LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

      “Hey, sleepyhead.” Rose Dean ruffled her eleven-year-old son’s brown hair. Soon to turn twelve, the kid was growing like a weed.

      Greg jerked away. “Awww, Mom, cut it out.”

      She watched him pad his way to the industrial fridge of the diner she’d inherited in Maple Springs, Michigan. Greg was tall like his father and she hoped the resemblance to her ex-husband remained outward. Refilling her coffee mug with freshly made brew, she said, “I like your hair.”

      “It’s longer than yours.” He finger combed his bangs away from steely gray eyes as if erasing her motherly touch.

      “That’s true.” Her son had never liked her short hair. But for Rose, it made things easier.

      Three weeks ago, a few days before Memorial Day, they’d moved up north away from her steady job as an events manager at a conference center. Away from the steady influence of her parents, into a small town with a small high school that hopefully held smaller chances for trouble.

      Rose wanted to be on her own. As much as she loved her parents and was grateful for everything they’d done for her, she didn’t ever want to move back in with them. She wanted her own home. Her own life. Independence.

      She could model that independence only so much for her son. Greg needed strong male role models—maybe now more than ever, living away from his grandpa—but Rose wanted a good man. A man of his word. Maybe in this pristine lakeside town there might be a good teacher or coach who Greg could look up to. Staring out the window at some of the flashy cars parked along Main Street, Rose had her doubts, but she still prayed that God would deliver.

      She straightened the stack of morning receipts and stuffed them into the bottom drawer of the cash register along with her fears. She needed to trust God on this one. Easier said than done. Coming here, Rose had taken a leap of faith. She believed that the Lord had given her this opportunity, so she needed to believe He’d take care of the rest.

      Hearing grumbles, she looked at Chuck and muttered under her breath, “Now what?”

      A grumpy cook had come along with her inheritance of Dean’s Hometown Grille from her mother-in-law, Linda Dean. Evidently, the terms of the will had been very specific. Rose did not just inherit the building; Linda had stipulated that Rose run the diner herself until such time Greg could take over. Rose had had no idea the woman intended to leave her anything. Why would she? Linda’s eldest son had abandoned Rose and Greg years before he died.

      Chuck cursed and threw the spatula across the stainless-steel grill.

      Rose glanced at the few remaining breakfast patrons seated near the sunny window overlooking Main. They didn’t appear to hear anything. Chuck’s colorful language had become more commonplace since Rose took over, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Chuck hadn’t liked her directives to rein in his tongue, either. Firing the cranky cook without a replacement wasn’t an option. She couldn’t cook.

      Rose sighed. “What happened?”

      “Burned my thumb,” the cook growled.

      She glanced at Greg. Her son rolled his eyes and drained his glass of milk. Chuck was no role model. He wasn’t the kind of man she wanted Greg around. Rose had recently signed her son up for a summer program during the week. Although this little café was his legacy and more than likely the only reason Rose had inherited it, she couldn’t fill all her son’s summer vacation days with busing tables.

      He was too old for day care, and Rose couldn’t make Greg stay indoors upstairs until the restaurant closed at two in the afternoon. Nor did she want her son roaming around Maple Springs on his own. Not yet anyway, not until she knew more about their new hometown. Even tiny resort towns held dangers for unsupervised eleven-year-olds

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