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  “Sorry, hon. Servin’ the food ain’t my job.” She slid the plate onto the counter in the cut-out between the kitchen and the dining room and rang the bell, then leaned against the counter and folded her arms.

  Willow grabbed the plate and ran toward the front.

  “Where’s Savannah?”

  “Said she had to go to work.”

  Oh, right. Savannah rarely worked Sunday’s and she’d forgotten she had to work today. She must have lost track of time. “Okay, can you start making the toast?”

  Maybelle looked at the first order slip. She sauntered over to the row of toasters, dropped two slices of bread into one, then leaned over, rested her elbows on the counter, and waited while it toasted.

  Gia’s blood began to boil. She tried to control her rising temper. With orders piling up, there was no time to deal with Maybelle now. She’d have to talk to her later. She flipped an egg with a little too much force, broke the yolk, and had to start over.

  When the toast popped up, Maybelle buttered it, put it on a plate, cut it, then dropped two more slices of bread into the toaster.

  “Maybelle, why do you think I have five toasters?”

  “No idea.”

  Gia piled food onto the plates, tossed them onto the counter, and rang the bell. She clenched her teeth to keep from blurting out anything she might regret later. “So you can make more than two slices at a time.”

  “Hmm…” She nodded but made no move to put more bread in before the next two pieces popped up.

  “You know what, Maybelle? Why don’t you go help Willow, and I’ll do this?”

  Maybelle walked out, leaving Gia to continue filling orders.

  She muttered to herself for the next hour while she cooked, occasionally taking a quick peek through the cut-out into the dining room. At least staying so busy kept her from seething about Maybelle. A little anyway. As soon as there was a lull, though, that woman was so out of there.

  She slid two more plates onto the counter and rang the bell, then peered into the dining room.

  Willow seemed to have everything under control, moving from table to table, making sure everyone was happy and had what they needed.

  Scanning the shop, Gia allowed herself one moment of pride. She’d done it. She’d actually done it. Despite a few mishaps, people seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves. Of course, she wished she could be out in the thick of things, greeting customers, getting feedback on what they liked and didn’t like, but obviously, she’d be working the kitchen for a while. At least, until she could hire and train someone else.

  She cringed. Training. Maybe she needed to shoulder some of the blame for the situation with Maybelle. She’d hired the woman on the spur of the moment without checking her references… Come to think of it, she hadn’t even looked at her application to see if she’d listed references. She’d just been grateful to find someone who said she had experience in the kitchen.

  Now that things had slowed down a little, and the worst of the rush seemed to be over, maybe she should bring Maybelle back and train her a little.

  Willow would be fine alone for a little while longer, and Gia could always keep an eye on the dining room through the cut-out and run out and help if needed. She’d put together a couple of breakfast pies, and if the shop was still slow when she was done, she’d bring Maybelle back and offer to train her. If she didn’t work out after that, well, at least Gia could say she’d done everything she could.

  She took out four pie tins and sprayed them with cooking spray. The meat lover pies seemed to be going best, so she’d make two of those, one western and one veggie lovers. She lined the bottoms and sides of the pans with home fries, then set them aside.

  The routine of cooking soothed her, and she began to relax. She scrambled a bowl of eggs, then dropped in pre-cooked crumbled bacon and sausage, diced ham and sautéed onions, mixed it and poured the mixture into one of the tins. She repeated the process and filled a second tin. The next egg mixture contained diced ham, peppers and onions, and the last held spinach, zucchini, tomatoes, peppers, and onions. Once all the potato lined pans were filled with an egg mixture, she sprinkled a generous serving of shredded cheddar cheese over the tops and slid all four pans into the oven.

  With that done, she put the eggs and cheese back into the refrigerator, washed the dishes, and put them away. The aroma of the pies cooking filled the kitchen, and she inhaled deeply. Her stomach growled. She’d never gotten a chance to eat anything, and she was starved, but first she had to talk to Maybelle.

  Even with stopping to fill an occasional order, the whole process had taken no more than half an hour. Having avoided the coming confrontation as long as possible, she untied the apron she’d donned after splashing bacon grease on her new shirt and tossed it aside, then strode through the swinging door to the dining room.

  Maybelle leaned her folded arms on the counter and chatted with a woman who kept nodding and glancing at her watch.

  “Excuse me, Maybelle.” Gia nodded to the woman who was trying to eat her breakfast.

  She offered a grateful smile and returned to her omelet, keeping her gaze glued to her plate, probably afraid Maybelle would start yapping again if she even glanced up.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need you in the kitchen.”

  Maybelle only turned and walked away.

  Gia trailed after her, all intentions of working to train her better flying right out the window. The woman was rude, obnoxious, and lazy. She’d just fire her and be done with it.

  Another customer entered.

  Since Willow was in the middle of taking an order, Gia turned around and went to seat him. A couple of minutes to cool off might be just what she needed.

  “Good morning.” She forced a smile.

  “Ma’am.”

  The unmistakable New York accent caught her off guard, and she faltered.

  “Uh…I mean, um…” She shook her head. She was going to have to get a grip on herself. She couldn’t break out in a cold sweat every time someone from New York walked into her shop. A lot of New Yorkers vacationed in Florida every year, many of them owning homes in both places. “Sorry, I was distracted for a moment. A lot on my mind.” And the tall, muscular stranger from New York just catapulted to the top of the list.

  He narrowed his eyes. “No problem.”

  “Will anyone be joining you today?”

  “Nope. Just me.” After studying her another moment, he smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes—the darkest green eyes she’d ever seen, their irises surrounded by an even darker ring and framed by thick, black lashes any woman would envy.

  “Would you like to sit at the counter, or would you like a table?”

  “The counter is fine, thank you.”

  She led him to the counter and handed him a menu. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please. Long flight.” He raked a hand through his stylishly disheveled dark hair. “Well, actually, that’s not exactly accurate. The flight wasn’t that long, the delay beforehand was.”

  She laughed. “From New York?”

  He shot her a charmingly crooked grin. “How’d you guess?”

  “Hmm… I can’t imagine what gave it away.” Some of her tension eased. “So, what brings you to Florida?”

  “A little business.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Hopefully, a little pleasure.”

  “Why Boggy Creek?” she blurted.

  “Seems nice. Have you been here long?”

  “Actually, I’m still in the process of getting settled.”

  “Gia?” Willow caught her lower lip between her teeth and rolled her eyes toward the kitchen.

  Oh, right. She’d left Maybelle back there alone with the breakfast pies cooking. Yikes. What was she thinking? “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the kitchen. Willow wil
l be right over to take your order.”

  “Sure. It was nice to meet you, uh…”

  “Gia.” She extended her hand. “Gia Morelli.”

  He took her proffered hand. “Caleb Williams.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Caleb.”

  He held her gaze and her hand a moment longer than necessary. “I assure you, the pleasure was all mine.”

  Chapter 3

  Gia tied up the last garbage bag. “Well, today could have gone better,” she muttered to herself, as she’d been doing pretty much all night. “Of course, it could have gone worse, too. Probably.”

  She laughed. What else could she do? There was no sense in brooding over everything that had gone wrong. It wouldn’t change anything. Hopefully, things would go smoother tomorrow. Once she fired Maybelle, anyway, since she’d lacked the energy to deal with it today. Convincing herself she should at least give Maybelle one more chance had allowed her to put off the unpleasant task. She sighed and dropped the garbage bag by the others beside the back door. She probably should have just gotten it over with. Then she wouldn’t have to brood over it all night.

  She walked through the shop one last time to double check everything was locked up, then grabbed her purse and keys from her office. She was looking forward to a long, hot bath, a cup of tea, and a good book. She’d bought one at the airport in New York but hadn’t been able to clear her mind enough to read on the plane. With one more sigh for good measure, she slung her purse over her shoulder, hooked the key ring over her finger, then lifted the garbage bags and shoved the door open with her hip. After waiting to make sure the lock clicked into place when the door shut, she headed toward her car.

  Darkness had already begun to fall, and the thought of going home to her empty house brought a small surge of anxiety. She loved the house, but maybe Savannah was right. Maybe she did need a dog, or at least something for company. She should probably have thought about that before she’d talked Savannah out of stopping at the shelter. No matter. Knowing Savannah, which she did, she wouldn’t let it drop, and they’d be at the shelter before the end of the week anyway. Her mood lightened. Besides, the house would be a lot warmer and more welcoming once she managed to unpack everything.

  A foul stench hit her. She slowed and wrinkled her nose as she neared the dumpster. If she didn’t have her hands full of garbage, she’d have pinched her nose closed to block the odor. As it was, all she could do was keep taking shallow breaths through her mouth. It didn’t help. She still gagged.

  Who’d have thought garbage could smell so rotten, even if it had baked in the hot Florida sun all day? She was going to have to call the company and have the dumpster emptied more often if the stench persisted.

  She slowed, squinting to see in the waning light.

  Something hung from the top of the dumpster. It seemed to be caught between the rim and the partially open lid. From where she stood, it looked like an arm. But that couldn’t be right, could it? Unless…

  Her gaze shot to the bag she’d left beside the back door for Harley, still sitting untouched, as far as she could tell, exactly where she’d left it before she’d started cleaning up.

  She stopped and let the garbage fall to the ground. “Harley?”

  She fumbled the phone from her purse, lit the flashlight, and aimed it at the dumpster. Yup. Definitely an arm. “Harley, is that you?”

  She moved closer. Had something happened to him? A lump clogged her throat as she inched closer. The light played over the pale hand and forearm hanging over the dumpster’s edge. Then it fell on the fingers…and the perfectly manicured nails. Not Harley, for sure.

  The light glinted off a ring, black onyx surrounded by diamond chips. Not just any ring. “Bradley?”

  Fear choked her. It couldn’t be. What would he be doing there? Bradley hated Florida. Hated the way the humidity wreaked havoc on his perfectly slicked hair and his impeccably pressed suit. Besides, Bradley wouldn’t be caught dead in a dumpst…

  Oh! Oh, no!

  She had to get out of there. Her gaze darted everywhere at once. Obviously, Bradley hadn’t crawled in there like the rat he was and died on his own. Any one of the shadows crowding the back lot could easily conceal his killer. But still, she stood frozen, unable to move, breath caught painfully in her lungs.

  Okay, think. Think, think, think. She had to get a grip on herself. She was only assuming he was dead, though the small cloud of flies buzzing around the dumpster might indicate her assumption was correct.

  Her breath whooshed out, breaking the grip fear held, and she spun back toward the shop. She had to get help. Something banged against her hip, and she screamed. Her purse. It was only her purse. She lurched toward the shop, fumbling her keys as she tried to find the one that would open the back door. Sweat soaked her hands, and her phone shot out onto the concrete, then landed with a loud crack.

  She looked over her shoulder, her hands shaking too badly to get the key into the lock.

  Bradley’s arm still hung out of the dumpster, right where it was a minute ago. A vision of him crawling out and coming after her made her cry out. She had to calm down. On the off chance he was still alive, she had to get help. No matter how she felt about him, she’d never let another human being die if she could help it. Not even Bradley.

  She took a deep breath, worked to hold her hand steady, and shoved the key into the lock, then got the back door open, snatched her phone from the ground, and reached through the doorway to hit the light switch. The driving need to be out of that parking lot consumed her, but no way was she walking into a dark room.

  With the lights on and the door locked behind her, she tried to steady her breathing. Tears blurred her vision. Cursing at the shattered screen, Gia dialed 911, then pressed the phone against her ear and listened to it ring.

  “911. What is your emergency?”

  “My husband…” She couldn’t force the words out past the lump blocking her throat.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  She swallowed hard and tried again. “Yes. Uh…my ex-husband. He’s dead. At least, I think he’s dead. He’s in the dumpster.”

  Silence stretched over the line. Had the woman hung up?

  “Are you there?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m dispatching help. Where are you located?”

  How could she be so calm? Didn’t she understand there was a dead body out back?

  “The All-Day Breakfast Café.” She recited the address, disconnected, leaned her cheek against the cool metal refrigerator door, and waited for help.

  To say things with Bradley had ended badly would be the understatement of the year, but still, finding him, if it even was him, dead, if he even was dead, in a dumpster, her dumpster, was more then she could take. She turned so her back was against the door, then slid down and sat, pulling her knees against her chest.

  Who would have done something like that? Okay, stupid question. A long line of people wished Bradley Remington dead. But who would have the nerve to follow through? It made no sense.

  Shock and fear overwhelmed her, and a sob tore free. She’d loved Bradley once upon a time, with all her heart. Had the pain he’d caused her, caused so many people, made her so cold she couldn’t grieve for him, couldn’t be heartbroken at his fate? Was she so broken, so emotionally distant after feeling so much hurt, anger, even fear over the past year, she had nothing left? Or was she simply numb, her feelings dulled by the shock of finding him?

  If it was him.

  She forced the anguish aside. There would be time to examine her feelings later. No matter what Bradley had done, he certainly didn’t deserve to end up where he was.

  Banging from the front of the shop jerked her back to reality. She stumbled to her feet and ran toward the dining room. By the time she realized it could be the killer, the officer’s uniform was already visible through the front door.
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  When she reached the door, she stopped short and looked down at her hands. The phone was still clutched tightly, but the keys were gone. Where had she left them? She held up a finger through the door, mimicked turning a key, and pointed to the lock.

  The officer’s jaw clenched. He did not seem amused.

  She turned and fled toward the back of the shop, found the keys on the floor by the back door, and grabbed them.

  The officer stared into the door, hand resting on his gun, and spoke into a radio clipped to his shoulder.

  She held up the keys, then unlocked the door and pulled it open. “I’m sorry, Officer. I forgot the keys in the back.”

  Ignoring her apology, he took her keys out of the lock and kicked down the doorstop, leaving the door propped open as he looked around the shop. “Are you Gia Morelli?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Officer Leo Dumont. You called 911?”

  “Yes. M-m-my ex-husband. I found him in a dumpster out back.”

  She started toward the back of the shop, intent on showing him where Bradley was, but he stopped her. “We already have officers out back. Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

  A second cop entered the shop, and the officer handed him her keys. Some sort of silent communication she couldn’t interpret passed between them; then the second officer started talking into his radio as he turned and walked outside.

  “I was closing up for the day.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Kind of late, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “It was my first day, and it…” All the day’s mishaps suddenly seemed sort of trivial in light of the situation. “Well, things didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”

  His expression finally softened a little. “Apparently not.”

  She offered a small smile. “Anyway, when it started getting late, I sent everyone home and finished cleaning up myself. No sense making everyone stay.”