From the Inside Flap
The waitress snapped her gum and grinned, her gray bun bouncing with the motion. Did all small towns have diners like this? Montpelier had Sophie's Diner--and a waitress named Sophie who also wore a bun and support shoes. "I can't decide between the chocolate cream pie and the éclair."
"Both are good. Depends if you want the kind of sweet that creeps up on you and makes you all warm inside, or the one that hits you with a sugar rush so hard and fast, it makes your stomach jumpy. If you want the one that takes its good old time getting in your system, go with the pie. If you want the one that hits you hard and fast and spins you around so you can't remember your name, get the éclair." She paused, looked up and smiled. "Speaking of sugar, hello, Roman. How are you, darlin'?"
Mr. Beautiful moved into position until he was beside her, his tall body dwarfing hers. He really was a big guy, not just tall, but muscled, toned. She looked away, concentrated on the desserts, and attempted to ignore the man who would not be ignored.
"Hello, Phyllis. How's my favorite waitress?"
Was he kidding? Surely Phyllis wasn't going to fall for that line or the way he made his voice dip when he said her name. Come on, the guy was playing with her. But the flushed cheeks and throaty response said Phyllis didn't care.
"We've missed you, Roman. Every woman from here to Connecticut hated to see you leave and wondered if you'd ever make it back this way."
He leaned forward, placed his hands on the counter, and offered up a slow smile. "Good to know."
Angie snorted. "For heaven's sake," she mumbled. "Is that the best you've got?"
He ignored her, continued his conversation with Phyllis the waitress as though Angie weren't standing right next to him. "If you see a pint-sized woman with wild black hair and a temper, sell her five éclairs." He pointed to the row of éclairs in the case. "She needs all the sugar she can get." Then he nodded at Phyllis, threw her one last dazzling smile, and left.
When the door jangled closed, Phyllis let out a low swoosh of air and said, "Now that man will set a girl's panties on fire."
About the Author
Mary should have known she'd become a writer when at age thirteen she began changing the ending to all the books she read. It took several years and a number of jobs, including registered nurse, receptionist in a swanky hair salon, accounts payable clerk, and practice manager in an OB/GYN office, for her to rediscover writing. Enter a mouse-less computer, a floppy disk, and a dream large enough to fill a zip drive. The rest of the story lives on in every book she writes.
When she's not working on her craft or following the lives of five young adult children, Mary's digging in the dirt with her flowers and herbs, cooking, reading, walking her rescue lab mix, Cooper, or, on the perfect day, riding off into the sunset with her very own hero/husband on his Harley Ultra Limited.
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