She blinked and raised her eyes to find Darcy standing over her.
“Your tea bag is coming apart, sweetheart.”
“Right.”
Darcy carried the cup away and returned with a fresh cup of hot water—and another Earl Grey tea bag.
“Thank you.” Closing her eyes for a split second longer than a blink, Grace worked up the nerve to address Darcy. “What do you recommend today?”
“As if there’s not a chalkboard special by the door,” someone muttered behind her.
“Mind yourself, Mr. Kapps.” Darcy’s mild censure garnered an immediate apology. Nodding, she considered Grace. “We’re famed for our burgers.”
“And Shamus cuts a mean steak fry,” Justin chimed in.
“Are you disparagin’ my Irish roots, Justin?” the swarthy-faced man called through the pass-through.
“Your...Irish...roots,” Justin hooted with laughter.
The cook blinked and then, apparently catching the play on words, laughed along with him.
Cue that missing laugh track.
“Oh, you two,” Darcy sniffed, her merry gaze shifting to Grace. “Are you opposed to burgers?”
“I’ve been in college so long I’ve forgotten they could be anything other than the politically correct soybean patty.”
Darcy clucked, tucking her pad and pen in one apron pocket. “Shamus, make the girl a bacon cheeseburger, extra fries.” Grace didn’t realize she’d massacred another tea bag until Darcy picked up the second cup. “Soda is more suited to a burger and fries than Earl Grey, which, for what it’s worth, isn’t my favorite, either.”
Grace shot her a shy smile. “Thanks. Anything but diet is great.”
“Coming right up.” Darcy whirled away, all economy of motion and kind words as she worked her way along the counter, pausing to ring up a table of truckers heading out.
“Is she always like this?” Grace wondered if the ache in her soul translated through the emptiness of her voice.
“Like what?” Justin leaned around her to watch his mom. “A waitress or a mom?”
“Both.”
“Yeah, she is. She never turns it off, particularly the mom part. It’s why she’s so popular here. People from all walks of life come in and wait for tables in her section.” Pride shone in the son’s words.
A mom.
Justin reached out and laid his hands over hers. “Is she that different than your mom?”
How had he once again managed to ask the one question that could shatter the illusion?
She tucked her hands in her lap under the table. “My mom?”
He settled in his seat and toyed with his straw as he watched her through pale blue eyes. “Yeah. What does she do?”
“She works at Glennmore Canning.” There. Nice and vague. Could be anything from the CEO to a janitor.