Chapter 18
JACK’S DINER WASN’T FANCY. The shabby yellow walls hadn’t been repainted within my lifetime—though they were mostly covered up anyway with black-and-white photos of Avila Falls in the old days, random knickknacks, and vintage signage.
The aged linoleum floors probably should’ve been replaced ten years ago.
The cream-and-brown plaid curtains that adorned the windows were frayed at the ends.
The tables and chairs that filled the dining area weren’t even close to matching.
And yet, Jack’s held a kind of charm that couldn’t be replicated.
The food was to die for, the coffee was good and strong, and Jack, the curmudgeonly yet witty fifty-something owner, was never not there.
“Side of bacon,” Jack mumbled as he slid a plate over to Mom. “And the brown sugar pancakes,” he said, placing a gloriously fluffy golden stack in front of me. My mouth watered. In all my years in New York, I’d never found pancakes quite like Jack’s. I dug in without shame.
Sue and Evelyn had already given us the rundown on Avila Falls’ latest chatter.
Life Is Sweet, the bakery that Sue owned, was beginning to get back on its feet after getting rid of a shady store manager.
Lindsay Davis, the town’s wholesome, straight-A student, was caught with a boy in the back seat of a car.
Evelyn was thinking about starting a painting club but was butting heads with Constance, the zany, eclectic woman who ran the antique store, who claimed that a painting club was her idea first—they’d tried to settle things at the last town meeting, but to no avail.
“Can you co-run it?” I suggested.
Evelyn dismissed the proposal with a wave of her hand. “Our artistic visions just don’t align.”
The last of the chitchat was about Pastor McNamara, the new early-fifties pastor at Saint David’s, who was considered “young” for a pastor in Avila Falls.
He had recently shaken things up at the church to make his mark and to get more young congregants, which included hiring a new worship leader—one Noah Elliot.
I smiled inwardly at the mention of his name and the new memories it carried. No longer a mere brush of the hand in the cafeteria but a shared night trapped in a bookstore.
“Such a strapping young man,” Sue said, her bangles jingling as she brushed her sandy blond hair behind her ear.
“Oh, yes, very,” Evelyn agreed, taking a sip of coffee. She pushed her silky kimono sleeves back as she picked up her cutlery.
“It’s very sad what happened,” Mom said. Sue and Evelyn nodded, both acknowledging with a jumble of “Oh yes, very sad.”
My ears perked up.
“Have either of you heard anything about how his father is doing?” Evelyn asked. Sue and my mom shook their heads. I kept my eyes on my pancakes so as not to look too interested, but I was hoping they would continue to jabber.
“Not so much recently,” Sue said. “They seem to keep a lot to themselves. Last I heard, they’d finally hired a nurse to come by a couple times a week.”
“He’s been so faithful to his parents, moving in right by them and taking care of them like that,” Mom said. The women nodded.
Before I could drop a hint for more details about what had happened with Noah’s dad, Sue and Evelyn shifted their attention to a new subject.
“So, Janey, tell us all about your glamorous life in New York,” Sue said. The nickname Janey hadn’t ever been my favorite, but Sue had always insisted on using it, so I’d never fought. Both women leaned forward, eyes hungry, ears ready.
“Uh, let’s see . . . it’s—”
“She’s writing a wonderful novel. Why don’t you tell them about that?” Mom prompted. I caught her eye. She smiled at me. My heart warmed at the thought that she might be proud of me. Enough to volunteer information about my life.
“Well, like she said, I’m writing a novel,” I parroted. Based on Sue and Evelyn’s “Oh, that’s nice, dear” utterances, this wasn’t the information they were after.
“And what about your love life, honey? Are you seeing anybody?” Evelyn asked, cutting right through the fat.
Once again, the ladies’ stares put the spotlight on me.
And if I knew one thing about them, it was that they would keep on pressing until their thirst for intrigue had been quenched.
If I wanted the questions to stop, I’d have to give them something to chew on.
“I went out with an actor the other night. You might know him.” I feigned uncertainty, knowing full well they’d know exactly who Logan was. Their eyes lit up.
“Who was it?” Sue urged.
“Logan Peters. You know, from that show, The Unforgivables?” The looks of shock and awe on their faces were enough to make up for how lousy the actual date had been.
“You didn’t tell me that,” Mom squeaked.
“Go Janey,” Sue remarked, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“Way to bury the lede, honey,” Evelyn said.
After a few more prying questions and even more oohs and aahs, the women were satisfied enough to move on to another topic of interest. I smiled here and there, added a laugh or two.
But a familiar ache burrowed in my chest—the same one I’d felt when Mara had flashed her brilliant ring, the same one that had stained my thoughts as I walked home from my date with Logan.
The truth about my love life, which I’d expertly hidden from these women, was that it was nonexistent.
And in the latter half of my twenties, that reality had begun to feel less easily dismissed and instead more hopeless.
Would I ever find my Mr. Darcy? Or had the romantic novels lied to me?
It wasn’t long before the ladies’ brunch came to a close. After sending a quick, dutiful email to my dad, we were off to our next adventure.
A deep, sapphire sky had settled over us by the time we returned home from the birthday festivities. My enthusiasm had suffered a nosedive after spotting Logan in a bit part during the movie. Not all surprises were created equal. The film had been poor; Logan’s performance had been worse.
I’d mustered up enough zeal to make it through dinner for Mom’s sake, but by the time I dragged myself through the front door, I was weary to the bone.
I trudged down the hallway to my room. After a day filled with smiling and laughing and talking, I just needed a few minutes to myself, to breathe, to be quiet and still.
“I was thinking we might watch an episode or two of To Serve and Protect.” Mom’s voice rang out behind me. I turned to look at her. She stood, hands clasped, eyes soft and hopeful.
“That would be fun,” I said.
“And we can dig into some of that chocolate cake in the fridge too. With some milk as a nightcap,” Dad added.
“Perfect,” I said. “How about we start in twenty minutes or so? I just need to send a couple quick emails.”
“Take your time, sweetie.” Mom nodded, her smile childlike despite her turning seventy today.
I disappeared into my room, allowing the sigh that had been building up over the last few hours to finally pour out. I plopped down on my bed, letting my legs dangle off the side as I stared up at the white ceiling.
My phone buzzed with an incoming call. I plucked it out from my jacket pocket, expecting it to be Alexandria checking up on my progress with Liv, or Agnes with a question about taking care of Poe. Instead, it was a number I didn’t recognize. One with a Colorado area code.
“Hello?”
“Jane?” a full, deep voice spoke. Was that . . . ?
“Noah?” I sat up.
“Yeah . . . hey,” he said, his voice brightening.
“H-hey.” How had he gotten my number?
“Sorry I disappeared before you woke up. I had to get to a job out in Denver.”
“Oh, that’s—it’s okay,” I said. A few deep, measured breaths slowed down my heart rate. “Thanks for the jacket, by the way,” I added.
“’Course. You looked cold.” He paused, then chuckled. “But that is why I’m calling.”
“Oh?” I laid back down and tucked my arm behind my head.
“It’s my favorite jacket,” he said, the grin on his face apparent through the tone of his voice. Once again, his smile was contagious. Even over the phone.
“Well, I’ll be sure to take good care of it then.” My face burned. Were we . . . flirting?
No, Jane. He’s just being nice.
“Good.”
Silence ensued for a few beats. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but how did you get my number?”
“I asked Edith for it.”
Of course. I could picture the little gleam in Edith’s eyes as she did so too. Delighted to jot it down and hand it over.
“So how long are you going to be in town for?”
“Until early next week,” I said. This seemed like an odd way to coordinate a handoff for the jacket.
“Cool. I was wondering, would you . . . want to go to dinner with me? Before you leave?”
I bolted upright. Every ounce of heat rushed away from my face. My breath stopped cold. Had Noah Elliot just asked me out on a . . . date?
A search for words—any words—to respond with was unsuccessful. I had none.
“Jane?”
I swallowed. “Yes,” I finally blurted out.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’d . . . I’d love to.”
“Awesome. How’s Friday?”
“Friday is good.” Play it cool, Jane. Play. It. Cool.
“All right, then. I’ll text you the details.”
“Sounds good,” I said. Neither one of us said anything for a few moments, the silence strangely comfortable and pleasant.
“Well, I’ll see you soon, then. Good night, Jane.”
“Good night, Noah.” I hung up, letting myself slowly fall back onto my bed. My limbs felt almost buoyant, my body weightless.
A quick pinch of my arm confirmed that I wasn’t dreaming—I really did have a date with Noah in two days. The question was whether or not I’d be able to wipe this smile off my face any time before then.