Back to the Good Fortune Diner (10 page)

“I’m preparing food for a catering event. When it slows down, come to the back and help me.”

“I need her up front,” Rose insisted. “It’s still busy.”

“I said
after
it slows down,” he shot back. “Why don’t you ever listen?”

She glowered back at him, and for a heart-stopping second, it looked like they’d go for each other’s throats. Tiffany’s stomach torqued.

Two heavy heartbeats later, Tony spun and pushed through the kitchen doors, uttering something in disgust. Tiffany exhaled, tension draining from her bones. Her mother continued wiping the counter. The customers in the diner didn’t notice the exchange.

“Got any chicken balls left?”

She jumped at the sight of Chris standing in front of her, grinning wide.

* * *

T
IFFANY’S CHEEKS CHANGED
from pale to flaming red. Chris wasn’t sure what had put that worried expression on her face, but he was glad to be the one to wipe it off. The lights from the steam counter bathed her in a golden light. Despite the hairnet, apron and sheen of sweat, she really was an attractive woman.

She regained herself quickly as her dark eyes dropped to his chest. “Nice T-shirt,” she said wryly.

He looked down. His T-shirt had come from a poultry farm in the next county, and featured a cartoon chicken serving up eggs in a pan, the words
It’s Clucking Good
hovering over its head. “Thanks. It’s all the rage in Paris.” He struck a pose and gave a duck-lipped moue.

She smirked. That seemed to be the closest he’d ever gotten to making her laugh. She pointed toward the golden deep-fried spheres. “I didn’t realize you were a chicken-ball fan.”

“I thought I’d get some for Simon. They’re his favorite.” He didn’t want to admit he’d only stopped in to see if she was there and to say hello, even though he had a million things to do.

She filled a take-out box, studiously avoiding eye contact. Her reserved manner reminded him of the way she’d treated him in high school, and it made him smile.

“You must be hot,” he drawled.

Her hand jerked, and two of the balls jumped out of the container. “Excuse me?”

“Back there. From the steam.” He grinned.

She blinked slowly as her expression closed once more. “It’s good for the skin.” She continued filling the box with laserlike focus. He chuckled to himself. Getting any kind of reaction out of her was a private win. There’d been times as a teen when he’d wondered if she was immune to his charm, or simply hadn’t been interested in the opposite sex. And though he hadn’t admitted it to himself then, it had needled him that she’d been so unaffected.

He leaned up against the counter. “So, I was thinking, if you have time this week, I wouldn’t mind if you swung by and got a jump on things with Simon.”

She didn’t look up as she answered. “Simon doesn’t start class till Monday. I’ll work with him then.”

“Oh.” His disappointment surprised him. “I thought you might want to help him out in some of his other subjects.”

“He said he wanted a break before summer school starts. I don’t blame him. He looks like he could use a two-month nap.”

He laughed. “I was tired all the time in high school. That didn’t stop you from giving
me
a hard time.”

“He needs a break,” she said, mouth turning down steeply. “It’ll be hard enough making him sit through an extra two hours of tutoring regularly. If I don’t give him some space, he’ll shut me out completely. When he and I sit down, I’ll put him to the task. But I’m not going to drive him into the ground before we’ve even started.”

Chris was stunned she’d reacted so vehemently. “I thought you’d—”

She plopped the box of chicken balls and the tub of glowing orange sweet-and-sour sauce on the counter by the register. “My mom will ring you up.” She went back to the far end of the steam counter to serve the next customer.

Rose Cheung grinned brightly at him as he paid. She asked him some questions about his family, but his eyes kept going back to Tiffany, who wore an easy, bright smile as she filled a take-out container for the old man. Why he should be jealous that she smiled so easily for a stranger and not for him was something he didn’t want to examine too closely.

* * *

“
Y
OU WANT TO
TELL ME
what that was about?” Daniel asked over Tiffany’s shoulder after Chris had left. Without his sister saying goodbye, he’d noted.

She lifted an eyebrow sardonically. “What what was about?”

“Why do you keep giving Chris the brush-off?” He’d watched the whole interaction unfold through the pass-through window. And while he knew he had no business questioning what Chris did with whom, he did feel obligated to look out for his little sister. It was plain to Daniel his friend had been flirting with her.

“He wanted me to start putting his son’s nose to the grindstone. The kid’s had a full year of high school. He’s getting over failing a class. He deserves a break.”

“You sure it’s just that?” When she didn’t answer, he nudged her aside while he picked up a mostly empty tray of sweet-and-sour pork from the steam table. Steam blasted him in the face and he wiped the sweat from his brow. “If you’re interested in him, you should try to be more friendly instead of pushing him away.”

“I
was
being friendly. And I’m not interested.”

He chuckled. The
roses blooming on her cheeks had come from more than just the heat. “Admit it. You’re still crushing on him, but you’re not going to do anything about it because you’re afraid he’ll laugh at you or hurt you.”

“I do not— Don’t go psych-101ing me,” she sputtered.

“I’m only trying to be helpful. You’re both grown-ups now. I’m just saying, if you decide to make a move... Well, you’re a big girl.”

She shot daggers at him. “You’re one to give relationship advice. Have you told Mom and Dad about Selena yet?”

He glared, ice forming in his veins. Rose hadn’t turned around, so he guessed she hadn’t heard Tiff.

He walked back into the kitchen and dumped the hot steam tray into the sink. It felt as if a hundred pins were stabbing into his neck. A little teasing and his sister had slashed out with her razor-sharp talons.

What was Tiffany expecting him to do? Go up to their parents and announce that, oh, by the way, that sweet doctor from Queens is a
gwai-mui?

Okay, so maybe it was as simple as that. But Tiffany didn’t have to keep provoking him about it.

His thoughts were disrupted as his father suddenly cursed and stalked out of the kitchen. Daniel watched through the narrow window as he headed straight for Rose. “You ordered the wrong brand of rice.”

Trepidation ratcheted tightly in his gut as his mom rang in a customer and said blithely over her shoulder, “I didn’t. This one is a better quality.”

“And it’s more expensive. Why did you order this one? I told you not to.”

“It’s more fragrant,” Rose responded primly. “I’m tired of the old rice. It’s too flaky and loose. Nothing like what we have at home.”

Daniel glanced over at the sack sitting on the table. That brand cost about three dollars more. Were they seriously fighting over three dollars?

“It’s a waste of money.” Tony’s voice rose. “I don’t want to make fried rice for a hundred people with good rice.”

“They won’t know the difference.”

“If they won’t know the difference, then why did you buy the more expensive rice?” The pitch and volume of his father’s voice made the pans in the kitchen vibrate. Daniel shot out of the kitchen door like a bullet.

“Hey!” he shouted.
“Mo gum dai seng-ah.”

Don’t make so much noise.
Or more accurately,
You’re going to drive the customers away with your yelling.

Tony gave his wife one final glower and stomped back into the kitchen. “Your mother is going to send us to the poorhouse.”

“Calm down, Dad.”

“She doesn’t understand. This is a business, not a charity. She gives one special price here, one extra helping there, it all adds up. She doesn’t care.” He flung a ladle across the counter and it clattered noisily to the ground.

Daniel struggled not to get into it with him. “Dad, we’re fine.”

“I haven’t been in business this long because I gave everyone special treatment,” he said pointedly. “I’m not running a soup kitchen.”

He groaned. “I get that you’re mad. But Mom handles the front of the diner, you take care of the food and I take care of the books. That’s our arrangement.” And the only way to keep the peace around the diner.

His dad pointed at him accusingly with a spatula. “You need to keep a closer eye on her when she makes the orders.” Tony resumed work on the fried rice, grumbling.

Daniel left his father to stew and stepped out to the front to replace a steam tray of black-bean eggplant. His mother was chatting up a customer with a winning smile. He frequently wondered whether the locals picked up on his parents’ arguments by their angry tones, even if they didn’t understand the words.

Tiffany’s hands were shaking as she wiped the counter, and he had a flash of empathy. She’d always hated their parents’ fights. It’d taken him years to toughen up, placing himself in the middle of their arguments. Some days, though, the tension pressed against him like a knife’s edge.

“Hey.” Daniel squeezed her shoulder. “You okay?”

She shook him off. “Fine.”

“It’s like this all the time, but this is nowhere near as bad as it can get.” She whipped her head around to look at him, appalled. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Why would
I
be to blame?” Her eyes narrowed.

“I was only trying— Oh, forget it.” He escaped back to the kitchen, annoyed with her, with his parents and with himself.

No matter what he tried to do, however good his intentions, people always knocked him back down.

* * *

R
EGRET PRICKED
T
IFFANY
as Daniel left in a huff. She really had to tone down her bitch factor. Years of being stuck behind a hot steam counter with her bickering parents should have tempered her, but Tony and Rose’s row had left her feeling as queasy and scared as she’d been as a child. That sense of helplessness made her get defensive, like a porcupine with its quilt of needles.

She stared after her brother, thinking she should go apologize, but then Rose snapped at her, “Why are you standing there doing nothing?”

Tiff looked around. All the customers had gone. “Have you forgotten how to work?” her mother asked irritably.

Tiffany sucked her cheeks in. She reminded herself that she was living with her parents rent-free, that she owed them her love and respect. But it could be really trying, especially when she was being snapped at. She was tired of having everyone in her family telling her what to do instead of asking her with a please and thank-you. But as her mother turned away, she caught her swiping a palm across her cheek. She stood unmoving for a few seconds, facing the empty diner, back to the kitchen. Her shoulders pulled into a straight line and she picked up a broom and started sweeping.

Tiffany quietly went to clear the tables.

CHAPTER SIX

B
Y THREE-FIFTEEN
THE FOLLOWING
M
ONDAY
, Tiffany was
so
done with the diner. She didn’t think she’d ever wash the smell of fryer oil and onions out of her hair. Not even the thick overcast sky and stifling humidity could dampen her spirit as she sailed along the highway, far, far away from the Good Fortune.

She pulled up in front of the Jamieson house, grabbed her book bag and purse, headed up the veranda and knocked. She rocked on her heels, eager and a little nervous. Chris had come by twice more that week to say hello and to buy a box of chicken balls for his son. She’d done her best to be more pleasant. He’d said he was looking forward to seeing her at the farm, and even though there was no affection behind his words, she couldn’t help the feeling of anticipation sizzling through her.

She was a little surprised when William Jamieson, dressed in jeans and a blue shirt, opened the door. She glanced behind him, then around the farm, expecting to see Chris or even Jane running toward her.

“You expecting a gong to announce you or something?” William narrowed his eyes at her as he shuffled his crutches.

She smiled with clenched teeth to hide the tic beneath her eye. “Hello, Mr. Jamieson. I’m here to tutor Simon.”

“He’s not home from school yet. And he has to do his chores when he gets back.” He stayed firmly rooted in the doorway. Three long seconds passed before she realized he was not going to invite her in.

“May I wait inside?” She wouldn’t allow this old man to intimidate her the way he used to.

William studied her, his jaw set. “You’re not charging my son from the minute you step in here, are you?”

“Of course not.”

He hobbled inside. She followed. “Do you want something to drink? I’m about to put some coffee on.”

His offer of hospitality surprised her. “I’m fine for now, thank you. Would it be all right if I set up my things on the dining table?”

“Sure you wouldn’t rather sit on the floor? Isn’t that what you people do?”

She dug her fingernails into her palms. “Only after our kung-fu lessons,” she deadpanned.

He didn’t react. “I don’t know if my son has said anything to you,” William began, “but you should know I don’t approve of all this tutoring business.”

“You don’t think Simon’s education is important?” Or was he objecting to
her
teaching him?

“School curriculums are too focused on useless academic courses. They should be teaching important things like computers and accounting, and bring back home economics and shop. Those are useful classes. Everyone cries about how the arts get cut all the time, but when it comes to school budgets, the first thing that’s cut is life skills and gym.” His gaze lifted to her face. “English isn’t a second language to Simon. He can speak and read it fine, unlike some people. He doesn’t need to study Shakespeare to know how to fix a tractor engine.”