Flamingo Diner by Sherryl Woods

whole lot stronger than tea. Liquor was out of the question, given his exhaustion and the fact that he’d have to drive home soon.
    “Matt?”
    “What?”
    “Did I say something to upset you?”
    “Of course not. You can say anything you want to me.”
    “I always thought I could,” she said, sounding suddenly uncertain.
    “You still can,” he insisted, even if listening killed him. He would go through the tortures of hell, if it would distract her for a while from the reality of her father’s death.
    “You’re a good guy,” she said.
    She said it the way she might say it to an older brother. It grated on Matt’s nerves. He’d worked damn hard to become a good guy, and now he didn’t want to hear it. How ironic was that?
    “That’s me, all right.” He poured himself a cup of strong coffee, then sat back down. “Tell me about your life in Washington. You work in an antiques store?”
    “Fashionable Memories,” she said at once, her eyes brightening. “It’s a great place.”
    As she began to talk, the years fell away and Matt could remember sitting in the backyard by the pool, listening to her spin her dreams for the future. He was pretty sure that back then there had been more talk of Hollywood or piloting a jetliner than selling antiques.
    “When did you develop this fondness for old things?” he asked. “I thought you wanted to be an actress or maybe a pilot.”
    She laughed. “How on earth did you remember that? I’d almost forgotten. I guess by my senior year in high school I’d figured out I wasn’t cut out for the silver screen, since I never once got chosen for theschool play. As for being a pilot, once I understood how much technology was involved, I realized I was more interested in seeing the world than in actually flying a plane.”
    “It’s still a big leap from either of those careers to selling antiques,” Matt said.
    “While I was in college, I used to wander around Georgetown when I had some free time. There was this great thrift shop next door to a coffee shop I liked. I started poking around in there, looking for things to decorate my dorm room. One day I found a piece of porcelain. Even under all the grime, something about it made me think it might be valuable. I paid a few bucks for it, cleaned it up, then took it up the street to Fashionable Memories. Marcel bought it from me for a hundred dollars, then sold it for twice that. He told me he’d buy any other treasures I stumbled across. Next thing I knew, I was haunting thrift stores and going to flea markets and garage sales all over town. He suggested I start taking some appraisal courses. When I graduated, he offered me a job.”
    She grinned at him. “Believe it or not, that’s the short version.”
    “And the long version?”
    “You don’t want to hear it. I go on and on about the thrill of the hunt, about trying to discover the history behind a particular piece, about feeling connected to the past. It’s pretty boring stuff.”
    Matt gazed into her shining eyes and felt that familiar spark of desire, that tug of longing to know everything that went on in her head. She had the kind of enthusiasm that was contagious. “I can’t imagine anything you have to say ever being boring,” he said honestly.
    “Then one of these days before I go back to Washington, I’ll take you with me to explore a few thrift shops around this area. I guarantee I’ll have you pleading for mercy by lunchtime,” she promised, barely stifling a yawn.
    Matt laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.” He stood up. “I really do need to get out of here and let you get some sleep.” He searched her face. “Think you can now?”
    She nodded slowly, looking vaguely surprised. “Actually, yes. Thank you.”
    “For what? Making you sleepy?”
    She stood up and touched his cheek. “No, for distracting me for a little while.”
    “My pleasure. I’ll be back in the morning. If you need anything in the meantime, my home number’s on the