sort of gruff allure. It shouldn’t be appealing to her. But Quinn found she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
At least the lump in her throat was gone. Even if it had been replaced by inappropriate thoughts for a man probably fifteen years her junior.
Quinn swallowed. She was probably making a bigger fool of herself ogling him than she had been with the messed-up orders. She cleared her throat so her voice wouldn’t come out hoarse. “I probably wrote it down wrong. Again.”
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t.” The gorgeous man narrowed his green eyes at the nurse. “Everyone in town is well aware that Mia Stevenson doesn’t eat onions.”
“You’ve always been a pain in the ass, Baby.” Mia stood, grabbing both the to-go carton and the plate from Quinn’s tray. “I’ll take both sandwiches to-go.”
She stormed toward the register, glaring at Baby as she passed. At least she was going to pay.
“Thanks,” Quinn muttered.
“Just ignore her.” He gave her a grin that did nothing to soften the hard lines of his jaw. “She takes an unnaturally perverse delight in making other people miserable. She’s been that way since middle school.”
“I really might’ve written down the wrong thing,” Quinn admitted. “It’s my first day.”
His engaging smile grew wider as he stretched one arm along the booth. “You don’t say.”
Oh God, was he flirting with her?
Nobody flirted with her. She was Dr. Harrison-Pritchard, comparative and world literature professor.
Or had been. Right now, she was just a terrible waitress.
“I’m sorry if you’ve been waiting a long time. Can I get you something to drink?”
He leaned back in the booth again. “Sure. A Coke is fine.”
“With or without onions?”
His deep chuckle did things to parts of her body she hadn’t thought about in years, much less used.
“I’ll go with no onions.”
“Coke, no onions.” She spun the written words around so he could see them on her notepad. “Maybe I should get you to initial this so I’m sure we’re in agreement.”
Oh God, was she flirting with him?
She turned away before he could respond with something charming or do something sexy like...breathe. She was already feeling hot under the collar.
Maybe she was going through early-onset menopause.
That would be par for the course, wouldn’t it?
Besides, she didn’t know how to flirt, and she definitely didn’t know how to flirt with someone like him.
Right now, she needed to focus on not getting fired. If she was lucky, she could manage that.
Baby hadn’t come into the Eagle’s Nest for lunch because of the new waitress. He definitely wasn’t here to stop Mia from being bitchy—everyone had given up on that long ago.
He liked to get out of his garage, Oak Creek Auto, a few times a week when he could. And that was pretty often. Oak Creek was a relatively small town, and his place was one of the two full-time auto shops.
The size gave him the right amount of business—enough for Baby, the other two full-time mechanics, and the part-time office manager to make a good living while not working themselves to death.
He’d been working there since before he’d dropped out of high school at seventeen. When the owner, Albert Owens—known to everyone as Pop Owens—had died seven years ago, he’d left Baby in charge.
Except he might not be in charge for long. He grimaced and slid his silverware around in a circle on the table. Pop Owens’s plan as he left this earth was about to backfire on both of them. And Baby couldn’t seem to do anything about it.
Not unless he planned to spill all his secrets.
He loved this town, loved the people. He had never been interested in leaving long-term or thought of living somewhere else. This was home and always would be.
And you know the thing about home? Yes, the people were family. But family was sometimes the worst about keeping you pigeonholed—never allowing you to change or grow.
Everyone had pigeonholed him as the easy-going, charming younger brother. Hell...Baby. His name fairly shouted it. When he’d dropped out of high school, everyone had assumed it was because he wanted to be a mechanic. He didn’t need a diploma for that.
Nobody had looked any deeper, nobody had questioned the obvious.
Not his older brother, Finn, who’d joined the Army then came back and started Linear Tactical, the survival, self-defense, and weapons training facility. Not his best friend, Cade O’Conner, who’d gone on to have a stellar music career before coming back and settling down in Oak Creek. Not his sister, not his mother. Not any of