The older woman’s eyes narrowed, causing all her wrinkles to undulate. Her orange lips pursed. “Do I know you? Or are you just reading my name badge and being a smart-ass?”
“It’s Brady Stritmeyer. Jessie’s grandson.”
Her eyes widened in recognition and she gave him what could pass for a smile. “Well, I’ll be dipped. Didn’t know you were back in town. How are you doing?”
“I’m good enough, I guess.” He figured that was the truth. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with his life, but he didn’t have cancer either, so he was sort of in neutral. “I got laid off so I’m visiting my gran and my cousins.”
“Sorry to hear that, but the economy does suck.” Marge nodded in sympathy. “I have arthritis from waitressing for forty years, but this diner paid my rent and helped me raise four kids when that worthless piece of shit ran off on me with the tart from the bowling alley, so I can’t complain. People always want a two-dollar breakfast even when jobs are scarce.”
“That is true.” He gave her a smile. “They hiring here?”
She laughed. “No. And even if the answer was yes, I’d tell you no. You’d be bad for business. We’d have all those young girls in here nursing a coffee for two hours mooning at you. You’re too good-looking for your own good, always have been.”
“Thanks,” he said, rolling his eyes. He was not too good-looking. There was no such thing. He didn’t fall out of an ugly tree, but he was no underwear model either.
“Please, false modesty doesn’t suit you. I’m guessing before you leave town you’ll have frosted a few cupcakes.”
Brady’s eyebrows shot up. Good God. He was speechless and trying hard not to examine that phrasing too carefully. Did she mean . . .
“Brady Stritmeyer! What the hell!”
He was saved from having to reply to Marge by a woman swooping down on him and enveloping him in a hug, smothering him in dark hair, dangling earrings, and a strong scent of patchouli. “When did you get to town?” she demanded, pulling back so he could actually see her face.
“Abby.” He smiled, genuinely pleased to see his high school girlfriend. Unlike his first big romance, Joelle, who had been a cautious girl, Abby had been far too much like him for either of their own good. They had gotten into quite a bit of trouble together. “How are you?”
Her hands fell onto her stomach and she grinned. “Pregnant. That’s how I am.”
“I heard that from Gran. Congratulations.” She looked good, her cheeks rosy, her hair glossy, her body unchanged except for the rounded tummy, defined clearly by a black T-shirt. She wore lots of noisy jewelry and there was a tall, dark-haired man behind her.
Marge hit Brady with her ticket pad. “I’ll be back in a sec, hon. Going to get Mrs. Johnson her egg salad before she births a cow.”
“No problem. Thanks.” Brady stood up so that he could reach out and shake the hand of the man who was clearly her husband, his hand on the small of her back. “Brady Stritmeyer. Abby and I went to school together.”
“Darius Damiano, Abby’s husband. Nice to meet you.”
The guy who was a millionaire. Abby had done well for herself, especially given the protective and awed way her husband looked at her.
Abby was the same as ever. “My husband’s hot, isn’t he?” she said with a grin.
“Absolutely,” Brady assured her with a grin.
Darius rolled his eyes. “Thanks, babe. So what brings you to town, Brady?”
“I’m visiting my family.”
“We should have you and Piper over for cocktails. Well, no cocktails for me. But for you three.”
Brady started. How did she know anything about Piper?
Her hand flew over her mouth and she realized his reaction. “Oh, shit, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Said what?” Darius asked.
“About him and Piper. It just came out. But it’s too soon yet. I jumped the gun.”
“How do you know anything about me and Piper? Not that there is a me and Piper.” Brady felt thoroughly pissed. Had Shelby been talking? He looked around the diner, suddenly wondering who knew what about his personal business. That was something he definitely didn’t miss about small-town life.
“Are you talking about Bree and Charlotte’s babysitter? Isn’t she kind of young?” Darius asked.
That was helpful. Not. Brady scowled at Abby’s husband.
“No, she’s in her early twenties and she’s been out of college for a few years. She’s a teacher, and she’s about the same age I was when I met you,” Abby said. “And you’re ten years older than me, so that’s not the issue here.”
“I’m eight years older than you,” Darius corrected.
Brady didn’t care if Abby was pulling an Anna Nicole Smith. He just wanted to know why people were discussing his sex life. “Who told you about Piper?” he insisted.
“No one.” She gave him a sheepish look. “I’m psychic, remember?”
What? “I don’t remember anything of the sort.” He never would have dated her if he’d thought for one second that she could read his thoughts.
“It’s true. In high school it wasn’t fine-tuned. But now I have fairly good control over it, but pregnancy has made me scattered. I blurt out stuff I shouldn’t. Sorry.”
Darius nodded slowly, like he was a man who had endured a lot. “It’s been . . . interesting.”
Abby smacked him. “Oh, stop. It hasn’t been that bad.”
Brady wouldn’t have ever thought he would believe in psychics, but he certainly had come around on the ghost issue. Who was to say that someone didn’t have insight into the future? And if Abby had some kind of telescope to tomorrow, he had to admit, he was curious. “So you saw Piper? With me?”
The idea made him feel a little hot inside, in all the good spots.
She nodded, studying him, like she was weighing what she should say. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Afraid?” He snorted. “What the hell would I be afraid of? Her father kicking my ass? I think I can handle Danny. His daughter is an adult, after all.” Not that Danny would see it that way.
“No. I meant don’t be afraid of your feelings.”
Brady recoiled. Was she f**king kidding him? He stared at her, trying to see the seventeen-year-old smart-ass he’d known. All he saw now was earnestness. It made him uncomfortable. “Abby, I think you have me confused with someone else. The baby has clearly thrown your radar off.”