Lavender Beach by Vickie McKeehan Page A

pass without indulging in fruit-filled pastry.”
    “Words to live by.”
    They drove the two blocks to Main Street to find the diner almost empty. Despite the lack of customers, Tim McGraw’s sexy voice spun from the Wurlitzer jukebox singing his praises for southern girls.
    The place looked exactly like what it was—a retro malt shop that had been part of the town for almost five decades. It had a stained black-and-white-checkered linoleum floor, a black marble-looking counter, red barstools that had seen better days, but not since Kennedy had been in office.
    The owner, Margie Rosterman, greeted them with menus but Cooper waved her off. “We know what we want. Give us two of Max’s biggest cheeseburgers with all the trimmings and a basket of fries. Throw in two chocolate malts and two slices of your apple pie to go and a couple of Cokes.”
    “Sounds like you two kids worked up an appetite,” Margie said with a wink. She stood almost six feet tall with flaming red hair she’d recently tinted, pale skin with a ton of freckles, and big blue eyes. Margie did her best to make people believe she was tough as nails. But everyone in town knew the woman had a heart of gold. She often took a chance on hiring waitresses with little experience and would give them multiple chances until they proved her wrong. It was common knowledge she and her cook, Max Bingham, had been together for years but had never bothered to make it official.
    “We decided to take our food and eat up on the cliff,” Eastlyn explained, not knowing why she felt the need to set the scene for anyone else.
    “You picked a pretty day for it.” Margie yelled out the order to Max and turned back to the counter to take Cooper’s money. Margie counted out his change and turned to Eastlyn. “Pacific storm’s predicted for the middle of the week. Hope you’re done with the plowing by then. Max and I are chomping at the bit to get that call that tells us it’s time to plant the seeds. Haven’t been this excited about anything since we went to Sissy Carr’s funeral just so we could make sure she was dead.”
    Cooper glanced at Eastlyn and winked. “By way of explanation, Sissy Carr was the small town hussy who finally got her comeuppance when they found her drowned in the bay.”
    “Ah. Translation appreciated for the benefit of the newcomer.” Eastlyn turned to Margie, snaked out a laugh. “Isabella is in charge of eager volunteers. So any day now you should expect the call.”
    “That’s us, we’re ready and willing. Isabella just has to say the word. Imagine, coming up with the idea to grow our own food out of that piece of land that’s sat vacant for years before Logan came to fix it up. That’s one renovation that’s been good for the whole town.”
    “I agree,” Eastlyn said, noting Margie’s type of excitement seemed to prevail throughout town. “I’d also like to go on record as saying Max makes the best burgers. I’ve been all over and his are, by far, cooked to perfection every time.”
    Margie beamed, relayed the praise to her significant other by hollering it at the top of her voice. “Hear that, Max. You have a fan.”
    From the long window into the kitchen, Max waved his spatula in Eastlyn’s direction and yelled just as loud as Margie had, “The girl knows good food.”
    “I never got that kind of reaction when I heaped compliments on Max for his meatloaf,” Cooper pointed out. “I’ve traveled all over, too, you know. And I’ve been here a hundred times more than Eastlyn.”
    Margie waved a hand in Cooper’s direction. “We’re used to you. I’ve come to appreciate the newcomers. They breathe new life into this town. Just look at what Nick’s done. New ideas, new business, and new people, add in the school reopening and it does wonders for my bank account.”
    “As long as it helps your bottom line.” Eastlyn gave the owner a strange look before trading glances with Cooper.
    After Margie bagged up their food