Even though I’d had a bedroom full of designer clothes and shoes at my parents’ house, my closet in the loft still had plenty of space. Aside from the things I had stashed in a bag—like toiletries, water, snacks, and the shoebox—before my getaway, all I’d had was my car and the clothes on my back. Five years at the Bucksaw had gained me five more pairs of jeans, three shorts, and a dozen or so shirts. It was easy to do without when you had nowhere to go.

I pulled back the top section of my hair into a clip, letting my bangs fall, which would catch my eyelashes every time I blinked.

Always in my damn eyes!

The time for a haircut at The Falyn Salon was overdue. I glanced down to the drawer that held the scissors and decided against it since it was just before my infamous date with a cute but decidedly unlucky hotshot. There was no way he would be able to compete with my perfect dream version of him, who could make me orgasm with just a side glance, so my mind had already written him off as a disappointment.

After scrubbing my face and completing the rest of my morning routine, I grabbed my apron and pushed open my door. With a quick flip of the wrist, I locked the door behind me. After just a short jaunt down a narrow hallway and fifteen stairs, I was in the Bucksaw again.

Chuck was at the prep table, and Phaedra was counting the cash in the register, the morning sun highlighting the silver strands in her hair.

“It’s like I never left,” I announced.

“You say that every morning,” Phaedra called back to me.

“It feels like that every morning.”

“You say that every morning, too,” Chuck said. He placed a plate of pancakes drowning in syrup, topped with a small swirl of whipped cream and a sliced strawberry, onto the counter in the window between the kitchen and the main dining area.

“For the record, I can think of only one other place I’d rather be,” I said, taking my plate.

“You’ll get there,” Chuck said.

“So, the kid,” Phaedra began, a hint of warning in her tone. “He’s awfully cute.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” My words were garbled around the forkful of pancake I’d just shoved into my mouth.

“He’s picking you up here?” Chuck asked, crossing his arms over the window counter that sat just below chest level for him.

The space was big enough to place at least five plates of food when we were busy.

He looked to his left when Hector pushed through the double doors leading into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Chuck said.