You, Again: MM Small TownHockey Romance (The Elmwood Stories Book 1) by Lane Hayes

Author:Lane Hayes [Hayes, Lane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-09-07T16:00:00+00:00

Elmwood Diner was the pride of the Moore family and had been a town institution for over a hundred years. No kidding. We’d been here much longer than that, though. The Moores first settled in our little corner of Vermont sometime in the late eighteenth century. My ancestors were farmers turned innkeepers who eventually decided to open a dining hall adjacent to their property when the demand for roadside eateries grew.

That diner was lost in a fire in the early 1930s and was immediately rebuilt at its current location on Main Street and Blossom. And yes, it was still owned and operated by the Moore family—specifically, me.

Let me first preface this by stating this had never been my dream job. No way, no how.

I’d had high hopes of making it big in set design in Hollywood after I graduated from UCLA. For a few years, it had looked like things were finally going my way. I’d met an amazing group of friends in college, started my own business, and had done very well freelancing for a few major studios. I’d been one payday away from purchasing a condo when my dad died unexpectedly and my world crumbled.

The grief was all-consuming and left wreckage none of us were prepared for. My quick visit became a temporary move to help my mom out at the diner. I assumed, after a month or two, that Ronnie and Mom would take over, but Ronnie had been busy at the rink and needed help with Mary-Kate. And Mom struggled with severe depression in the wake of Dad’s death.

I’d pushed my return to California back three times before acknowledging I was stuck in Elmwood. I’d told my friends it was just a matter of time till I returned, but here I was…

And you know, it wasn’t so terrible now.

Look at this place.

Elmwood Diner was a freaking gem. I’d kept the log cabin exterior when I remodeled the restaurant a couple of years ago, but I’d made sure to open the ceiling and add a wide bank of windows. I stuck with classic touches like emerald-green leather booths, a long counter with swivel barstools, and black-and-white tiled flooring, but the ambience was definitely modern. Sophisticated pendants lit the refinished bar area while modern starburst chandeliers hung from the rafters in the dining room.

The real draw was always the food. We served burgers, fries, and shakes using the same recipes my great-great grandparents had perfected years ago, but JC had added a few culinary masterpieces to the mix, and the new menu was a hit.

“Bonjour.” I shut the kitchen screen door behind me, nodding a greeting to the chef. “How’s it going?”

Jean-Claude, or JC as he was known here, lifted his fingers out of the doughy mixture in the bowl in front of him, and gave me a thumbs-up. “Tres bien. The menu is on the board if you are interested. If you are not, don’t tell me…I am sensitive today.”

I chuckled.

JC was our French-Canadian chef—a stocky man

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