Balancing the tray in her hands, Miranda pushed through the doors, no longer feeling as if she were passing through a time warp when she stepped out of the modern kitchen into the 1950s-style dining area. “Rock Around the Clock” blared out of the juke box, not quite drowning out the cheer from the teenage boys who saw her approaching with their burgers.
The commotion snagged Andrew Noble’s attention. He glanced up and their eyes met.
The pictures of him that frequently graced the society page of the Richmond Gazette didn’t do him justice. Black ink might have accurately captured the color of his hair, but it didn’t give a hint that his eyes were a warm, sunlight-in-the-woods shade of hazel. The lazy half smile he directed at the cameras—the one that gave him an air of mystery and drove the gossip columnists crazy—was even more potent in real life.
She could attest to that because at the moment it was directed right at her.
Miranda quickly averted her eyes and broke the connection.
She refused to act like a starstruck groupie. Men like Andrew Noble wielded too much power. And she knew from bitter experience that men could use their position and power to hurt other people. Hal had taught her that lesson and she wasn’t going to let history repeat itself. Not when the wounds he’d inflicted had yet to heal.
At table five, eager hands reached for the tray. They reminded Miranda of Daniel and she smiled. “Patience, boys. The burgers aren’t going to walk off the plates.”
She divvied up the order and went to the soda fountain to refill their drinks. The boys came in every Friday for lunch and Miranda knew them by name. She also knew the grand sum of her tip would be the handful of change they pooled in the center of the table before they left. They meant well, although a dollar tip wasn’t going to have a significant impact on her meager savings account. Over the past few months, Daniel had sprouted like Jack’s beanstalk, outgrowing all his clothes from the previous summer. Which meant a trip to the mall in Richmond was needed.
Miranda tried to suppress the wave of discouragement that threatened to crash over her. She’d find a way. Sandra was always willing to let her pick up another shift if she needed it.
“Andrew!” As if conjured up by Miranda’s thoughts, Sandra’s lilting voice swept through the diner. She made a habit of chatting with each and every customer who came into the Starlight.
Sandra gave Miranda’s arm an affectionate pat as she breezed past and paused to talk to Andrew. “It’s nice to see you again. I figured you’d be long gone by now.”
“I’m afraid Chestnut Grove is stuck with me for a while.” Andrew’s New England accent was clipped but pleasant, and Miranda resisted the urge to look at him again, to see if the smile she heard in his voice was reflected in his eyes. “Rachel’s been feeling a little tired lately so I’m going to keep an eye on things at the Foundation.”
Which meant he wasn’t just passing through town. Miranda felt a strange mixture of relief and dread bubble up inside of her. It was the relief that disturbed her.
“Rachel and the baby are all right, aren’t they?” The concern in Sandra’s voice stilled Miranda’s hands as she waited to hear Andrew’s response. Rachel and her friends had been coming to the Starlight for brunch every Sunday after church for as long as she’d worked at the diner.
“She has an appointment with her doctor this morning, which will give us a better indication about what’s going on.”
“Please tell Rachel I’ll add her and Eli and the baby to my prayer list,” Sandra said.
“She’ll appreciate that, Ms. Lange.”
“Sandra,” she said, correcting him. “This is the Starlight Diner, my dear, not the Ritz.”
“I’ll remember that, Sandra.”
The warmth in his voice somehow made him seem more approachable. Miranda could almost imagine he was just another one of the diner’s regulars.
In Armani.
“Sandra! Order up!” Isaac’s voice boomed above the music and the steady hum of conversation.
“Someone should remind that man I’m the one who owns the place.” Sandra laughed and maneuvered her way back through the maze of tables, greeting people by name on her way to the kitchen.
Miranda double-checked the bill before she presented it to the boys and then turned to slip away.
Andrew Noble was looking right at her. Again.
Miranda couldn’t blame the jolt that coursed through her on Isaac’s high-octane coffee. She’d only had one cup since her shift had started.
“I’d like a refill when you have a minute—” his eyes drifted to her name tag “—Miranda.”
She nodded but it didn’t feel like a normal nod. It felt like she’d suddenly turned into one of those bobble-headed dolls. “I’ll tell Darcy.”
Where was Darcy?
Feeling slightly panicked, Miranda scanned the diner but there was no sign of the girl anywhere.
“I think she’s busy with a cleanup on aisle six,” Andrew said helpfully.
Miranda lowered her gaze and sure enough, Darcy was crouched next to a portable high chair, mopping up a waterfall of fruit punch cascading over the side of the tray.
So much for avoiding Andrew Noble.
Chapter Two
Miranda.
Andrew watched her stop and chat briefly with an elderly gentleman who sat alone at a table. She was smiling again but it wasn’t the distant, polite one she’d bestowed upon him. No. This one was natural. It momentarily transformed her entire face, softening the curve of her lips and bringing a faint blush of color to her cheeks.
He’d noticed her the first time he’d come into the diner a few days ago. And he wasn’t sure why. With her hair secured in a severe twist at the nape of her neck and not a speck of makeup on her face, she obviously wasn’t the kind of woman who tried to court attention.
In fact, it seemed as if she’d gone out of her way to avoid him.
And she was doing it again.
Which—he hated to admit—chipped at his pride a little. He wasn’t used to women running in the opposite direction when they saw him.
For crying out loud. Get over yourself, Noble.
“Excuse me.” She returned with the coffeepot and Andrew pushed his cup closer. He tried to make eye contact but she didn’t cooperate, intent on searching for something in the pocket of her apron rather than looking at him.
“Cream or sugar?” She finally glanced up, long enough for him to glimpse captivating flecks of gold in her autumn-brown eyes.
“Cream. Thank you.” It was all he could come up with. Andrew wanted to bang his head against the table. He’d had dinner with heads of state and vacationed with celebrities, but a slender waitress with soulful eyes had suddenly reduced his vocabulary to that of a three-year-old. A very shy three-year-old.
“M.J.!” Isaac poked his head out of the pass-through between the kitchen and dining room. “Where are you? The cheese on this burger is aging. I’m going to have to raise the price if it sits up here any longer.”
Andrew saw Miranda bite her lip to hold back a laugh and took advantage of the moment to draw her out. “What does the J stand for?”
Wariness instantly replaced the laughter that backlit her eyes. “Jones.”
Andrew got the impression that only the Starlight’s reputation as a friendly diner prevented her from ignoring his question.
He opened his mouth to say something—anything—else