Preston shrugged. “I don’t know. Something that isn’t scrambled eggs and omelets, or burgers and fries. I hate coming home smelling of grease. I’d like a menu with a little diversity, for starters, one that challenges me. Diner food isn’t exactly culinary science.”
She chewed on her lower lip, thinking. After a moment, she moved the magazine out of the way and scooted closer. Leaning on her knees, she told him, “Listen. Cam might have mentioned I like to bake—”
“Yeah, he said.” Preston nodded encouragingly. “That’s one thing I’m not all that great at, so I’m real impressed. Did you go to school, or—”
“I took some classes, but I’m mostly self-taught.” With a wave of her hand, Mel dismissed that turn of the conversation. “No, but listen. I don’t know if you’ve heard of the new place they’re building out on the north side? It’s going to be a fine dining slash gourmet market sort of place, very posh, called Libbie Mill.”