Melody stuffed her frozen hands deep into the pockets of her jacket, which was old but blissfully warm. It made her think of coffee and how desperately she needed a cup of it. The cottage she’d lucked into came partially furnished, but it didn’t have a coffeemaker.
She got out of the truck, thinking of Hal’s coffee, which was coffeehouse delicious instead of diner crappy like every other restaurant she’d worked for. Everything Hal made was astonishingly good. He was one of those special people who had the gift of making the ordinary extraordinary. Melody considered herself incredibly fortunate to work for him, and she’d managed to cheer herself up with that thought as she pulled open the back door, letting in an icy draft.
“Whew, shut it quick!” Mary, a pretty, dark-haired waitress who worked the morning shift, shuddered as she worked at gathering up glass containers of maple syrup. “Christ on a stick, it’s cold. Every year Mr. Frost seems to jump up and bite us in the ass when we least expect it. Morning, darling.”
“Morning.” Melody pushed the door fully shut, kicking at the corner that sometimes stuck. “I need some coffee. If I don’t get some java in me, y’all will be peeling me off the floor.”
“Then by all means.” Mary gestured with two bottles of syrup in her hands to the front of the diner where the coffeepots were. “Go get yourself some. You worked the night shift. Just focus on getting woke up. I got this.”
Melody stuffed her hands back into her coat, still fighting to warm up after the cold ride to work. Ignoring the bell chiming the arrival of customers, she headed to the coffeemakers lined up behind the counter.
“Morning,” Hal called through the window from his place in front of the flattop as he prepped for the morning rush. “You gonna work in that jacket?”
“I’ll take it off in a minute.” Melody reluctantly pulled her hands out of her pockets to pour herself a cup of much-needed coffee. “I’m ’bout frozen. The heat’s broke in the truck.”
“Gotta get that fixed,” Hal said in concern. “I’d offer to look at it, but I’m a terrible mechanic.”
“Yeah, but you can make a meat loaf to die for.” Melody grinned. “I usually hate it. That’s a God’s honest gift you’ve got.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Hal could make cat food taste good,” Mary offered, walking out of the back with a tray of maple syrups to put on the tables. Her sneakers skidded on the linoleum as she pulled up short and gasped. “Good Lord! What’d y’all do to our sheriff?”
Melody turned, raising her eyebrows as she spied Sheriff Conner standing at the counter, waiting to be seated. He wore large, gold-rimmed sunglasses that were stereotypically police officer, but they still didn’t hide the line of stitches above his eyebrow. Bruises decorated his jawline, and his lip was swollen, with another row of black stitches running down the center of it.
His face was painful to see. Melody couldn’t help but wince, feeling terrified to look at his buddy standing next to him. Clay Powers’s broad back was to the counter. His head dipped down, a black baseball hat pulled low over his eyes, hiding his face from view. Against her will, Melody found herself admiring the massive line of his shoulders underneath his jacket. He was one fine specimen of man, his short hair near black, his jaw strong, his nose surprisingly straight considering what he did for a living. At least it had been straight the last time she saw him. She’d be genuinely heartbroken if he’d damaged that nice male nose permanently.
“Ain’t they pretty?” came a dour female reply behind the sheriff.
“Sure enough.” Mary shook her head, still balancing the tray on her shoulder as she walked around the counter. “But you’re looking mighty nice today, Jules. I like that suit.”
“Thanks. I thought I was going to the office till my dumb-ass brother got his skull beat in—again. Now I’m stuck working at the station all day. I told ’em the least they could do was buy me breakfast.”
“Lemme just get these out, and then I’ll get y’all some coffee,” Mary said as she started placing the syrups on each one of the tables. “You’re about five minutes too early.”
“I want the new girl’s section.”
Melody stopped drinking her coffee at the low mumble next to the sheriff, whose buddy still stood there with his back to Melody as if he’d forgotten she existed. But Clay obviously hadn’t, and she took another sip of coffee to hide her smile. She wasn’t just pleased to finally have a customer request her, but this customer in particular caused a fluttering in her stomach that worked at warming her up far more efficiently than the coffee. No matter how she had chastised herself, she thought of the handsome fighter all night after work. She even met up with him in her dreams, when usually it was her ex-husband and nightmares that greeted her when she closed her eyes.