Chapter 35
Riley
I don't know when the shift happened in my life.
One day, I was a shy girl worried about what everyone thought about me, and I knew I could triangulate that back to high school and the insecurities I had as one of the girls who was carrying around a little more weight than most in my class. I accepted long before graduation that I was not going to be one of the first ones picked for anything, but I was likable and would eventually get an invite to the parties and trips out of town because I was a joy to be around.
No, I was accommodating.
If someone was short on cash, I would always offer to pay.
If someone needed a companion to the bathroom, I got asked because the other ones, the popular ones, couldn't be inconvenienced at a one of the big parties held in a pasture.
If someone wants to do something and everyone else has already declined, ask Riley. She never has plans.
In college, I decided to be someone different, and for the most part, it worked, but deep down, I wasn't the girl who snubbed everyone when I wasn't the first pick. I just like to be involved.
I stood up for myself, and instead of curling into a ball and just being grateful to eventually get asked to do something, I questioned when I wasn't one of the first ones asked. It made people uncomfortable, but it also let them know I wasn't one to get walked on either.
I did my best to try to stay that woman when I returned to Lindell, but slowly, I became the accommodating one again.
Afraid of what the answer might be, I've been sitting in my car outside of the diner. I have in mind what Ruth is going to say when I ask about Sage's suggestion on making to-go meals for people in the evenings.
She's a lovely person, but just like every other business owner in town, she protects her livelihood the way a pair of guard dogs would protect a wrecking yard from thieves.
The no-compete clause in town was set up for a reason, but I'm not some city folk trying to come in and make a dime by manipulating the other people in town.
I'm not being selfish. I just want to cook for others because I love it and want to be able to make a living doing it.
As hell-bent as I've been about not changing my menu, I'll do what I have to do in order to stay in town. I can't stomach the idea of having to go back to the city. The cost of living is too high, and from my experience when I was in college, the majority of the people are folks I just don't want to be around on a daily basis.
I know I just need to pull up my big girl panties and go ask, but that's taking a little time for me to build that courage.
From my position outside of the diner, I can see that there aren't any other people inside. It's the lull between the lunch rush and the dinner rush, and I know that now is the best time.
I spend a few more minutes mentally preparing for the conversation with Ruth before I open my car door and step outside.
The cool, brisk winter air wraps around me, helping to bring down the anxiety rushing through my blood and making my face hot.
The worst that Ruth can say is no, but that simple word would crush me. I already don't know what my next step would be, and although I probably shouldn't have, I've already placed so much hope in the question. I don't know what I'll do if this doesn't work out.
My stomach is turning by the time I pull open the door to the diner, grateful that Ruth is somewhere in the back when the bell chimes, announcing my entrance. It gives me a few more breaths to attempt to calm my nerves.
"Give me just a minute!" Ruth says from somewhere in the back. "Have a seat, and I'll be right there."
Instead of hollering that I'm not here to eat, I follow the sound of her voice to the back with a prayer on my mind that she doesn't get angry that I've invaded the employee-only space.
"Ruth?" I say when I spot her near the sink, getting ready to run some dishes through a commercial-looking dishwasher.
I cock an eyebrow. I had no idea the diner had such a modern convenience, but I guess when you're running a one-woman show most of the time, it's necessary.
"Oh, hello dear," Ruth says with a broad smile when she darts a glance over her shoulder.
"Good afternoon," I return. "I was hoping to speak with you."
"That's fine, dear. So long as you don't mind me working while you do. My extra help doesn't start for another week. I swear keeping college students on the work schedule sure makes things difficult during their holiday breaks."
"I imagine it does," I say, wringing my hands and wondering if this is the best time.
She sounds a little stressed from having to work the shift alone, and I know better than anyone that asking a favor when someone is in a mood decreases the likelihood that I'll get the answer I'm looking for.
"Sweetheart?" she prods when I remain silent. "Are you looking for a job?"
This could be the perfect segue, but I still falter with getting the words out.
Another long silence floats between us to the point that Ruth grabs a hand towel and turns to face me, concern marking her aging face.
"Are you having some sort of fit?"
I huff a laugh and give her a smile.
"No, ma'am. I am sort of looking for a job, but not as—"
The sound of the front bell chimes, sending an electric sound ringing through the back. I imagine it's set up that way so she doesn't miss a customer. What sounds like a sweet little chime upfront is more of a gong echoing loudly in the back.
"Hold that thought, dear. Let me get them settled, and then we can speak."
I dip my head and take a step out of her way so she can pass. The area back here isn't all that big, and it seems like it could be convenient for not wasting steps but it is also a hindrance when more than one person is back here working.
The knock at the back door startles me, but I poke my head around the corner to see Ruth laughing and speaking with an older couple who have taken a seat in one of the booths. I figure her being in a better mood helps my case, and since I like to be helpful, I walk toward the back door, and after spending a moment to figure out the ancient lock, I manage to get it open.
I smile at the delivery man, noticing the way he grins back at me.
"Do I need to sign something?"
He hands me a clipboard with an electronic tablet on it, and I scratch out my name with the stylus as the man pulls his dolly into the back. He takes the clipboard back from me with a thank you before leaving .
I look down at the stack of boxes and my mouth drops open. That's how Ruth finds me.
"You had a delivery," I mutter.
There's an uneasy pause that seems to last an eternity, but then she shuffles past me as if her secrets and lies aren't right there, staring me in the face.
"Thank you, dear."
I tilt my head to the side as I watch her scuttle past toward the large freezer door.
"Have you considered retiring?" I ask, the question hitting me out of the blue.
"Are you here to make an offer on the diner?" she asks, her astute eyes narrowing.
I take a moment to think about it, but what this woman built doesn't resemble my goals at all. I've never wanted to be a short-order cook, and there's just too much that goes into running a business the way this one is structured.
"Or are you here to blackmail me?" The bitterness in her tone makes my forehead crease as I stand a little taller.
"I'm not the type of person to use blackmail to get what I want," I assure her, but my declaration doesn't ease the tension in her shoulders.
"How can I help you?" she asks with the fakest tone I've ever heard the woman use.
"I came by to ask about selling to-go meals for families who need more time in the evenings."
"What does that have to do with me? Is it because you need a commercial kitchen? I'm too busy here with the dinner rush to support another business getting in the way. There's space to consider. I don't have storage room for the things that would be required, and carting all of your things in and out makes no sense."
"I'd find my own commercial space."
"A storefront?" she asks, sounding even more annoyed. "That's direct competition, and I'm sure you know about—"
I hold my hand up to make her pause. "I don't want a storefront. I just want to sell to-go meals."
"I don't see that being a problem," she says, looking a little relieved.
"I'm considering changing my catering menu to include recipes from my grandmother's cookbook."
Ruth should know exactly what is in that cookbook. She was very good friends with my grandmother many years ago .
"Homestyle cooking?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Her eyes narrow, and I know this is the point where she says there's no way she'd agree to that.
"I don't think that would be a problem," she says instead.
"Please understand that it may interfere with your evening rush."
I wait as she pulls in a deep breath, certain she's going to back down and refuse.
She looks over her shoulder in the direction of the large stack of boxes.
"I'll talk with the Chamber of Commerce to make sure they know I'm okay with it," she says.
"That would be amazing," I say as I lean a little closer so I can whisper. "I promise not to say a word about that."
I point, both of us looking toward the boxes of Dinty Moore chicken and dumplings.
"I'd appreciate that," she mutters. "And I'm not really lying. It's exactly what my grandmother served."
"Have a great day," I say before turning around and leaving the employee-only area of the diner.
I feel like I'm on cloud nine as I leave the diner and get back into my car.
I know there's a lot of work to do, and it may take time for this idea to grow legs and become successful, but I just jumped the biggest hurdle.
In my excitement, muscle memory takes me straight back home rather than remembering that I'm staying with Sage.
Mac is parked down the street, and he spots me before I can turn around and bolt.
Reluctance to get out of my car swarms me. I don't want a crappy conversation with Mac to derail my good mood, but it seems like I'm in a position to just get it over with.
My happy balloon deflates when he parks his truck on the street and climbs out before I can even get inside.