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“And you call this sweet tea? Honey, your mama clearly didn’t teach you the meaning of sweet.”

Blaire flinched but didn’t apologize; she hadn’t made the tea for this shift. She knew how to make it like a proper Southerner should.

The older man at the table offered a sympathetic smile to Blaire, and she returned the smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. It wasn’t his fault that his wife—or at least Blaire assumed the woman with way too much makeup was his wife—was about as charming as cardboard.

“Oh, and while you’re at it, you can get more hash browns for my kids ‘cause the plate barely held any.” The woman gestured with her gaudy, long-nailed manicure toward the three children sitting between her and the man. They happily ate scrambled eggs and drank fresh orange juice, completely oblivious to their mother’s behavior.

The small plates with red trim the diner used for orders from the children’s menu gave away the woman’s ploy to get extra food at no cost. This sort of thing happened all the time with large families, so she didn’t know why Ricky bothered with a kid’s menu at all at this point.

Blaire forced a smile as the woman loudly tapped her long nails against the table. “I’ll be happy to let your server know the portion was not to your liking and get you more tea in the meantime.”

The woman rolled her eyes, muttering as Blaire walked away, “More ice wouldn’t kill you either.”

Going back through the red swinging door, Blaire caught sight of Charlotte coming out of the staff room.

Blaire shot her a pained grimace. “Hey, where’ve you been?”

Straightening her apron, the petite girl with shoulder-length red curls rushed over. “Ugh, I dumped a bowl of oatmeal all over my uniform and needed to change.” She looked up at Blaire’s frown. “What’s wrong?”

Blaire held her head and explained all about the piece of work in the dining area and her lovely list of complaints.

“Hey, no. Before I deal with any of that… what’s wrong with you?” Charlotte craned her neck to accommodate their height difference, as she easily stood four to five inches shorter than Blaire’s five-foot-eight.

“Headache… no, migraine. I don’t know. It hurts like hell. I didn’t sleep worth a flip last night.”

Charlotte frowned. “Up late fighting with Caleb again? I’ve got aspirin in my locker if you want.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Blaire headed for the staff lockers.

“I’ve never understood what his fixation on you is all about. He could get any woman he wants with his looks, but he chooses to keep it in the family. Creeeeepy!” Charlotte shook her head and re-entered the diner.

Charlotte was right about Caleb. A piece of work with an ego to match. Yes, he was physically attractive, slender but muscular, with a narrow face and square chin, sporting the typical bad boy haircut. He resembled a model she’d seen in a fashion magazine at the doctor’s office, Connor Hill, though she wouldn’t feed his ego by saying so. He wasn’t her type, and they were stepsiblings, but those facts didn’t stop Caleb from wanting to make her his wife.

Blaire sat for ten minutes taking a break, snacking on a bag of chips from the staff room table, giving herself time for the aspirin to take effect. In the meantime, Charlotte could manage her tables.

When her headache ebbed, she got up and put on a white apron over the red, short-sleeved, mini-dress uniform. Adjusting her name tag, she picked up her tray and pushed through the door into the diner to finish cleaning the table she abandoned before the interruption by Mrs. Entitled.

Caleb was late. He never did have courtesy when it came to her or her needs.

She wiped the table, tucking the measly fifty-cent tip into her apron skirt left by yet another “happy” customer. She knew the couple wasn’t going to leave much from the looks on their faces when she thanked them as they left the diner.

She groaned inwardly.

At this rate, she was never getting out of this state, much less this town. The idea of spending the rest of her life stuck in Rosebrook, stuck with him, left a bitter taste in her mouth, making an already shitty day worse.

Shuddering, she finished wiping the table. Before she could turn around, a set of toned arms snaked around her waist, and she stiffened.

“Blaire. I’ve missed you today.”

Her stepbrother’s voice crept into her ear. She fought the impulse to fling herself away from him and make a scene as he slipped his hand into her apron pocket to deposit the key she forgot that morning—the only reason she even cared for him to be showing his face at the diner.

“Hi Caleb,” she said in a clipped tone.

Blaire managed to move from his hold, using the need to take a table’s drink order as the perfect excuse. After she finished taking the order, Caleb followed her until she slipped behind the counter to get the drinks.

“So how has your day been, sweetheart?”

“Fine,” she said, hoping her curt responses would speed along his departure.