“No can do,” he said with a nod to the dishes he’d just delivered.

She’d been expecting this.

Kate gave Steve her best smile. “You know, that’s one awesome-looking orange-and-white VW van with all the old surf shop stickers out in the employee parking area. It’s yours, right?”

“Down to her tires,” he answered with obvious pride.

“I thought so!”

“Betty’s the real deal. I found her in a junkyard when I was seventeen, and…” His brows drew together. “Hey, why are we talking about her right now?”

“Steve, order up!” one of the line cooks called.

“In a second,” he answered without looking away from Kate.

“Now, before it’s cold!” the cook bellowed.

“Betty looks like you keep her nice and neat,” Kate said.

“I do.”

“Then you’d probably be real sad if all these dirty dishes ended up in her, wouldn’t you?”

His tan seemed to fade. “No way. You wouldn’t.”

If her mascara hadn’t already been sweated off, she would have batted her eyelashes. “I might.”

“Yo, Steve!” the cook shouted. “ND; d. ow!”

Steve briefly looked his way. “Yeah, just hang on, would you?”

“Sounds like you’re pretty busy,” Kate said. “I, on the other hand, have plenty of time to go out to the parking lot and bring Betty a little gift. Or you can tell me Laila’s third nugget of wisdom.”

The cook had started hissing something unintelligible in the secret language of angry fry cooks.

Steve winced at the sound.

“So what’s it going to be?” Kate asked.

Steve hesitated for just a second, appraising Kate with a friendly stare. “You’re tougher than you look, Tink.”

It was nice to hear. For so many years, Richard had told her that she wasn’t tough. Her moving to Keene’s Harbor and her nutty plan to turn a broken-down family vacation spot into a B &B was all about showing that she could survive-and more than that, succeed-without anyone’s help. She had something to prove to herself and the world before she was ever going to let a man back into her life.