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to take your order in a minute. I don’t want those breakfasts to get
cold.”
    “No problem,” Gretchen said.
    Josh helped himself to a couple of doughnuts from a plate
beneath a plastic dome. He handed one to Gretchen.
    As the waitress moved past, Josh said to her, “Listen, if
you’re shorthanded, I can wash dishes.”
    The waitress hesitated.
    “All I want in exchange is a decent breakfast for me and my
friend.”
    “Harry,” the waitress called into the kitchen. “We got
ourselves a volunteer. The guy claims he can wash dishes.” She looked at
Gretchen. “What about you, honey? Did you ever wait tables?”
    Gretchen could see that Josh was about to answer for her.
“Sure,” she said quickly, although it was a bald-faced lie. She brushed the
doughnut crumbs from her hands and slipped off the stool.
    “There’s an apron and an order pad behind the counter.”
    “Great,” Gretchen said. She wasn’t at all sure she would be
able to pull it off, but she was willing to try. She tossed Josh a saucy grin as
she tied the apron around her waist. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.
    “If you’d do the coffee refills, I’d appreciate it,” the
waitress said, swishing past her. “Those tables need to be cleaned, too.” She
pointed at two that had just emptied. “By the way, my name’s Marge.”
    “I’m Gretchen.” She reached for the glass coffeepot. It didn’t
demand a lot of skill to refill coffee cups around the room. Once she’d finished
that, she found a large square tub and hauled it over to the vacated tables,
then dumped the dirty dishes inside. After she wiped the surface clean and
handed Marge her tip money, she turned to discover the tables had already filled
up with new customers.
    By the time the breakfast crowd had thinned out, it was
midmorning. Gretchen sat down and counted her tips. She had collected close to
twenty bucks.
    “Sure do appreciate the help,” Marge said, sitting down next to
her at the counter.
    “Glad I could do it.”
    Josh appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish
towel.
    “I’m so hungry I could eat a cow,” Gretchen said.
    Marge winked at Josh, then looked toward the kitchen. “Harry,
cook me up a couple of our best steaks, and don’t be frying up any of those
skinny breakfast ones, either. These kids deserve T-bones.”

Chapter 3
    G retchen couldn’t remember when she’d
enjoyed a meal more, although she felt like a fraud accepting it. Her
waitressing skills left a lot to be desired, and by the end of three hours her
feet hurt, her back ached, and she had a new appreciation of the skills required
to wait tables.
    It was almost noon by the time they were back on the road.
Unlike the previous day, when they’d ridden hour upon hour without a break, Josh
stopped every ten or fifteen miles, wherever there was a scenic overlook.
Gretchen had traveled down the Oregon coast any number of times and found the
scenery breathtaking. But nothing compared to viewing the magnificence on a
bright sunny day in June from the back of Josh’s Harley. It went a long way, in
fact, to assuaging the ache in her heart.
    She didn’t want to think about Roger or the wedding, and yet
they filled every corner of her mind. She didn’t mention his name, not once,
during any of their stops, but she talked about everything else without pausing
for breath. Josh’s patience was nothing short of miraculous. She couldn’t
remember ever being so talkative. She told him story upon story of growing up in
San Francisco. She endlessly bragged about her older brother, and dragged out
four or five pictures of her eighteen-month-old niece.
    At each stop Josh would sit on the rock-wall railing with his
back to the ocean and listen as if he’d never heard anything more fascinating.
Gretchen wished she’d paid more attention in psychology class so she could
appreciate what was happening to her. Could analyze it and stop this infernal
chattering.
    He rarely commented, just sat and