This Time for Sure - Chapter Four by Alison Henderson

Dressed in black slacks and a white shirt protected by a fresh white apron, Kate stood behind the buffet table in the Elks Lodge dining room. Similarly attired and with carving knife and fork in hand, David had taken his place behind the roast prime rib, rosy under a pair of heat lamps. The members of the Chamber of Commerce and their spouses were busy mingling, but in a few minutes they would begin lining up for dinner.

Orren Waxman approached the buffet with a double scotch in one hand and a well-lubricated smile on his face. “Looking good, Katie.” He turned to David. “Doesn’t she look good, Hardison?”

David smiled at Kate, ignoring Orren. “She does.”

Orren’s already florid cheeks took on a deeper hue. “That apron suits you, Hardison. Much better than desert camo and a flak jacket.”

David regarded him with an imperturbable expression. “I try to dress for the occasion.”

Orren’s left eyebrow began to twitch, and Kate wondered if she was about to witness a genuine fit of apoplexy.

“Sorry to hear you lost your job.” Orren’s slurred words dripped with implied insult.

David gave him a polite smile. “I don’t know where you heard that. I have a job.”

“Yeah, as Katie’s kitchen boy.” Orren waved the hand holding his glass, and several drops sloshed over the side onto the patterned carpet.

David straightened his spine, emphasizing the difference in their heights, and his eyes narrowed. Kate had seen that look before, and it usually spelled trouble. While David wasn’t likely to lunge at Orren with a carving knife in front of the mayor and most of Morrisburg’s leading citizens, she was grateful for the width of the table separating the two men.

Movement at the doorway caught her eye as three men entered, two of them carrying bulky equipment. “Isn’t that the camera crew from Channel 6?”

Orren immediately switched his attention. “They must be here to cover my speech.” He waved his drink again and called out, “Over here!”

Kate recognized the baby-faced young man with the high-top, shave-sided, hipster haircut in the lead as one of the anchors of the local evening news, and the other two appeared to be a cameraman and sound technician.

Orren wrapped one arm around the anchorman. “My speech isn’t ’til after dinner, but you boys are welcome to grab a plate and make yourselves comfortable, courtesy of the Morrisburg Chamber of Commerce.”

The young man disentangled himself. “Thank you, Mr. Waxman, but we’re working. We’ll just set up our equipment and try to stay out of the way.”

Orren drained the remaining contents of his glass. “Whatever floats your boat. I think I’ve got time for one more refill before dinner.”

Kate noticed the anchorman staring at David. He motioned to his crew and approached.

“Excuse me, this might sound weird, but do people ever tell you that you look a lot like David Hardison, the TV reporter?”

David’s lips twitched. “You’d be surprised how often that happens.”

Orren shoved the sound man aside with a scowl. “He is David Hardison, you idiot. The great David Hardison—and look at him now, working the buffet table in Boonieville, USA.”

The anchor ignored Orren and gazed at David with puppy-like eagerness. “I’m a huge admirer of yours, Mr. Hardison. Your reports from the Middle East inspired me to go into television journalism. And now you’re here in Morrisburg. I bet there’s quite a story behind that.”

David opened his mouth, but the young man charged ahead full-steam. “I’d love to do a series of interviews about your career.”

“Well…I—”

“Don’t be modest. Our viewers will be fascinated. In fact, we can film the intro segment right now.” He nodded to his crew, and they began moving their equipment into place.

Orren wedged himself between the anchorman and the buffet table. “Wait just a minute. You’re supposed to be here to cover my speech, not this has-been.” He flung one hand toward David in a dismissive wave.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Waxman, we’ll cover your speech. This will just take a few minutes.”

The technicians continued setting up.

Orren tipped his chin and glared at David. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, anyway. This is a private party.”

He sounded like a six-year-old on the verge of a major tantrum. Kate glanced around the room. Conversation had stopped, and the partygoers had migrated toward the commotion. It was time for a grown-up to step in.

She moved to David’s side, frowned at Orren, and dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “Calm down. You’re making a spectacle of yourself. He’s here because I need his help.”

Orren puffed his chest in a parody of outraged ego. “You can’t tell me to calm down. I’m the president!”

From the back of the crowd came the voice of Marva Dooley, the owner of a gift shop on Main Street that specialized in dog-related accessories. “Shut up, you big windbag!”

Orren bristled, grabbed the big spoon stuck in the serving dish of mashed potatoes and flung a glob in Marva’s general direction. Unfortunately, between his inebriated aim and the natural aerodynamics of mashed potatoes, the mass hit Shirley Cheever, the mayor’s wife, square in her ample bosom. Shirley shrieked, the mayor swore, and mayhem ensued. Kate stared in fascinated horror as the formerly dignified guests lobbed carrot sticks and dinner rolls at each other.

David slid one arm protectively around her shoulders as an ice cube whizzed by. “Do you think we should call the cops?”

Before she could answer, the double door to the dining room flew open, and in marched three uniformed police officers. The manager of the Elks Club must have called them. As the officers broke up individual brawls and rounded up the participants, Kate noticed the Channel 6 News team filming in the corner. Her lips tipped up in a smile.

As a hefty, middle-aged patrolman escorted Orren past the film crew, he halted and started yelling at the cameraman. When the man refused to stop filming, he tried to grab the camera. At that point, the officer strong-armed him through the doors.

David leaned down until his mouth brushed Kate’s ear. “Looks like Orren’s forgotten his own motto.”

“Oh?”

“Any publicity is good publicity.”

She laughed. “I wonder how he’ll feel when he sees himself on the news tonight.”

“You know what they say about Karma.”

“She’s not very nice?”

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

After the police cleared the room, Kate surveyed the wreckage. “I hope the Lodge got a hefty security deposit.”

David tore off a long strip of foil and began wrapping the roast beef. “You shouldn’t be out too much. The potatoes are a complete loss, but at least the savages didn’t get to the meat.”

She plucked an errant serving spoon from the floor behind the podium. “Potatoes are cheap. Thanks for protecting my main investment. I foresee hot roast beef sandwiches as our daily lunch special for the rest of the week.”

“As long as they’re available to the staff, you won’t get any complaints from me.” He snuffed the flames under the big rectangular warming dishes and began stacking them to carry to the van.

Kate returned the serving spoon to the pile of utensils. “You don’t have to keep working. I’m sure I can get Pam to help out until Mom gets back from Florida.”

He stopped and took her hands in his. “Kate, I’m here for you as long as you need me.”

“After this fiasco, are you sure you still want to stay in Morrisburg?” She’d meant to keep the question light, but her voice cracked on the last syllable.

His lips quirked up in a wry smile. “It might not be the peaceful little town I remember, but that’s not such a bad thing.”

She grimaced. “I suppose there’s nothing like the occasional public free-for-all to ease war-zone withdrawal.”

He pulled her closer and drew her into his arms. “I’ve missed you.”

She searched his warm brown eyes. “I’ve missed you, too.”

He glanced at the ceiling. “Too bad the decorations in here don’t include mistletoe.”

“We don’t need it.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Besides, I’ve sworn off mistletoe for good.”

“Well, in that case…” His head dipped, and his lips met hers in a long, slow kiss that melted the years away like marshmallows in hot Christmas cocoa.

This Time for Sure - Chapter Three by Alison Henderson

David approached the table with the tray of dirty dishes balanced on one upraised hand and peered over Kate’s shoulder at the video on Orren’s phone. Her stomach tightened. It was bad enough to think anyone she knew might have seen the commercial on television, but watching it with David was mortifying. A sudden clatter behind her head startled her. She jerked backward and bumped David’s solid chest, sending another shock wave rattling through the stacked china on the tray.

Orren’s smile became oilier, if that were possible. “Katie and I had a great time filming this ad, didn’t we?” He reached to grab Kate around the waist, but she deftly evaded his hand.

She clenched her fists to keep from snatching the phone and smashing it to the floor. “How could you make me a part of one of your sleazy commercials without my permission?”

“Now, now, Katie girl. Don’t get all worked up. I just gave you a little free air time.”

“You made it look like I have some…connection with you or Waxman Motors.”

With a laugh, he tucked the phone into the pocket of his jacket. “What’s the harm in that? You know what they say: Any publicity is good publicity.”

Kate bit back the first word that popped into her brain. “I don’t need publicity, especially not that kind. Now, if that’s all, I need to get back to work or you gentlemen—” she glanced around the table with a tight smile “—won’t get any breakfast.”

She was half-way to the kitchen with David in her wake when Orren called out after her. “See you at the banquet tonight!”

Kate pushed through the swinging door with an angry shove. “That man makes me crazy.” She blew out a huge breath to release her frustration before returning to the griddle.

“If you want, I can arrange an unfortunate accident with the next tray, right in his lap.”

She smiled to herself. That was one of the things she’d always loved about David. He had her back. “Not necessary, but thanks.”

He set the dirty dishes on the counter and approached her from behind. When his strong fingers began to knead the tension from her shoulders, she craned her head and suppressed a tiny moan. The man’s hands were magic.

“Waxman’s an ass.” David’s words flowed over her like warm maple syrup. “He’s always been an ass. He relishes it.”

She let out a short laugh. “He does. I’m sorely tempted to give his eggs an accidental overdose of tabasco.”

“I won’t tell.”

Kate laughed again and reluctantly stepped away. “I always could trust you to keep my secrets.”

“You still can.” His voice, with all the memories it carried, sent a sensual shiver down her spine.

She turned and met his dark gaze. “I don’t have secrets anymore, David, but what about you? Why are you here? What are you doing back in Morrisburg?”

He swallowed and glanced over her shoulder to the window overlooking the back alley. “I’ll tell you the whole story when we have more time, and Orren Waxman isn’t breathing down our necks.”

“You’re right. Now’s not the time, but we’ll be able to take a break after the lunch crowd, before I have to start preparing the food for the Chamber of Commerce banquet tonight. I expect the full skinny then.”

Sylvia appeared with two more order tickets. “Got anything for me?”

Kate slapped a pat of butter onto the sizzling griddle and grabbed a couple of eggs. “Give me five minutes.”

They worked at a steady clip for the next several hours, until a little after two. Kate was scraping and cleaning the griddle when David pushed through the door with a heavily-laden tray.

“This is the last of them.”

She straightened and stretched her back. “Thank God. I’ll fix us a couple of plates while you take care of those.”

He unloaded the dishes into the sink. “This restaurant business is hard work.”

“Tell me about it.” She opened the door of the big, commercial refrigerator and examined the contents. “How do you feel about meatloaf?”

“Love it.”

“Good, because that’s what’s left over from yesterday’s lunch.”

By the time she’d heated the leftovers and poured two big glasses of iced tea, David had finished the last of the dishes. They carried their plates to the deserted dining room and sat at a table near the back wall, out of sight of passersby on the sidewalk.

Kate speared a piece of meatloaf with her fork and waved it at David. “Okay, spill.” She popped it in her mouth while maintaining an expectant expression.

He dropped his gaze to his plate and pushed a bright orange carrot slice around in the puddle of gravy. When he looked up, a ghost of pain flashed through his warm brown eyes. “I quit.”

“You quit what?”

“My job.”

She didn’t know what she’d expected—maybe diabolical, behind-the-scene machinations at the network or a new boss who didn’t like the look of him—but not this. “Why?”

His lips quirked up in a half-smile, but sadness filled his eyes. “It was killing me…literally.”

She reached for his hand. “Tell me.”

He sighed and set his fork down. “It was exciting at first. I know this will sound strange, but it’s easy to get hooked on the adrenaline rush, the high that comes from constantly being alert for the next threat, the next unexpected attack. The excitement of being part of the action sucks you in.”

“I would have been terrified.”

“You never were a thrill junkie.”

“No. That’s why I couldn’t go to New York with you. I couldn’t be a part of that life, even on the fringe.”

He squeezed her hand. “I never wanted you to be frightened, Kate. You made the right decision.”

She lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “I don’t know. It didn’t help much. I still watched you every night and worried.”

His expression was somber. “I’m sorry.”

She withdrew her hand. “If you liked the action so much, why did you quit? What happened?”

“A couple of months ago, my entourage came under fire in Afghanistan.”

“Is that why your reports stopped? I just assumed you’d returned to New York.” A sudden fear seized her. “You weren’t wounded, were you?”

David shook his head. “Not physically, no…but my cameraman died.” He reached for his tea and took a swallow, as if it might wash the waver from his voice. “We’d worked together four years.”

“That must have been hard.” She didn’t know what else to say.

He met her gaze. “It’s still hard, but Sami’s death made me re-examine my own life—what I want to do and how I want to do it. I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I have things I want to say, but spouting sound bites from a war zone isn’t the best way to say them.”

“What are you thinking?”

His eyes brightened with new energy, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I want to write a book about my observations and experiences. There’s so much that never made it into the broadcasts—small, telling details that reveal as much as major disclosures.”

She smiled. “That’s a wonderful idea! So, are you home for the holidays before heading back to the city?”

He shook his head. “I can’t seem to write in New York anymore. The pace, the crowds—all the things that used to energize me—now make me feel antsy and distracted. I can’t concentrate. I need space and quiet to think.”

She was almost afraid to think it, much less ask the question. Almost. “Are you planning to stay in Morrisburg?”

“For the foreseeable future. Would that be okay with you?”

“Your decision shouldn’t depend on what I think.”

“I don’t want to make things difficult or uncomfortable, but sitting here, looking at you, talking with you—it feels like the last ten years have melted away, like I never left.”

“David, I—”

“I know I have no right to show up and demand a place in your life, but—”

She touched a finger to his lips. “Stop. You’ve always had a place in my life and always will.”

He caught her wrist with one hand. “What kind of place?”

“That depends. We can’t turn back the clock, and I wouldn’t want to. I guess we’ll have to play it by ear and see where things go.”

“That sounds good to me—better than good.” He drew her hand toward his mouth and planted a light kiss on her knuckles before releasing it.

Kate glanced at her watch. “Hold that thought. I’ve got exactly three hours and fifteen minutes to prepare and serve dinner for fifty at the Morrisburg Chamber of Commerce annual Christmas party.”

“Sounds like fun. Just tell me what to do.”

“You don’t have to help.”

He pushed back from the table and picked up his dishes. “Of course, I do. As Katie’s Place’s newest employee, I have to earn my pay.”

“Oh, you’ll earn it. Believe me.”

This Time for Sure - Chapter Two by Alison Henderson

Kate gaped at Robbie in disbelief. “You’re quitting now? The week before Christmas, when we’re up to our eyebrows in tourists?”

Her busboy/dishwasher shrugged and grinned. “My cousin’s driving out to Colorado tomorrow and offered me a lift. I’m gonna get a job in one of the restaurants and spend my free time on the slopes.” He mimed a slalom turn, complete with schussing sound effects. “I wanna live while I’m still young enough to enjoy it. You know how it is.”

No, I don’t know. Kate had always taken the safe, sane, and sensible path in life and never regretted it. Well, almost never.

“Anyway, I just stopped by to tell you and pick up my check.”

“You’re not even going to work today?” It was 6:00 a.m., and they opened for breakfast in an hour.

He shrugged again. “I got things to do before I leave.”

She bit her tongue and counted to ten. It wouldn’t do any good to yell at Robbie. He’d never been a model of responsibility, and this last-minute decision wasn’t a huge surprise. What she needed was a plan, and fast.

Her mind kicked into gear as she rifled through her desk drawer for the business checkbook. Maybe her sister Pam could get a sitter and help out for a few days until she found someone else.

She handed the check to Robbie, who grinned and bolted for the door. “Break a leg,” she called after him. Wait. Wasn’t that what you said to an actor about to go onstage, not a skier? Whatever.

She was about to pick up the phone to call Pam when Sylvia Richards bustled into the kitchen, unwinding her gray knit scarf from her head and neck.

“Robbie nearly knocked me down.” Sylvia was short and stocky, with thick ankles and tight curls the color of iron filings. She’d been a waitress at Katie’s Place for more than twenty years, and Kate loved her to death.

“He just quit.”

Sylvia stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

Kate shook her head. “Apparently, he’s decided to become a ski bum.”

Sylvia unbuttoned her shapeless brown wool coat and clucked under her breath. “And right before Christmas.” She hung her coat on one of the hooks by the back door. “Do you want me to put the Help Wanted sign in the front window?”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt.” Kate fished the hand-lettered sign out of a stack of papers on the floor beside the desk. “After the breakfast rush, I’ll call Harvey over at the Leader and get an ad in Saturday’s paper. I’m hoping Pam will be able to help out in the meantime.”

Sylvia took the sign and gave Kate’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. We always are.”

True. They would get by somehow, but Kate missed her mother’s cheery efficiency. Why did Grandma have to choose the week before Christmas to try to master the kickflip on a skateboard? She sighed, rolled up her sleeves and reached for an apron. She had less than an hour before the Geezers Breakfast Club (as the group of five retired farmers liked to call themselves) showed up, and the morning glory muffins weren’t going to bake themselves.

By the time she unlocked the front door on the stroke of seven, the Geezers—along with two other groups—stood chatting on the sidewalk, rubbing their hands and stomping their feet against the cold. They poured into the dining room, and she seated them before returning to the kitchen, leaving Sylvia to take their orders. She wondered if she had time to call Pam, but Sylvia popped in with the first round of orders before she had a chance to act on the thought.

Like a well-oiled machine, Sylvia handled coffee and juice while Kate cracked eggs, turned bacon, and flipped pancakes until the orders for the first three groups were ready to go to the dining room. However, by that time, two more groups had arrived. Thankful that Sylvia had taken over the hostess duties, Kate paused to push a few stray wisps out of her face with the back of her hand. She had pinned her hair up and tucked it under her usual white cap, but the potent combination of steam and perspiration was quickly turning her long, dark locks into a mass of errant waves and curls. It was a good thing no one could see her but Sylvia. She bent down and peered through the glass of the oven door to check the color of the second batch of muffins.

“I’ve come about the job.”

Kate jerked up, and her elbow knocked the handle of the saucepan holding melted butter for hollandaise sauce. When she grabbed it to keep it from falling, she burned her hand. Swearing, she stuck her two injured fingers in her mouth then shook them to cool the burn.

Who the…?

She spun and found herself staring up into a pair of brandy-colored eyes she knew all too well. “David.”

“Hi, Kate.”

Before she could say anything more, he held up the Help Wanted sign from the front window with a little grin. “You need help, and I’ve got some time on my hands.”

She stared at him, taking in the lean lines of his face, more sculpted than they’d been when she’d last seen him. He looked thin…and tired. She wondered idly why the television cameras hadn’t shown that. “It’s been ten years.”

He knows how long it’s been, dummy.

“Uh, huh.”

“Why are you here?” Kate frowned. The question hadn’t come out quite as she’d intended.

“I’m applying for a job.”

For some reason, his response irritated her. “That’s ridiculous. I run a café. You’re a world-famous television journalist.”

The light in his eyes dimmed. “Was.”

“What happened?”

“We can talk about it later.” He tipped his chin toward the mountain of dirty dishes piled in the sink. “Right now, it looks like you could use a little help with those.”

She followed his glance. “My busboy and dishwasher quit this morning without notice.”

David shrugged out of his coat. “Hand me an apron, and I’ll get busy.” He rolled up his sleeves and headed for the sink.

She scurried after him. “Wait a minute. I didn’t say you were hired.”

“Do you have any other applicants?”

“Not yet, but—”

“Do you have more work than you and Sylvia can handle?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m here now, and I’ve got nothing better to do.” He turned the hot water tap on full blast.

She shook off the swirl of conflicting emotions his presence evoked. She didn’t have time to deal with it now. “All right, but be sure to get the egg residue off those plates. It really sticks.”

His eyes twinkled, and he gave her a two-fingered salute. “Aye, aye.”

She shook her head and returned to the griddle just as Sylvia popped in with another round of orders. The older woman glanced at David’s back then raised her brows in question. Kate shot her a don’t-even-ask look.

Sylvia handed her the order tickets. “Orren Waxman just came in with a couple of cronies. He’s asking for you.”

Orren was the last person she wanted to see this morning. “I don’t have time.”

Sylvia shrugged. “I told him we were short staffed, but he kept insisting.”

Kate wished she could tell Orren to take his business to the IHOP out on the interstate, but Grandma would have a conniption. She wiped her hands on her apron. “I guess I’d better go talk to him.”

Orren greeted her with a wide grin the minute she stepped into the dining room. “Hey there, Katie girl!”

Kate’s back teeth ground together as she forced a smile. He always insisted on calling her Katie, even though she’d asked him not to dozens of times. She was sure he only did it because he knew he could get away with it. “What can I do for you, Orren?”

“Have you seen our commercial?”

Her brows knit. “The one you were filming yesterday? Is it on TV already?”

“The crew whipped it together in time for the ten o’clock news last night. Here, take a look.”

The man really was an egomaniac of the first order if he’d dragged her out of the kitchen to watch one of his cheesy commercials. “Orren, I really—”

“You did great, Katie. See?” He stuck his phone in her face.

Her stomach plummeted at the sight of herself in Orren’s arms with his plump lips plastered against hers.

Orren grinned and leaned back in his chair, waving his hand. “Hardison, come over here. You’re going to want to see this. Our Katie’s a star!”

Kate glanced up to see David loading dirty dishes from an empty table across the room onto a big tray. His brows formed a broad, dark “V”, and tight lines bracketed his mouth.

This Time for Sure - Chapter One by Alison Henderson

This was the absolute last time she kissed anyone under the mistletoe.

Kate Summers turned away from the video camera’s prying eye and surreptitiously wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. When she’d arrived at Waxman Motors that afternoon, all she’d wanted was Orren Waxman’s signature on the catering contract for the Morrisburg Chamber of Commerce Christmas party. She’d had no idea he’d be filming one of his goofy TV commercials.

Faster than he could bellow, “Ho, ho, ho,” the Santa suit-clad Orren had grabbed her, pulled her under the big ball of mistletoe dangling from the showroom ceiling,  and planted a big smooch right on her mouth with the camera rolling. Afterward, he’d grinned and carried on with his spiel as if her appearance were part of the script. The second the cameraman swiveled to pan the array of cars sporting big red bows, Kate extricated herself from Orren’s grasp. With luck, the video company would charge him double overtime to re-shoot the spot because of his impromptu ad lib.

She shrugged her bag off her shoulder. “I brought the contract for you to sign.”

Orren’s plump, glistening lips slid into a smile beneath his feeble excuse for a moustache. “There’s plenty of time for that. Hang around until we’re finished, and I’ll buy you a drink at Charley’s.”

Her mouth tightened. “You never give up, do you?”

His smile broadened, and he shook his head. “Never. You know my motto—persistence wins the day. Where would I be if I took my eyes off the prize?”

That was Orren—one big, walking slogan. Too bad he’d had a thing for her since ninth grade. In the past couple of years, his overtures had become more frequent and more boring. He’d been a smarmy weasel at fifteen and hadn’t improved with age. The fact that he’d grown his father’s sleepy little used car lot into the biggest dealership in the county didn’t increase his appeal one iota.

She pulled the contract and a pen from her bag. “I’m sorry, but I’m tied up this evening. I need you to sign this now. Please.”

“All right, all right.” He took the papers. When he finished, he flashed his brows a couple of times, as if he thought that made him look sexy.

Kate practically snatched the contract from his hands. Even a brief encounter with Orren made her skin crawl. Unfortunately, as president of the Chamber, his signature was required on all official documents, including her catering contract. At least she should be able to keep her distance from him at the party. If he tried to make a grab for her across a steaming tray of green bean casserole, she could always smack him with a serving spoon.

She turned and had almost reached the door when Orren called out, “Oh, Katie…I heard David Hardison’s back in town…and unemployed. Too bad.”

She froze, and her heart thudded in her chest at the mention of David’s name.

“Just thought you’d want to know.”

Of course you did, you worm.

Orren’s laughter trailed after her as she shoved her way through the heavy glass doors and escaped to her car in the parking lot next to the building. Her hand shaking, she struggled to fit the key into the ignition. Finally, it slid home and the engine turned over, but Kate made no move to switch the transmission to Reverse. She just sat there, trying to catch her breath and make sense of Orren’s words.

David was back. Was it possible? She hadn’t seen him in…what...ten years? Not since the summer after college graduation, when family responsibilities—along with the certainty that she wasn’t cut out to be a big city girl—had caused her to decline his invitation to move to New York with him. After being inseparable for the last two years of high school and struggling to make a long distance relationship work through college, they’d parted with recriminations and tears and moved on with their lives. At least he had. She’d come home to help run Katie’s Place, the restaurant her grandma had named after her when she was born.

To say she hadn’t seen David wasn’t strictly true. After high school, he’d parlayed excellent grades and stellar basketball skills into a full-ride scholarship to an Ivy League college, while she attended the state university in the next county to save money. As soon as he graduated, an internship in New York had led to a newswriting job and ultimately to a position as lead foreign correspondent. For the past several years, she’d watched him on the television network news whenever a new hot spot flared up overseas. She hadn’t seen him on a broadcast in a couple of months, but that wasn’t unusual.

David might have made a name for himself and won a shelf full of awards, but every time she watched him, dressed in a khaki flak jacket and helmet, reporting from one war zone or another, Kate told herself she was glad they’d split up. Although they were no longer a couple, it was hard enough to tamp down her fears for his safety, even from the sanctuary of her living room sofa. If they’d gotten married, she might have lost her mind—all alone in New York City, watching and waiting anxiously for him to come home.

But now he was back and, if Orren was to be believed, jobless. She couldn’t imagine the network firing David. He was one of their rising stars. Whatever was going on, she would probably find out in the next few days, courtesy of the town grapevine. Unless she ran into him first.

The thought stopped her cold. Was she ready to see David again? Even though it had been ten years, the passage of time did nothing to calm the nervous butterflies in her stomach. Morrisburg, Illinois was a small town, and she and David knew the same people, hung out in the same places. When they inevitably crossed paths, what would he say? More importantly, how should she respond? She decided the only reasonable option was to smile and greet him like any other old high school friend.

Feeling more confident now that she had a plan, Kate put her car in gear and pulled out of the Waxman Motors lot without a backward glance. Various scenarios played out in her mind as she drove the couple of miles past darkened cornfields before the two lane highway turned into the main street of town.

It was after six o’clock, and most of the businesses in the quaint, Victorian downtown had closed. Multi-colored lights twinkled cheerfully from the garlands that hung between the old-fashioned lampposts that lined both sides of the street, illuminating clusters of tourists on their way to the restaurants that remained open for dinner. The holiday season always brought an influx of visitors to the historic Mississippi River town, and although many were day-trippers from Rockford, Cedar Rapids, or even Chicago, the town boasted a restored, nineteenth century hotel and a number of bed-and-breakfasts.

Many of those visitors ended up at Katie’s Place—some returning year after year. Kate’s grandma had opened the restaurant thirty years earlier, offering hearty, homestyle breakfast and lunch favorites. The past couple of years, Grandma had decided to spend winters in Florida, so Kate and her mother had taken over most of the responsibility for running Katie’s place. Not that Grandma had actually slowed down. Far from it. Kate was currently managing the restaurant on her own because Grandma had broken her hip last week skateboarding with the neighbor kids, and Mom had flown to Florida to take care of her.

As she cruised down Main Street toward home, a tall figure caught her attention. Even with his shoulders hunched against the cold, the man’s head bobbed inches above the others on the sidewalk as he passed the gift shop next to Katie’s Place. Kate slowed her car. Something about his gait jogged a memory deep inside her. He reminded her of David. Of course, after Orren’s comment, every tall man she saw was likely to remind her of David.

The man stopped in front of the restaurant, put his hands to the glass of the big front window, and leaned forward, peering into the darkened interior. What could he be doing?

A sudden honk jerked Kate’s attention back to the road. She glanced in the mirror at the impatient face of the driver riding her rear bumper. Five or six cars had piled up behind him. She pressed the gas pedal and surged forward, leaving the man behind. If only she’d been able to catch a glimpse of his face…