Adam (Farraday Country Book One)

Chapter Three

Staring at the menu before her, Meg didn't have to look around to know all eyes in the place were still on her. She could feel the curious stares bouncing off her back. Not a surprise for a small town but damned uncomfortable nonetheless.

"Don't let them bother you." The waitress stood beside her, pad in hand.

"Excuse me?"

"Strangers don't come through here very often. It's like a highway pileup. They can't help but look."

Meg chuckled. "I've been called a lot of things but never a traffic wreck."

"No offense intended. So, have you decided what you want?"

A new life. But with only $22.84 in her wallet, Meg blew out a frustrated breath. Right about now a soothing bowl of Chef Andre's crab bisque soup would hit the spot nicely. "Just coffee please."

Abbie, according to her name tag, lifted a single scrutinizing brow before nodding. "One cup of coffee coming up."

What Meg wouldn't give to have her sensible sedan and her boring old life back. What a fool. Like an avalanche, she'd fallen hard and fast for Jonathan's good looks and charming ways. With a stellar diamond ring on her finger and wedded bliss around the corner, she'd mingled their bank accounts and credit cards. And, if that wasn't dumb enough, so delighted to have someone else in charge of the day-to-day tedium of finances and bill-paying, she'd gladly given the job to Jonathan without so much as a glance over his shoulder. Stupid, stupid, stupid. When had she become so blasted gullible? Whoever said love was blind wasn't kidding.

"Don't be so hard on yourself." Abbie slid a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin in front of her. "Muffin's on the house. And here's another napkin."

Meg followed Abbie's gaze to her own hands and the paper napkin she'd turned and anxiously twisted into tatters.

"You got any experience waiting tables?"

"Excuse me?"

"My morning waitress just went on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. If you're any good, there's an apron on a hook in the kitchen. You can start as soon as you finish that coffee." She offered a half smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Even if you're not any good, you can still step in for Donna. Folks around here can forgive a pretty girl almost anything."

"I—"

"You think on it while you work on that muffin."

Before Meg could form a thought, never mind a response, the woman—who was clearly more than just an employee—had moved to the table where four women sat, playing cards.

Could Meg do the job? Did eating out on a regular basis automatically qualify her to wait tables? Her position at the hotel didn't include overseeing the restaurant. Oh, for heaven's sake, how hard could it be? Take an order. Give it to the chef—or cook. Carry it back to the table. Any idiot could do it. And she was no idiot. Normally.

She did need some place to lay low, and sort through the reality of what her life had become and just how much trouble trusting Jonathan had left her in. And then there was her father. For now it was best if even he didn't know where she was. Besides, without a car, she wasn't going anywhere else anytime soon. If only she hadn't left the ring in the hotel safe rather than wear it for the ceremony, she might have been able to use that as collateral for the new radiator. Waiting tables might at least pay for a place to stay until she could afford the repairs.

A tiny sledge hammer banged a rhythmic tattoo between her temples. What other choice did she have?

***