Kate knew full well how she looked. Besides her daily uniform of jeans, a red flannel, her reliable pair of sturdy-heeled boots and her dirty blonde hair tied away from her face in a sensible braid, heavy bags dragged her hazel eyes down and her splotchy skin spoke of a restless night. Michael was more of a solid eight hours of sleep kind of guy, so his surprise was understandable.

“What were you doing up that late?”

Kate brightened up. Her ideas may have been half-baked, but at least she had them. And even if it would never happen, she liked feeling useful.

“Brainstorming. I have tons of ideas to save the town.” And only two of them involved hiring Bono and Beyoncé for a telethon. Most of the others involved social media campaigns and petitioning the federal government for a grant of some kind once she figured out how to write grants, but some of the ideas were sensible and others not cooked up. “We’re gonna call the governor and petition to have the square designated a historical—”

Her ranting came to an abrupt halt as Michael’s fork clattered to his plate and his jaw dropped halfway to the floor. He stared over her shoulder at something Kate couldn’t see. She tried to make it out in the reflection of a window behind his head, to no avail.

“No way,” he said.

“What?”

“Don’t look now,” he muttered, casually reaching for his coffee cup, “but your boyfriend from yesterday’s meeting just walked in.”

“My what?”

Kate spun in her seat, but Michael caught her shoulder and pulled her back to face front.

“I said don’t look now!”

Thank goodness for the Bing Crosby Christmas hits. If he weren’t crooning so loud, Clark Woodward would’ve heard them. Mind racing, Kate tried to place the pieces of this puzzle together. This was their town and their diner. He must have thought himself as bulletproof as the real Clark Kent if he thought he could show his face in public after what he did yesterday.

“Why is he here?” Kate hissed, leaning into Michael to prevent herself from giving in to the temptation to glance over her shoulder at the intruder.

“I don’t know. He’s just sitting at a table, looking at a menu.”

“What in the world does he think he’s doing? Is he going to shut this place down, too?”

“Maybe he’s just hungry.”

“No.” Kate shook her head. He wasn’t a diner breakfast kind of guy. He was a protein bar and kale smoothie kind of guy. Dallas men always gave off a clean living vibe; it made them unable to function in a small town like Miller’s Point. “He’s got to have something up his sleeve.”

“Shh. Mel’s going to take his order.”