Free Rachel's Redemption by Jennifer Maitlen

His plan was solid and with strong execution he’d prevail.
    God, now he sounded like he was talking to the media.
    The parents made their exit and Rachel turned to him. “They love football here.”
    Logan nodded.
    “I think they’re happy you came back and are coaching.”
    He wasn’t sure what part of the conversation he’d zoned out for, but he sure hadn’t heard anything that would give anyone that impression. The people loved football and it didn’t matter who coached. As long as the team was winning.
    “Don’t look like that.”
    “Like what?” He pointed to a bench that had just been vacated.
    “Like it’s so shocking.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    She stared at him, searching, but didn’t say anymore. He changed the subject. “How long’s the wait?” Talking about food was a lot more comfortable and didn’t make him feel like she was peering into his soul.
    A short time later the hostess poked her head out and said, “Rachel, your table is ready.”
    Rachel thanked her by name. Logan looked at her quizzically. Rachel shrugged. “We went to high school together. Don’t you remember her?”
    He nodded. “Sure.” He knew most of the people in Redemption, but he lived here.
    They were ushered through the crowded restaurant to an empty booth. When they were seated, Rachel reached for one of the menus tucked behind the napkin dispenser. Ads for local Redemption merchants covered the back page.
    She reached for her notebook.
    Logan gawked at her, puzzled. “What are you doing?”
    “Making a note.”
    “About breakfast?”
    “About possible advertising.”
    Logan slipped the menu out of her hand. “You know, you really don’t need this anyway. The blueberry pancakes are the only way to go. No need to even check the menu.” He smoothly replaced the menu behind the napkins, ad-side away. There was nothing he could do to keep Rachel from “making a note.” But he frowned the whole time.
    “Blueberry pancakes, huh?” she said, while she tucked the notebook back into her fat tote.
    “Yeah. They’re awesome.”
    The waitress appeared, sitting down two coffee cups.
    While she poured, she said, “Morning. What can I bring you?”
    She had that harried appearance of waitresses that worked the morning shift—she’d probably been up since four, her hair was held back with half a dozen pins and a fine glow covered her skin. He appreciated waitresses and the work they did. They knew how to hustle, remember about a million things at once, and get them all done.
    “Good morning,” Logan said, offering her a smile.
    “We’ll both have a plate of the blueberry pancakes.” He shot a look to Rachel. “Bacon or sausage?”
    “Neither. And, I’ll actually just have a bowl of fruit.”
    Logan gaped at her. “You’re kidding.”
    Rachel turned to the waitress. “And a glass of orange juice.”
    Boring.
    Logan shrugged. “Make mine a double order, sausage and I’ll have juice, too.”
    The waitress jotted it all down and disappeared into the crowd.
    “We came here for pancakes.”
    “You came here for pancakes. I can’t eat like you.”
    “Why the hell not?” There was no heat behind his words, but he was damn curious.
    She flipped through her notebook, steadily not meeting his eyes.
    Finally she said, “Oh, fine. If you must know, I have to wear—”
    “Go on . . .”
    Rachel rolled her hand in the air, as if the motion answered his question.
    He waited.
    “—a dress,” she said.
    “What do blueberry pancakes have to do with a dress?”
    “You’re a guy. It’s a girl thing.” Her gaze moved around the restaurant.
    “Enlighten me.”
    She looked uncomfortable and his interest piqued another ten notches. “Tell me,” he encouraged, leaning forward.
    She took a sip of coffee, hiding behind her cup. But he eyed her steadily, patiently.
    “Oh fine.” She plopped the cup on the table. “Molly
    sold me this little black number that barely fits as it is,