Over Easy

By Casey Wyatt

What's that saying? Never say never?

I never thought I'd return to my hometown Somerset, Vermont. I left twelve years earlier without a backward glance. Too many bad memories, not enough good. Now, I'm a celebrity chef in between gigs ready to pay back a karmic debt by becoming co-owner of the town's fading diner, Over Easy.

I also never planned to find my former high school flame, Audra Harper, still in town and still working at her uncle's diner. She's sexier and more desirable than a decade earlier.

Too bad I left her behind without saying goodbye. All I can hope is she's forgotten me and never learns the truth behind my abrupt exit.

Only, she hasn't forgotten me. And the more time we spend together, the harder it is for me to resist her. The harder it is to want to leave.

I don't intend to hurt Audra again, but if the mistakes from my past come to light the decision will be made for me and our second chance will vanish.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casey Wyatt
• Release date: Jan 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393908418

Casey Wyatt

Casey Wyatt grew up in a mid-size Connecticut town where nothing exciting ever happened. To stem the boredom, she read fantasy and sci-fi novels, imagining her own adventures in her head. Not much has changed since she’s grown up, only now she's a multi-published author of paranormal romance and urban fantasy novels. In her spare time, she loves all things geeky, hangs out in museums, and collects stray cats. Visit Casey on the web: www.caseywyatt.com. You can also find Casey on Facebook and Twitter (@CaseyWyatt1).  To receive advance notice about new releases and special sales, subscribe to Casey's Newsletter. ​

Book preview

Chapter One

Audra

The toast was on fire and this time it wasn’t my fault.

No. Really, I swear.

Sure, I may have forgotten about it, but the diner’s commercial toasting machine was supposed to move the slices along the conveyor, not hang onto them like a clinging child.

I snagged the burnt bread, dropped it in the sink, then doused it with water before the smoldering ruins could trip the smoke detector.

It was official, my day was off to a crap start.

Let’s go over the highlights, shall we?

Hot coffee spilled down my uniform shirt. Check.

Maple syrup gunked in my hair. Check.

Broken carton of eggs after swearing to the cook that I would be more careful. Check.

In my defense, that carton should have never been on the edge of the counter.

I don’t know how it happened. One moment the carton was on the prep table and the next, I tripped over a groove in the floor and – splat!

Luckily, that time, I’d cleaned the crime scene before Vince, the head cook, came in and caught me making a mess. Again.

This time wasn’t any different. I refused to be tripped up by two slices of bread, managing to dispose of the evidence moments before he re-entered the kitchen’s prep area.

Vince paused, nose twitching. No doubt catching a whiff of burnt something.

As soon as he made eye contact, I shouted, Order up! Tucking the ticket into the metal circular bracket, I spun it toward the kitchen, flashing Vince my best, I’m innocent smile. Adam and Eve on a raft, wrecked. Mystery in the Alley. And one Johnny Tremain, make it British! Got that?

Ah, diner lingo.

Nothing rolled off the tongue quite like it.

Nobody, not one person in town, could beat my knowledge.

Aside from my uncle, no one loved the best little diner in Vermont – that’s how the Chamber of Commerce liked to sell it – more than me.

Finally, after years of saving (and dropping not so subtle hints to Uncle Wayland), the Over Easy Diner was about to become mine. Well, partly mine. My uncle, now retired and fishing in the Florida Keys, would retain half ownership with the option to sell when I could afford the rest.

My feet had barely touched the ground for the entire week. Today was the day the deed would be done. At 3:00 pm sharp, I would finally be in the driver’s seat.

In under an hour, my life would change forever. I would own something of my own. A business where I could focus my creative energy and put in some sweat equity.

This time, I hoped it would be a positive change. I needed a win in my column and the family diner was going to be my moment to shine.

It was also my chance to modernize and improve the well-worn town institution.

I’d had plenty of time in the last year, since my divorce, to think about the next phase of my life.

More free time than I cared to think about. So much free time, that the diner had become my sole focus.

What’s that saying - so many ideas, not enough headspace?

Because I’m only human and my mind couldn’t contain them all, I’d detailed each one in a special binder currently waiting on the desk in the diner’s cramped office. Those plans included fresh paint, updated booths, and refurbishing the ceiling back to its original glory.

And that was only the interior. The exterior could use a good polish and some new awnings.

Oh, wouldn’t café tables on the sidewalk be nice?

I’d have to add that to the list.

So much to do, so little cash. And that didn’t even cover updating the menu’s design and the food.

I tucked my ticket pad into my pocket and returned to the galley style dining space. The heady aroma of fresh coffee mixed with maple syrup, onions, and meaty grease filled my nose.

Perfume of the Gods.

The former train car was divided by a narrow counter that faced the kitchen, which had since been expanded into its own space. A row of booths lined the windows, the left side offering the best view of Somerset Lake.

With a sigh, I paused, appreciating the midafternoon sunshine dappling the lake. The sky was brilliant blue with no clouds in sight.

How lucky was I?

The diner was like a member of the family. I’d practically grown up on the counter barstools. After my divorce from Brad Lyndon, AKA the lying dirtbag, I returned to the fold, burying myself in work, regaining my independence.

Yup, the diner had always been my happy place. My second home.

Clouds of doubt rolled over me.

What if I screwed the diner up like everything else in my adult life?

For one, the employees would lose their jobs. And jobs didn’t grow on trees in our neck of Vermont. Somerset, a cozy town that hadn’t changed much, had resisted big box stores and chains in favor of preserving local charm.

If the over seventy-year-old business failed on my watch, I don’t know what I would do.

Stay positive. Think good thoughts.

A few deep cleansing breaths and . . .

I’ve got this.

The diner would be dragged into the current century and with my vision, it would become a premiere tourist destination, stemming the town’s decline.

I can dream, right?

With the afternoon rush over, and admittedly, the rush seemed smaller and smaller each month, I headed to the tiny office behind the kitchen, passing through the dining room addition that Uncle Wayland added to take advantage of the lake view.

The room was empty and underutilized. Once I had the money, I’d update the space and rent it out for parties.

As I walked through the narrow pantry, a thump followed by a girlish giggle, stopped me in my tracks.

No one should be giggling in the pantry.

There were only two other servers on shift: Maureen, who was older than me by two decades, and too dignified for workplace shenanigans.

That left one person.

I drew closer to the double doors with a scowl. I’d know my niece’s laugh anywhere. After peering through the round porthole window, my lips curled in a snarl.

Fiona, bent over a bin of onions, was tossing them over her shoulder, one by one. The busboy somehow managed to catch them while staring at my niece’s fourteen-year-old rear end.

Did the girl have no common sense whatsoever?

Based on the coy glances Fiona flashed at the busboy, damn it, she knew exactly what she was doing. Not only had I warned her before about flirting with boys and had told her a million times not to be alone with one, especially at work, I’d promised my brother that I would keep her safe.

Fiona must have had her own version of pissed-off adult sense because as soon as I made a move to enter, she abruptly stood and exited. The swinging door narrowly missed my face.

Hold it right there, young lady. How dare she try and run away from a scolding. Zeroing in on the busboy, I glared.

Threats might have been uttered. I didn’t give a crap. Whatever I said, he left in a hurry.

Aunt Audra, you should see your face right now. It’s wrinkled and frowny. I think you need a vacation. Fiona moved toward the dining room. Smart move since she knew that I wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of the staff or customers.

We agreed, when I gave you a few hours for the summer, that boys were off limits. You promised your dad that you’d behave.

I’m not doing anything. Stop embarrassing me! Fiona’s eyes narrowed like an angry cat before she stomped away.

Where do you think you’re going? Fiona was lucky I didn’t rat her out to my overprotective, state trooper, take no shit, older brother.

I have customers waiting. Fiona grabbed two orders from the kitchen pass through and headed toward the front. As planned, this landed us in the original part of the diner. Sensing she’d escaped from my wrath, Fiona smiled over her shoulder.

That did it. I snagged the plates and deftly handed them to Maureen who gave me a knowing look of agreement before hurrying away to serve the food.

Fiona huffed then spoke in a low voice. At least she had the sense to do that. What bug has crawled up your colon?

Seriously? You flash your ass at some guy you barely know. He’s been here three days. Plus, he’s sixteen and way too old for you.

Vince asked me to grab some onions and Jared offered to help. He’s a nice guy if you’d give him a chance.

Nope. Jared also had the kind of boyish face that would get him carded in bars until he was forty. I don’t have to give him a chance. He’s an employee and off limits to you.

Fiona’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, I could see myself in that glare. The same stubborn attitude that made my own father want to pull out his hair.

Not that it mattered. My brother Clay was a state trooper and would probably arrest Jared if he got wind that a boy was sniffing around his precious daughter.

You’re not the boss of me. She jutted her chin.

I certainly am while you work here. My left eye twitched. I’d be happy to call your dad.

No. Please don’t. Fiona’s surly attitude evaporated.

And? I prompted.

She stared at her toes. I’ll behave.

Just be smart, okay? Geez. I didn’t want to completely crush the girl’s spirit, but I also wanted her to be smarter than I was at her age. Now grab those next orders before Vince blows a gasket.

Maureen swung by and patted my shoulder with a sympathetic smile. She’ll be grown up before you know it.

And Clay will lock her in her room until she’s thirty. On second thought, that might not be such a bad idea.

Ever since Fiona’s mother, Beth, was killed in a car crash, I’d done my best to be there for Clay and her. We were all devastated by the loss, especially Clay since he was madly in love with her. Understandably, Fiona missed her terribly.

Missing a mother’s love was something I could relate to but not to the same degree since my own kooky mother was alive. Fiona’s mom was gone forever. The least I could do was love her and look out for her. I didn’t have kids of my own. Brad and I never got that far before he torched our marriage.

I don’t know how you did it, Mo. Three daughters. How’d you survive? I watched Fiona run food orders, smiling at the regulars. She wasn’t a bad girl. But she was strong-willed and went after what she wanted.

They think they know everything at that age. Reminds me of her aunt. Maureen knocked me with her elbow, then inclined her head. Over there. There’s something about that gentleman. The one with the navy ball cap. Can’t quite put my finger on it . . . Doesn’t he look familiar? That stupid hat is blocking my view. If he’d just look this way.

Maureen frequently speculated about the tourists, wishing for someone famous or important to stumble through our door.

I spotted the two men, both around my age, muscular and dressed better than the usual T-shirts and jeans crowd. The man in question wore a ball cap, brim pulled low. The collar of his shirt was turned upright around his ears like he was hiding.

Total weirdo behavior.

His companion looked as if the California surf had ejected him from the waves: blond, tan, sparkling blues eyes, and surfer dude good looks. He was cute, but not my type.

The weirdo shifted in his seat and glanced over his shoulder. His gaze connected with mine for a fraction of a second before turning away. The glimpse was long enough for a very real ghost from my past to roar to life.

No effin’ way.

That profile. That face. I must have been imagining it.

Maureen continued speculating, but I couldn’t hear anything over the loud boom of my heart.

Dash Grant had sworn he’d never return, yet there he was. Real as could be.

The guy who left me behind years ago, changing the course of my life.

What was he doing in Somerset?

Chapter Two

Dash

They say you can’t go home again because it won’t be the same place.

I wish I could have said that about Somerset. My first time back in over a decade and I felt like I’d never left.

At least this time, I’d returned with my best friend and business partner, Lucas Callahan, for his moral support and wisdom. Though I was starting to wonder if I should have left him in California.

There better not be sugar in this salt shaker. Lucas scrutinized the bottle, holding it an inch from his nose.

I flashed him an amused grin then reached for the scuffed glass container. After tasting a few grains, I slid it back. Nope. You’re safe. What makes you say that?

The little devil over yonder. Lucas hooked his thumb toward the next booth over. He’s emptying sugar packets into the salt and pepper shakers.

We’ve seen worse. Hunger rumbled in my belly as I watched a man at the counter consume buttery toast dipped in sunny egg yolks.

Adam and Eve on a raft.

Diner-speak for two eggs with toast. Some things a person never forgot.

True, Lucas conceded, while dumping five packets of sugar into his coffee. Remember that dive in Jersey? Where we found chicken bones in the ketchup bottle?

That was gross. Like all that sugar in your coffee. Why didn’t you order soda instead? I shook my head then sipped my pleasantly bitter coffee while studying the diner’s decor. Virtually nothing had changed since I’d last seen the joint.

Same red vinyl booths, same distressed chrome edged counters and, hell, even the same faded posters.

The place resembled a time capsule.

Ignoring the sugar jibe, Lucas chuckled, gaze riveted on the industrious boy. Okay. So this kid won’t land in the pranksters’ hall of fame. Maybe I should show him something more nefarious. The least he could do is unscrew the lid, so it dumps en masse.

Please don’t, I said. In my experience, usually the wait staff is blamed. And when the servers are pissy, they take it out on the cooks. Couldn’t have that on my conscience.

Lucas huffed. Now I can see why you left this backwater. No one has any sense of fun. Though this lake view is mighty nice.

A perceived lack of fun wasn’t remotely the reason I’d left. Lucas knew some of the story of my past. About my fucked-up childhood. But I never shared the hardest parts, the memories that I never wanted to resurface.

Hey now, don’t make fun of my home town. We’ve been here ten minutes and already you’re starting. Somerset has plenty of charm. The irritation in my voice surprised me. Defending the place I’d eagerly left behind twelve years earlier was unexpected.

Lucas arched an eyebrow as if to say, not buying it, buddy. "Fine. But don’t you think it’s telling that no one here has instantly recognized you? Dash Grant, super star chef. Is everyone in Vermont too busy hiking and skiing to watch television?"

Why don’t you say it a little louder? I don’t think the deaf granny in the corner booth heard you. With a headshake, I watched the sunlight glitter across the lake then counted to ten before speaking again. I loved Lucas. I really did. But subtle was not the dude’s middle name.

First off, I’m not as famous as you like to pretend. We’re on cable. You know I have more personal reasons for staying under the radar. Promises to keep. More accurately, a karmic debt to repay.

Incoming, Lucas said out of the side of his mouth.

Maureen, head waitress even in my day, arrived at our booth, arms laden with steaming hot plates of pancakes, hash browns, bacon, toast, and eggs.

Moment of truth time. If anyone might recognize me, it would be her. As she delivered our meals, I hunched my shoulders low while pretending to study my phone.

Luckily for me, she had barely set the dishes down when her eagle eyes landed on the prankster. Jonathan Tucker, are you dumping sugar into the salt again?

I silently thanked the boy for the diversion.

Maureen marched to the table and snatched the shakers away. She stabbed her bony finger at the kid like a sword. Listen up, young man.

It’s funny how time can wear away memories, but a simple thing like the tone of a voice can reverse those years. For a moment, I remembered when her ire had been directed at me. God, she loved to reprimand me from the time I started as a busboy right up to the moment I left as a short order cook.

What do you think you’re doing? The boy’s mother returned to the table in time to witness her son’s public chastisement. Maureen, don’t you dare speak to Johnny in that tone.

One hard stare from Maureen and the boy’s mother wisely sat down, aiming an angry glare at her son.

I take back what I said before. This place could be fun after all. Lucas rubbed his hands together. Showdown in the sticks. Wish we had a camera rolling.

Maureen always wins. That woman chews nails for breakfast. I can’t believe she hasn’t retired yet. She seemed ancient to me when I worked the evening shift in high school. Of course back then, anyone over the age of twenty-one was old to me. Still, she had to have been retirement ready or at least at an age where she’d want to kick up her feet and not wait on people anymore.

Lucas snorted at the pronouncement. "Dude, you’re retiring and you’re only thirty."

I waved away the comment. We’d debated the point before. Since my show ‘Dash of Reality’ had started five years earlier, I’d helped plenty of failing restaurants. But I’d grown tired of whiny owners set in their ways, refusing to consider even the smallest, common sense changes. I’d also had more than my fill of Jerry Springer-like family drama. So when my contract expired, I chose not to renew it.

"I’m just quitting the TV biz. It’s not like I’m counting my money and retreating to