LITMIR.BIZ

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nearly every day. Except for Sunday. Rose had started something new by closing the diner on Sundays. That had earned more complaints from the cook. Linda never closed the diner.

      Well, Rose wasn’t Linda. Despite carrying the last name, Rose wasn’t a Dean. She hardly knew the family she’d married into twelve years ago, but then she’d ended up divorced five years later.

      A man and woman walked inside and their laughter snagged her attention. The two greeted people they knew. The man was handsome, broad shouldered and tall with disheveled blond hair, but his bright blue eyes captured her interest. They shone like gemstones from all the way across the small dining area.

      Those brilliantly colored eyes locked onto hers, and he smiled, showing off near-perfect teeth. It wasn’t a pleasant, hello-how-are-you kind of smile, either. He reacted with a lazy, I-can-show-you-a-good-time smile. This man recognized a lonely woman as if he could see straight through to her heart and the secrets locked there.

      Rose ignored the hiccup of her pulse rate and looked away. What a jerk! Making eyes at her while he was with another. She nearly tore her order pad apart flipping over to a clean sheet.

      Grabbing a couple menus, Rose approached their table. The woman was equally fine with long, straight blond hair and perfectly manicured nails. Figures.

      “Are you the new owner?” The woman looked up and smiled. Her blue eyes were the same brilliant shade as the man’s. Now, what were the chances of that?

      Rose smiled. “I am. In fact, this is my second Saturday.”

      The woman held out her hand. “My name’s Monica. Welcome.”

      “Thank you, Monica. I’m Rose Dean.” She shook the woman’s hand, liking her instantly even though she felt sorry for her bad taste in men. Rose had been there, done that.

      Monica dug in her purse. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Everyone loved Linda and she’ll be sorely missed. If I may, here’s my card. Linda never wanted a website, but as a new owner, if you’d like to consider an online presence, let me know.”

      “Oh.” Rose took the card and pocketed it. She wasn’t sure she could afford to hire anyone for a website. She hadn’t had a chance to go over the financials with more than a cursory glance. She didn’t know what to look for and that meant hiring an accountant to find out. Another expense she wasn’t yet sure she could afford.

      “Nice sales pitch,” the man drawled.

      “Just trying to help.” Monica forced another smile. “This is my brother, Cam Zelinsky.”

      “Oh.” Maybe he wasn’t quite as despicable as she’d first thought, but Rose knew his type and didn’t take his offered hand. She gave him the menu instead. “Nice to meet you both. Our lunch special is a grilled Reuben with fries, and we serve breakfast till we close at two. Can I get either of you something to drink before ordering?”

      Cam narrowed beautiful eyes. “An iced tea, no lemon.”

      “Just water for me, with lemon,” Monica said.

      Rose nodded. “Be right back.”

      While she was filling their drink orders, more people came in. The bell rang again, announcing a few more. Rose checked her watch. Eleven o’clock seemed awfully early for the lunch crowd, but then, this was mid-June. Summer was in full swing and many folks vacationed up north.

      Although she’d never lived here before, she knew northern Michigan was a destination for vacationers and summer residents alike. Her ex-husband had once explained that nearly three-quarters of this town’s residents lived here primarily in summer. In winter, Maple Springs rolled up and died.

      Rose looked forward to that slowdown. But for now, she loaded her tray with more ice waters and got to work greeting customers and taking orders.

      * * *

      Cam took another bite of his grilled Reuben. He’d tasted better. He’d made better. Chuck was slipping, but then, without Linda Dean to keep him in line—

      “Write so I can read it!”

      Cam jerked his head toward the new owner, curious to see how she handled the cook’s rudeness. Rose. What an apt name for a woman with such a fresh face. Her skin flushed pink, looking as soft as a petal from the flower bearing her name.

      He cringed. He’d never compared a woman to a flower before.

      “I don’t recall seeing her at Linda’s funeral.” Monica watched her, too.

      Dean’s Hometown Grille was a small place. It had been closed for only a couple of weeks after Linda’s untimely death. A restaurant couldn’t afford to close their doors for long and hope to survive. Poor Rose. After giving the cook a stern look, she darted from table to table, taking orders, putting them in, picking them up. She looked overwhelmed. A gangly young kid cleared the empty tables and wiped them down.

      Cam sipped his iced tea. “I remember two of the Dean boys from high school, but not the oldest. I don’t remember them having a sister.”

      Monica shrugged. “Maybe she’s a cousin or something. Word on the street is that Linda’s boys aren’t happy.”

      “With what?” Cam asked.

      “Her getting this.” His sister made a sweeping gesture.

      “The street? Really, Monica?” Cam chuckled.

      Maple Springs was far from city life. The only thing remotely urbane was the people that flooded the area for a few months in summer and the winter ski season. And the trendier restaurants that came and went hoping to capture high-end patronage. Maple Springs needed this hole-in-the-wall, fifties-styled diner for the locals. It had been here for as long as Cam could remember.

      The clattering sound of a plate hitting the floor followed by language he didn’t often hear in public brought Cam’s head up fast.

      “Chuck, that’s enough!” Rose hissed.

      The customers fell silent as the cook stripped off his white apron and threw it at Rose. “Fine.”

      “Where, where are you going?” Her voice wavered.

      “I’ve had enough of you and your scribbles. Get someone else!” With that, the cook stormed out the back with a slam of the screen door.

      Rose’s face flamed. She turned to the boy who had hurried to her side ready to do battle and whispered something in his ear. The kid nodded, grabbed a pitcher of water and made the rounds.

      Conversation picked up slowly. A table of four that had waited too long for their orders to be taken got up and walked out while Rose cleaned up the shattered plate.

      “Ow!” He felt a sharp pinch to his forearm. “What?”

      Monica poked him again. “Go help her.”

      Cam rose to his feet with a sinking feeling. This was what becoming a better person meant. Helping someone in need. Trouble was that Rose Dean looked like a woman with a deep well of need and Cam was a shallow pan.

      Her back was turned while she washed and then dried her hands. She moved to the grill and stared at it, lost.

      “Do you have another apron?”

      She turned to him, her eyes big and shiny. This close, he could see they were grass green. Her hair was clipped too short for his taste and its drowsy color lay somewhere between blond and brown. “What?”

      “An apron? I know how to cook.” He knew what needed done and he had some time to kill. Not much, only a few days before heading for the first of three qualifying bass fishing tournaments.

      The bell jingled.

      She glanced at the door as more people flooded inside. The lunch crowd rolled in with a vengeance. “Uhh—”

      “Hey, kid, apron?” Cam went to

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