Jake crossed the room in a few easy strides, his gaze never leaving hers, his expression unreadable.

“Hello, Taylor.”

That voice. Low, rough, whiskey-soft. Seductive even now, when he’d only tracked her down to say their marriage was over.

She wasn’t ready for this confrontation. Wasn’t ready to hear that Jake had found someone else, someone who was selfless and caring, mature and responsible. All the things Taylor hadn’t been.

But she forced herself to stand firm. “Hello, Jake,” she said. Her voice was cool, remote, as if she felt nothing, no anxiety, no pain.

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Taylor waited for him to say something, but he seemed content to stand there taking in her pink polyester blouse and skirt and frilly white Pancake Hut apron.

Mr. Annoying on fifteen broke the moment. “Hey, Miss! Are you going to get my toast or not?”

She’d forgotten she still held the plate. She gave him her best waitressing smile. “Just a minute,” she said as cheerfully as she could. Then she addressed Jake. “Whatever you’re here for, I don’t have time.”

“We need to talk.”

“Not right now, we don’t.” She wondered whether he’d brought the divorce papers with him. Would he whip them out and demand she sign on the dotted line? Would he offer her money? Or would they have to go through a long legal battle she couldn’t afford to fight?

“It’s important.”

Like it or not, her marriage had blown up in her face; the only graceful thing to do was to accept it like a lady. But she didn’t feel graceful, and she didn’t feel like a lady. She felt like a tired waitress without enough money and way too much loneliness. “Look,” she said, “you’ve already lost me my tip from this guy, and I’m not in the mood.”

“I’ll pay you the difference.”

“Forget it, Jake.” She didn’t want a dime of his money. She was going to support herself, and prove to herself, her parents and Jake that she wasn’t a total loser.

Her mind flashed back over the past five months. When she’d first returned to Boston her need to forget Jake had made her wild and reckless. She’d spent money like crazy, blowing through her father’s generous allowance in only six days. Her father had given her more, on the condition she shape up, become an adult, start taking life more seriously. She hadn’t. Instead she’d dealt with the pain of her failed marriage the only way she knew how: by buying everything in sight.

Her mother had given her more money, but had said that was it until she got her life together. Taylor hadn’t believed her. Her parents had always thrown money at her instead of love; why would anything be different this time?

But it was. Her parents had cut her off. They’d offered her a place to stay and food to eat but only on the condition that she take a paper-pushing, closely supervised job in the personnel department at her father’s company.

Chafing at their control like a petulant child, Taylor had thrown it back in their faces. She’d moved in with a friend that afternoon. But her credit cards were tapped out, and none of the stylish jobs she applied for worked out. In the end, she couldn’t keep up with her friends’ glamorous life-styles, and they blew her off.

She’d had no money, no job, no friends, no place to live. She’d thrown it all away. She’d been a fool, and pride prevented her from accepting her parents’ new tough-love brand of assistance.

Finally she’d tried in earnest to get a job, and ended up a week later at the Pancake Hut. She’d done more growing up in that one week, and in the months of backbreaking restaurant work that followed, than she had in her entire life. With newfound grit and determination, she’d started to get her life back together.

And she’d keep doing it—alone.

Taylor pointed into the kitchen where her boss, Sleazy Steve, glared at her over the grill. “Do you see that man back there? If I’m more than thirty seconds late to pick up a plate he bums my next two orders. So I don’t really care what you have to talk to me about. It’s not more important than my job.”

Jake fixed his gaze on her, unblinking. “You don’t know that.” His tone was even, calm. Not argumentative, but still it raised Taylor’s hackles.

Like herself, Jake could be an incredibly stubborn person. “You might not believe it, Jake, but nothing is more important than my job. Nothing.”

Not even you. Not even my husband. The words remained unspoken, but she knew they both heard them echo through the restaurant.

Five months and one week ago she never would have even thought those words. Five months and one week ago her husband had been the most important thing in her life. But she hadn’t been the most important thing in his. Not by a long shot.

“I’m not going to leave,” Jake said.

“Fine,” Taylor returned. “You can wait all day for me if you want. Just don’t do it in the aisle.”

That brought a hint of a smile to his lips. “Where’s your section?”

“Over there.” She pointed. “But don’t you dare...” She trailed off as Jake sauntered over to the only vacant booth in her section. He slipped out of his shearling coat and sat down.

Taylor took a deep breath and counted to ten. By seven she’d calmed down, and when she hit ten she knew how she’d handle the situation. The moment Jake had sat down he’d become a customer. Nothing more, nothing less.

And she’d learned how to deal with customers.

She ducked into the kitchen to make fresh toast for the man on fifteen, then took a menu to Jake. She slid it onto the table. “Coffee?”

He met her eyes. “Taylor...”

A lot of her customers liked to call her by her first name. It was written on a little plastic tag pinned to her blouse. But no one said it in that rough, sexy way, like a lion trying to growl but ending up purring. “Cream or sugar?” she asked brightly.

She knew how he took his coffee. Black and strong.

“Neither.”

Turning on her heel, Taylor checked on her other customers, then took Jake his coffee.

He hadn’t touched the menu, but she pulled out her order pad anyway. “What do you want?”

Jake took a sip of his coffee. “I need fifteen minutes of your time. Maybe half an hour.”

Enough time to sign the papers, she guessed. “What do you want that’s on the menu? I recommend the pancakes.” After all, this was the Pancake Hut.

“Hear me out, Taylor.”

“Okay, pancakes it is. Short or tall?”

“Tall. Come on. For old times’ sake.”

“Real or fake?”

“Excuse me?”

“Syrup. Real or fake?”

“Real.”

She gave him a bright smile. “Hash browns, bacon and toast with that?”

“You’re just going to ignore me, aren’t you?”

“Orange juice?”

He sighed. “Sure, Taylor. Bring me whatever you want. But I’m not going away until we talk.”

Another smile. “I’ll be right back with your juice.”

She fled for the kitchen.

One of the other waitresses stood at the service counter refilling the coffeemaker. Candy was a bleach-blonde in her late thirties who chewed gum incessantly. She pointed at Jake with her chin. “Who’s the dish?”

i This wasn’t what she needed. Taylor filled a glass of orange juice and tried for an offhand tone. “Him? Just someone I used to know.”

“He’s cute.” Candy craned her head to see across the room. “Is the O.J. for him? I’ll take it over.”

Candy plucked the glass from her startled fingers and swished away, hips swinging.

“Order up,” Sleazy Steve growled.

Taylor put her mind back on her waitressing, but the next time Candy crossed her path Taylor said, “He’s married.” She wasn’t trying to be possessive—even if she had felt a strange spark of jealousy—just warning her co-worker away from disappointment.

“The dish? I didn’t see a ring.”

“Trust me. He’s married.”

Candy snapped her gum, her expression changing to a mix of anger and pity. All traces of her interest in Jake were gone. “So it’s like that, huh? Probably told you he was leaving her, but never did. And he expects you to pine away for him and jump back into his bed whenever he gets in the mood. The skunk. Want me to go pour hot coffee in his lap?”