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on her soda.
    “It’s going great if you like a life of poverty,” I respond, leaning against the counter.
    “Your stuff is fabulous,” Kelly, the cute blond, says. “Someday, we’ll see actresses wearing them on the red carpet at the Oscars.”
    “Oh, honey, that’s sweet. But they wear Harry Winston at the Oscars.”
    I’m only seven years older than these high school seniors, but I feel ancient.
    “Harry who?” the girls ask in unison.
    “Diamonds,” I reply. “I don’t do diamonds. They’re out of my league.”
    “I still love your funky jewelry, and it’s so cool that you have your own business,” Samantha insists. She’s that naïve eighteen-year-old I once was.
    “It’s a fucking dream come true,” I mutter.
    “Imogene,” my grandmother snaps from behind me. She’s sneaky like that. She’s supposed to be sitting down and letting my mom handle managing the restaurant, but Grandma Bonnie can’t seem to let go of the diner life, the customers she visits with daily, and the general hubbub that goes on. She keeps moving around from the hostess stand, the tables, the kitchen, and to the back office, making sure everything is running the way she wants.
    “You’re supposed to be sitting down.” I point to the stool behind the hostess stand.
    “You’re supposed to stop cursing. These are impressionable, young women. They don’t need to hear the foul things that come out of your mouth, Imogene.” My grandmother plants a quick peck on my cheek and ambles over to my mother at the hostess stand.
    “Shit,” I say and quickly cover my mouth. “Sorry.”
    The girls giggle.
    “Just say the words backwards, then you’ll still feel the joy of swearing without offending anyone. They won’t know what you’re saying,” Kelly explains.
    “What?” I half-heartedly listen to her stupid idea while I look out at my tables, wondering if my presence is needed anywhere. Every single person in my section seems to be chewing. That’s good enough for me.
    “Say kcuf ! Or Kcuffing-A !” Kelly is smiling at my confused expression. “See? I’m saying it backwards, so no one knows I’m swearing.”
    “Because you’re not. It sounds like some kind of nutty language you invented.”
    “It is,” she says with pride.
    “So what’s the point if you don’t get that same immediate satisfaction from letting a curse word rip?” I question.
    “You do. Just try it, and you’ll feel like you’re cursing, but no one will get mad at you for saying it,” Samantha continues.
    “No, but they’ll think I’m crazy.”
    “So, what else is new?” Kelly says with a laugh.
    I’m about to respond when Leo walks in the door with Cooper.
    “Oh, kcuf,” I snap.
    “That’s it. See how easy it is?” Kelly asks then swivels in her stool along with Samantha to see what I’m looking at.
    “Oh, it’s Mr. Yum.” Kelly is delighted.
    “Mr. Double Yum,” Samantha adds.
    “Who are you talking about?” I ask testily. They aren’t swooning over Leo. It’s not his lanky, boy-next-door sweetness that has them enraptured. It’s Easy Rider, as Dylan likes to refer to Cooper.
    When the guys from Carson’s factory come in for lunch, they usually turn heads. Building and hauling furniture gives them very nice, muscle-toned bodies, and the way their dusty jeans show off their cute butts doesn’t hurt, either.
    Cooper is in the special league, the one with Dylan and Carson. They have the extra potent touch that goes beyond good looks. Women have always adored the Blackard brothers. Carson was adopted so they look nothing alike, but they both tower well over six-feet. Carson with his shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes, and Dylan with a shaved head riddled with scars that don’t deter from his boyish charm. Their good looks do nothing for me, but Cooper is another story. Kcuf!
    Cooper’s hair looks more golden today, as if he’s been spending a lot of time in the sun. It frames his sculpted features, giving