The men on either side of him offered polite smiles as Roman silently drank his coffee and skimmed the extensive menu. Not just breakfast, but lunch and dinner, too, all at incredibly reasonable if not obscenely cheap prices. When he saw the diner also provided a delivery service for a small fee, he couldn’t have been happier. Of course, he’d have to taste-test first, not that he held any doubt. Diners, in his opinion, tended to have the best food around.
The hair on the back of his arms prickled and Roman glanced up, scanning the counter’s occupants until his gaze landed on a small boy sitting on the stool farthest away from him. He was wearing a neat white button-down shirt with a collar so sharp it could draw blood. The thin burgundy tie was about as crooked as one could get, his too-big sweater sagging off one shoulder, but it was the boy’s laser-beam gaze behind round glasses that caught his attention. Eyes he’d already seen in the face of the owner who had welcomed him just moments before.
“Simon, finish your breakfast, please.” Holly swept back behind the counter, dropped the coffeepot onto its burner and grabbed a damp cloth. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” she told Roman. “He’s not at his best in the mornings.”
“I can understand that.” If the boy felt guilty or uncomfortable for staring, he didn’t show it. If anything, he straightened on his stool and returned Roman’s curious gaze with a penetrating one of his own—as if he was trying to puzzle Roman out.
“So what can I get you?”
“Your bacon and eggs came highly recommended. I’ll take that, eggs scrambled, bacon crispy. And a couple of your pumpkin scones to go.”
“Great.” She didn’t bother writing anything down, just nodded. “I’ve got a fresh batch in the oven now, so as soon as they’re out, I’ll have Ursula package up two for you.” She retreated long enough to repeat his order to the cook. “So, where are you from...” She trailed off, and it was then Roman noticed the diner had dropped significantly in volume. Chatter had faded, and he had the distinct feeling people were waiting for his response.
“Ah, born and raised in Boston, but most recently Florida. And it’s—”
“Roman!” Bud Granger’s booming voice drowned out the tinkling of the howdy bell over the front door. “I just stopped by the station house to see if you wanted to grab breakfast, but Frankie said you were already gone. Morning, Holly.”
“Morning, Chief.” Holly’s gaze sharpened on Roman and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a bit of the friendliness faded. “And good morning, Chief.”
“I knew it.” Simon’s muttered declaration echoed through the diner.
Roman lifted his mug as if making a toast. “Nice to meet all of you. Roman Salazar.” Suddenly he felt like the new kid in an ultraexclusive school.
The collection of seniors in the corner booth, and, well, okay, it seemed everyone in the place, stared at him as if he’d just crawled out of a swamp. He swallowed more coffee, purposely kept his expression neutral. “Am I going to need a taste tester for my breakfast?”
“No.” But Holly’s denial didn’t exactly sound sincere. “Frankie’s got a lot of friends in this town. We don’t like to see her hurt or disappointed.”
Neither, Roman thought, did he. “Fair enough. I would imagine you don’t.” Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Roman spun on the stool and faced a stern-looking elderly woman with a bun so white and so high it reminded him of the Matterhorn. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m Celeste Hastings.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He held out his hand and tried not to smile at the reluctant appreciation on her face when she accepted. “Roman Salazar.”
“So I heard. I’ve known Frankie Bettencourt since before she could walk. She’s a good girl. A bit rambunctious and headstrong, but she’s a good girl. She deserved that promotion.”
“So I’ve heard.” And so he’d probably be hearing for the foreseeable future.
“Now, Mrs. Hastings—” Bud stepped forward then took one step back when Mrs. Hastings swung on him.
“Don’t you now me, Bud Granger. I might not be school principal any longer, and I might not be able to give you detention, but I can still put you in your place.”
Bud held up his hands in surrender and offered Roman a quick glace of sympathy. Roman had a decision to make. He could surrender, too, or he could make inroads from the start. “Mrs. Hastings, I completely understand your feelings and everyone else’s, as well. I can only imagine how upset you all must be that Frankie wasn’t given the job you clearly expected her to get. The job she obviously deserved.”