Grits & Grievances (The Jubilee #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

W alter Cooper pulled his old pickup truck up to the usual parking spot in front of his longtime restaurant, Coop's Home Cookin'. His back was still aching from picking up big bags of flour the day before. As he got out of the driver's seat, he took a deep breath of the cool mountain air, hoping it would clear his mind and somehow heal his rapidly aging body. Coop's Home Cookin' was more than just a local diner. It was the heartbeat of Jubilee, as far as he was concerned. For over forty years, he had been its owner and keeper, watching his neighbors come and go and their families grow up. Little kids that had sat in high chairs at one point were now having kids of their own. Locals gathered there for their morning cups of coffee and eggs just the way they liked them.

He removed his baseball cap and wiped the sweat off his head. He used to have so much more hair up there, but time had stolen it away. He put his hat back on and looked at the storefront across the street. It had been empty for over a year, a sad reminder that sometimes small towns struggled to keep businesses afloat. Previously, it was a gift shop, but today, something looked different. Construction workers were bustling around, hammering and sawing, setting up what looked like a new awning. He squinted to get a better look, but his eyes weren't what they used to be. A banner flapped in the wind, and he could finally make out the words: Coming Soon: Jubilee Vegan Café. It was scrawled in neat, modern lettering.

“Jubilee Vegan Café,” he muttered under his breath, his brows pulling together as he tried to make sense of it. A vegan café? This wasn't some big city, and Jubilee didn't need some newfangled café that served overpriced, dainty, tasteless salads and special tea. He shook his head, feeling irritation flare up in his chest. Jubilee Vegan Café sounded suspiciously like one of those modern joints where people ate tofu and avocado toast instead of a proper breakfast of bacon and eggs.

As he crossed the street, he could see more details: clean, minimalist décor inside, sleek light fixtures, and a new glossy white counter being installed. Everything about this place rubbed him the wrong way, with its polished modern edges clashing against the cozy charm of Jubilee.

Just then, some construction workers noticed he was standing there staring. They exchanged looks with each other as if they knew exactly who he was, the man who kept Jubilee's diner running since before they could even remember. Coop could feel them looking at him, but he didn't bother to look away. This was his town, after all.

The bell above the door jingled as he walked inside the diner. As usual, the smell of coffee and fresh biscuits greeted him, soothing him slightly. At least Coop's Home Cookin' was exactly as it had always been. No fuss, no frills. There was no need to fix what wasn't broken.

“Morning, Coop,” a regular named Jimmy called from his usual spot at the counter. He was drinking his cup of coffee, probably his third or fourth by now, his trucker cap tilted back as he watched the news on a small old TV in the corner.

“Morning, Jimmy,” Coop said with a nod. He made his way to the back but couldn't shake the thought of that place across the street.

By the time he reached the kitchen, his mind was racing. What in the world did Jubilee need with a vegan restaurant? He could picture it now—a bunch of city folks coming up there, ordering their almond milk lattes and kale salads, sticking their noses up at his hearty breakfasts that he'd been serving for decades. He prided himself on knowing every face that came through his doors, knowing all of their stories, and the thought of losing even a single customer to some hip new café made his stomach churn.

He grabbed a dish towel and wiped his hands more aggressively than necessary, and then Wanda, one of his longtime waitresses, walked in with her black and silver hair pulled back into a bun and her apron dotted with flour from making biscuits. Her deep, smooth complexion hid the fact that she was only about ten years younger than Coop. Of course, Wanda rarely ate their food, choosing to bring her own from home. She said her health was more important than fried eggs and cheesy grits.

“Coop, what’s got you lookin’ like a storm cloud this early?” she asked, looking at him over her thick glasses.

He pointed toward the window. “Have you seen what they're putting up across the street?”

She peered out and shrugged. “The new café? I did. It's like a vegan place or something.”

He grunted. “Yeah, Jubilee Vegan Café,” he replied, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Can you believe that nonsense? What's wrong with good down-home cooking?”

Wanda chuckled. “Maybe it'll bring some new faces to town, Coop. That could be good for business.”

He shook his head. “Good for their business, maybe, but folks who come to a place like this, well, they're not looking for biscuits and gravy or country ham. They'll want salads with that quinoa stuff or whatever's trendy this week. They’re trying to be hip and cool, and they won’t ever come to visit a diner like this.”

She rolled her eyes, nudging him with her elbow. “Oh, hush. People around here have been eating at Coop's for years, and they're going to keep coming. You might even get curious people wanting to come over here and see what this place is all about.”

He knew she was probably right, but he couldn't shake the frustration. The diner was who he was. It was his identity, and the thought of some flashy café taking business from him with their fancy menus and modern décor just didn't sit right.

Wanda must have seen his jaw tighten because she added, “Why don't you go on over there and introduce yourself? Show them who runs things around here.”

He snorted. “Not likely. If they don't know already, they'll find out soon enough.” He tossed the dish towel onto the counter and walked up front to greet each of his customers by name.

As he filled their coffee cups and took orders, he couldn't help but look across that street as more construction workers brought in sleek booths and glossy fixtures. He'd spent his lifetime building this diner from the ground up, and the thought of anyone taking business away made his grip on the coffee pot tighten.

Jimmy finished his coffee and waved him over. “So, Coop, you think that café is going to steal your thunder?” he teased.

Coop grunted, pouring him another refill. “Steal my thunder? I don’t think so. Very unlikely. But I’ll tell you one thing: ain’t nobody coming to Jubilee to eat food they can’t even pronounce.”

Jimmy chuckled, taking a sip. “I don’t know, Coop. I heard the guy who owns it is some chef from the city. Might be big competition.”

Coop's eyes narrowed. “Competition? We'll see about that.”

The day wore on, and as the lunch crowd filled the booths, Coop could feel his irritation bubbling under the surface. Jubilee Vegan Café. If they wanted to bring a fight to his doorstep, he’d lace up his boxing gloves and be ready.

* * *

T he lunch crowd at Coop's Home Cookin' had settled, leaving a few stragglers drinking their sweet teas and lemonade, swapping stories at the counter. Coop leaned back against the counter, a towel over his shoulder, lost in thought. He couldn't stop staring out the window at the sign across the street: Jubilee Vegan Café. Just seeing it there felt like a challenge.

As he was gathering coffee cups, he saw his daughter Whitney slip into the diner, looking, as always, fresh-faced and bright in her work scrubs. She was a nurse at the local clinic, a job that kept her very busy but brought her into Coop's every afternoon like clockwork. She walked over, and he gave her a quick smile as she slid onto one of the stools at the counter.

"Hey, Daddy," she greeted. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's going on?"

"Worse than seeing a ghost," he muttered, pouring her a glass of sweet tea and putting it in front of her. "I've seen a vegan café."

She laughed, taking a sip of her tea. "Oh, you mean the new place across the street?"

He grunted, crossing his arms. "Yeah, Jubilee Vegan Café , or whatever they're calling it. What in the world does this town need with a vegan café?"

She gave him an amused look, putting a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing, Daddy. People might actually like it. We could do with some more healthy foods around here. It could bring in a different crowd, though. Maybe even get more folks into Jubilee."

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with her optimism. "More folks? And what exactly do you think these new folks are gonna be looking for? Kale smoothies? Tofu?" He shook his head. "This is Jubilee, not Atlanta."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying it might bring some life into town, and who knows, people might try it out and then wander over here when they want to eat a hearty meal."

He gave her a skeptical look. "Oh, right. They're gonna come in here after paying a fortune for some lettuce leaves. This town's done just fine without some highfalutin café, Whitney. Folks here know what they like, and that's real food."

Whitney leaned her elbows on the counter. "Maybe some of us wouldn't mind trying something new every now and then. Not everybody wants biscuits and gravy every day, Daddy."

He scoffed, folding his arms tighter across his chest. "Oh, really? Well, they've done everybody well for many years now. If you want some tiny portions of who-knows-what for lunch, you're welcome to go on over there and see how it suits you."

She shook her head, hiding a smile. "I swear, Daddy, you're as stubborn as a mule. Times change. Sometimes that means new things come along, and you don't have to like it, but maybe just give it a chance."

He leaned forward. "Let me tell you something, Whit. I've been keeping this place going for over forty years. My customers are like family to me. I know what they like, and I sure as heck know it's not tofu. I’m not about to let that fancy café come waltzing in here like it owns the place."

"You sure are obsessed with tofu," Whitney said, laughing as she took another sip of her tea. "That café isn't gonna take over the town. Who knows? Maybe it'll even help your business. You could get new folks in here. People who might not have even come up to Jubilee otherwise."

He made a dismissive sound, shaking his head. “You sound like Wanda. Well, I'll believe it when I see it."

She reached across the counter, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "Look, I know how much Coop's Home Cookin' means to you, but maybe it's okay that Jubilee progresses a little. I mean, wouldn't it be nice to see some new faces up here?"

He looked at her, his jaw clenched. "I don't like it, Whit. Feels like Jubilee's changing right under my nose."

She squeezed his arm gently. "Change isn't always bad, Daddy. And besides, no café is gonna take away your customers. Coop's is one-of-a-kind, and everybody knows it."

"Yeah, well, we'll see, but I'm telling you, I don't have a good feeling about that place. You mark my words."

Whitney laughed, sliding off the stool. "I'll mark 'em, and I'll be back here to remind you the first time one of your customers wanders over there for a healthy meal." She leaned over the counter and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Now stop worrying and get back to what you're good at—feeding people."

He let out a reluctant laugh as he watched her leave. She paused in the doorway, giving him a small, knowing smile before stepping back onto the sidewalk. He watched her cross the street and noticed that she glanced at the new café on her way back to the clinic.

Coop sighed, feeling the weight of her words lingering. He couldn't shake the nagging thought that maybe she was right. Maybe he was too set in his ways, but he would never admit it out loud.

The door swung closed, and he glanced back out the window, frowning at seeing more construction trucks unloading equipment across the street. His grip tightened on the dish towel in his hand. Whatever it took, he was determined to keep Coop's Home Cookin' at the heart of Jubilee, even if it meant going up against some hotshot café.

* * *

L ate afternoon had rolled around, and Coop was still grumbling to himself about the new vegan café when he suddenly heard a knock on the diner's door. He looked up from his spot behind the counter and saw a tall man, maybe in his early thirties, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt that looked a little too crisp for Jubilee. The man pushed the door open, a friendly smile on his face, as he stepped inside.

Coop knew right away who this must be. He didn't even need an introduction.

The man held out his hand, his smile bright. “Hey there, you must be Coop. I'm Tate Morgan. I'm the one opening the café across the street.”

Coop stared at him and his hand hanging in midair, but made no move to shake it. Instead, he crossed his arms over his broad chest, his expression tight.

“Yeah, I figured you were the one,” he said, looking him up and down.

Tate's hand hung in the air for a second longer before he dropped it, his smile faltering a bit. He looked around the diner, taking in the worn leather booths, the vintage memorabilia hanging all over the walls, and the warm smell of coffee that lingered in the air.

“Nice place you've got here,” he said. “Jubilee’s lucky to have a spot like this. It's got some real character.”

Coop grunted. “Been around a long time.”

Tate shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly sensing Coop's discomfort. “I just wanted to come by and introduce myself. Listen, I'm not looking to step on anyone's toes. I know this town's got its own traditions and way of life.”

Coop's eyes narrowed. “Oh, is that right? Because from where I'm standing, it sure seems like you're stepping on a few toes, mainly mine.”

Tate's brow creased. “Look, I get it. A vegan café may not be the typical thing you'd expect for a town like Jubilee, but I'm hoping that I can add to what you've got here. Bring in new people. Give the locals something different.”

“Different, huh?” Coop said, laced with sarcasm. “I don't think Jubilee needs different. Folks around here like what they like.”

Tate held Coop's gaze. “Well, sometimes I think it's nice to shake things up a little. Give people some options, you know?”

“Options,” Coop repeated. “People around here don't need options. They've got everything they need right here.”

Tate nodded, taking a step back. He wasn’t giving up his friendly demeanor. “I get it, Coop. I really do. I respect what you've built here as a fellow businessman. I just want the chance to build something, too. Something I think the people here might appreciate.”

Coop's eyes narrowed. “Appreciate? I've been running this diner for over four decades, and I don't need some newcomer coming in here telling me what my folks would appreciate.”

Tate's jaw finally tightened. He took a deep breath, still keeping his tone polite. “Look, I don't mean any disrespect. I just thought maybe we could work together since we're right across the street from each other. My place isn't coming to replace yours. It's just an option for people who might want it. I did a lot of research here, and one thing that was missing in this small mountain town was healthy options.”

Coop snorted. “Well, we'll see about that. My people around here are loyal. Don't think they'll be running over there to eat your fancy lettuce and fake meat tacos.”

Tate smiled. “Well, I guess time will tell.”

They stood in silence for a moment, like they were sizing each other up. Coop's expression didn't change, his stare unflinching. Tate shifted a bit, glancing around the diner one more time.

"I guess I should probably get back over to the café," Tate said. "Still a lot of work to do before we open."

"Yeah," Coop said flatly. "I'm sure you've got lots of work to do."

Tate paused, like he was searching for something else to say. Nothing came to him, so he started toward the door. "Take care, Coop," he said before giving one final nod and stepping outside.

As soon as Tate was out of the restaurant, Coop let out a breath. He watched through the window as Tate crossed the street with his tall, thin body—probably from eating all that vegan food—returning to the café with a spring in his step. Coop found that to be a little too smug for his liking. He shook his head, picked up his dish towel again, and wiped down the counter with a little more force than necessary.

So that was the guy who thought he could just waltz into Jubilee and set up shop like he owned the place. Coop had been here before Tate Morgan was probably even born, and he wasn't going to let some city slicker change things just because he thought the town needed, quote, “options.”

He looked around his diner, his eyes falling on the faded photos on the wall and the creased menus that had hardly changed in decades, and he thought about the loyal customers who filled his booths every day. This place was his life’s work and his legacy, and he wasn't going to let anybody, especially some fancy café owner, take that away.

He didn’t believe that Tate was here for honorable reasons. He was here to make as much money as possible, just like every other big city business person. He set his jaw with a newfound resolve. Jubilee might have room for a lot of things, but it didn't have room for some café that was trying to rewrite the town's story—not as long as Coop was around.