Sweet Surprises by Shirlee McCoy

kid.
    She stepped inside the diner, the soft clink of tableware and the quiet murmur of voices oddly comforting. She’d washed dishes there when she was sixteen, saving money for her senior trip to D.C. Back then, she’d had dreams of getting a scholarship to an out-of-state college. She’d imagined herself living on campus, making a bunch of new friends who knew nothing about her childhood, her father’s death, her mother’s perfectionist nature.
    â€œBrenna Lamont! As I live and breathe! What are you doing here?” A woman hurried across the room. Tall and pretty, her face lined with six decades’ worth of living, Laurie Simpson had been the head waitress at the diner when Brenna had worked there.
    â€œI’m back to help Byron with the shop,” Brenna said as Laurie pulled her into a bear hug.
    â€œI heard you might be coming, but Byron wasn’t a hundred percent sure you’d show up.”
    â€œHe said that?”
    â€œNah. He just said you’d come when you were ready. What can I do for you, kid? Breakfast?” She took a pad from her apron, snagged a pen from her shirt pocket, and eyed Brenna expectantly.
    â€œByron sent me for pecan rolls. He said I should talk to Laura Beth?”
    Laurie laughed, the sound filling the quiet dining room. “That would be me, kiddo. Laura Beth. Man! Aside from my mother, your granddad is the only one who’s ever called me that.” There was something soft in her face as she said it, something sweet and young and a little revealing.
    She must have realized it. She shoved the pad back in her pocket, grabbed Brenna’s wrist, and dragged her to the Formica counter that had been in the diner for as long as the diner had been around.
    â€œThe rolls just came out of the oven. I’ll box ’em up and bring ’em out for you. Angel!” She waved at a waitress who was setting plates of food on a table. “Bring Brenna some coffee and some biscuits and gravy. You still like that, right, kid?”
    She didn’t give Brenna a chance to respond, just hurried into the kitchen.
    â€œCoffee,” the waitress said, setting a mug in front of Brenna and pouring coffee into it. She looked young. Maybe seventeen and obviously pregnant, her apron tied below her burgeoning belly. “Sugar or cream?”
    â€œBlack is good.”
    â€œYeah. I figured that.” The girl’s gaze dropped from Brenna’s face to her body, and then she smiled and patted her stomach. “Me? I’m all about the sugar and cream. Got to keep the kid fed. I’m Angel, by the way.” She held out her hand. “And, you must be one of the Lamonts.”
    â€œBrenna. What gave it away?”
    â€œThe hair. And the fact that Laurie is running back to get those pecan rolls that Byron loves so much. She only used to make them once a month. Now she makes them every single day.” She leaned in close, her belly bumping Brenna’s arm as she whispered, “She and Byron have got a little thing going on.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYep. Neither wants to admit it, though. Laurie was married to a bastard. The guy nearly killed her.”
    Brenna knew the story. Laurie had been a street kid in Los Angeles, a runaway who’d hooked up with the first guy to offer marriage. On her fifth anniversary, her husband had beat her so badly, she’d been hospitalized for a month. When she’d finally been released, she’d filed for divorce and left town. She’d stopped in Benevolence on her way to somewhere else. She’d never left.
    â€œAnd Byron,” Angel continued. “He’s still got the hots for his dead wife, and he feels guilty for finding another woman attractive.” She flushed. “What I mean is—”
    â€œYou don’t need to explain. I know what you’re saying.”
    â€œOkay. Good. I’ve got a great job here. I’d hate to lose it because one of