for investments and ventures, but I constantly turned him away, choosing to squirrel it all away in my own accounts and handpicked investments. I’d never been one to take advice from anyone, and although I paid him to handle my money and advise me, there were certain things I knew I was meant to figure out on my own.
I sank into the stiff leather chair, shifting around as though I could break it in to feel like the one I’d left back in Chicago. I gave up on the chair, and began flicking through the desktop calendar, my jaw set as I considered the long list of shit I had to do. In addition to getting the rest of the shop set up, I needed to find and train a new assistant—my last one had been unwilling to locate to, in her words, BFE—and go through a rigorous inspection prior to opening day. Not to mention the radio interviews I had to squeeze in at random, thanks to the studio that produced the show.
