Adam (Farraday Country Book One)

Chapter Five

esides the hard work of the wait staff, there were two more things that Meg had underappreciated her entire life. A good mattress and hot water. Both of which had done wonders for all her aching body parts. Working out was a normal part of her daily routine. It had never occurred to her that she was in anything but good shape. She'd even done barre classes to stay flexible, but none of it compared to the hours on her feet yesterday, carrying dishes and taking orders. Every muscle, no matter how small, had screamed surrender.

From a quick survey when she'd arrived at her new digs last night, Meg had calculated that the original floor plan for the café apartment used only half the ground floor footprint. In the large living and dining area all sorts of boxes were piled atop each other and the furniture, filing cabinets were crammed in the space along with other bits and pieces. The kitchenette area had even more boxes stacked from countertop to ceiling. The only free spaces were the vintage bedroom with an old spring-style metal bed and the bathroom, which had a phenomenal claw-foot tub.

Despite Abbie's warning of a foot of dust, Meg had found both areas in pretty good shape. A linen closet stuffed full had a surprising amount of towels, sheets, tablecloths and napkins for an uninhabited apartment. It had taken her only a short while to put the cleaning supplies from the broom closet to good use. In the oversize bathroom, she'd discovered a full washer and dryer for the sheets and spent more time than she should have soaking in the old tub. Why anyone thought it was more practical, convenient or fashionable to install stubby tubs in contemporary houses, she had no idea. If she ever got her own home again, a big cast-iron soaker tub was going to be at the top on her list of wants. Right after an honest husband and peace of mind.

Scratch the husband. Men were highly overrated and most definitely more trouble than they were worth.

Putting on the single pair of slacks and the one top she'd bought in town—paying cash for everything to Sister's delight—Meg slipped on her own shoes and realized breakfast was only a flight of stairs away.

The smell of bacon and sausage grew stronger with every step. By the time she pushed through the unlocked door from the rear hall to the café kitchen, Meg's stomach was roaring like the engine of that blasted sports car.

"Good morning," Abbie said without looking up. "Coffee's on. Frank will make you anything you want. The hot plate upstairs doesn't work."

Under all the boxes and clutter, Meg hadn't even noticed a hot plate. "Thanks. Eggs and toast will be fine."

Abbie pointed to the bread and multiple-slice toaster at the opposite side of the kitchen. "Help yourself to anything you want. When you've got your food, come on out and have a seat in front, and we'll talk."

Meg's appetite took a fast dive. Her mind insisted she stay calm; her heartbeat believed otherwise. And her heart was probably right. Abbie had most likely reconsidered Meg's value and, after feeding her breakfast, would be giving her the proverbial pink slip. Her mouth went dry, and her throat closed. Yesterday she'd been too damn mad at her ex to be very afraid. In the light of day, her immediate future scared the hell out of her.

The food's-up bell rang, pulling Meg from her morbid thoughts. Frank had slipped her plate onto the pickup shelf. "Breakfast on deck."

"Thank you." She did her best to smile and screw up her courage. Taking the plate, she turned to deal with whatever Abbie had to say.

Across the café, looking down, Abbie sat in a back corner booth with a stack of papers on one side, a mug of coffee to her right and what looked like a ledger book in front of her. "Take a load off. You'll be on your feet enough tomorrow. Remember we open at six. Donna usually has the breakfast shift so you'll fill in for her. You'll work past lunch. Shannon comes in around two. If there's a problem ..." Abbie looked up and frowned. "Close your mouth. You'll catch flies."