Chapter 3 - Jennie
I've always prided myself on my ability to read people. It's a survival skill, one I've honed over years of gauging Derek's moods, of knowing when to speak and when to stay silent. But Max Davidson is proving difficult to categorize.
"So, you're looking for childcare?" Mrs. Gunderson asks as she bustles around her kitchen, cutting thick slices of pumpkin bread that smells like autumn incarnate. "For this little angel?"
Amelia, perched on my lap at the round oak table, reaches eagerly for the plate set before us. I gently redirect her hand.
"Yes," I reply, keeping my voice light. "I just got a job at Lou's Diner and start tomorrow morning."
"Oh, Lou's is wonderful!" Mrs. Gunderson exclaims. "He still makes those cinnamon rolls on Sundays?"
"I don’t know," I say, glancing at Max who's leaning against the doorframe, watching our exchange with a relaxed ease that I envy.
"They're worth breaking any diet for," Max confirms, accepting a slice of pumpkin bread with a grateful nod. "Mrs. G, Jennie was hoping you might be able to watch Amelia occasionally. I mentioned you've helped out other parents in town."
Mrs. Gunderson sits down across from me, her bright blue eyes—remarkably similar to Max's, I realize—assessing Amelia with experienced warmth.
"I'd be delighted to help," she says. "After forty years of teaching, retirement is sometimes too quiet. How old is she? About fifteen months?"
"Fourteen," I reply, impressed with her accuracy. "She's a good baby. Not fussy, and she's already sleeping through the night."
"All important qualifications," Mrs. Gunderson smiles. "May I?" She holds out her arms to Amelia.
I hesitate only briefly before transferring Amelia across the table. It's a test I've learned to set for myself—allowing others to hold her, to touch her. Normal mothers do this. Normal mothers don't flinch every time someone reaches for their child.
Amelia goes willingly to Mrs. Gunderson, immediately fascinated by the colorful beaded necklace the older woman wears.
"When would you need care?" Mrs. Gunderson asks, bouncing Amelia gently.
"I'm scheduled for breakfast and lunch shifts, 6 AM to 2 PM, Tuesday through Saturday," I explain. "But I understand if that's too much or too early."
"Nonsense! I've been a morning person for sixty years," Mrs. Gunderson says. "Can't break the habit now. This could work perfectly—you drop her off on your way to work, I get my baby fix during the day, and by afternoon, we're both free to enjoy other activities."
It seems too simple, too perfect. I've learned to be suspicious of things that come easily.
"What would you charge?" I ask hesitantly, mentally reviewing my meager savings. I'd calculated daycare costs in my budget, but finding an opening had been my bigger concern.
Mrs. Gunderson waves her hand dismissively. "We can work something out that's fair for both of us. Far less than that daycare center, I can promise you that."
I blink rapidly, fighting the unexpected sting of tears. After months of nothing going right, of doors closing and paths narrowing, this one thing—this essential thing—might actually work out.
"That's very generous," I manage, taking a bite of pumpkin bread to hide my emotion. "This is delicious, by the way."
"The secret is extra nutmeg," Mrs. Gunderson confides, still bouncing a contented Amelia. "Now tell me, where are you staying? Have you found a place yet?"
"We're at the Cedar Inn Motel for now," I reply. "I'm hoping to find an apartment once I have a few paychecks."
Mrs. Gunderson's eyes narrow thoughtfully. "You know, Ethel Beaumont's rental cottage on Spruce Street just became available. It's small, but it has a fenced yard and comes partially furnished. Much cozier than that motel for a little one."
My heart quickens at the possibility. "That sounds perfect. Do you know how I could contact her?"
"Ethel plays bridge with me on Thursdays," Mrs. Gunderson says. "I'd be happy to mention you're looking."
"I'd appreciate that immensely."
Max, who's been quiet during this exchange, straightens from his lounging position.
"The Beaumont cottage is nice," he offers. "Fixed her porch steps last spring. Solid little place, good insulation for winter. Not too expensive, either."
There's something in the way he says it—casual but specific, like he knows I'm calculating costs in my head—that makes me wonder how much he's piecing together about my situation.
"Well!" Mrs. Gunderson says, handing Amelia back to me. "Why don't you bring this little sweetheart by tomorrow morning before your shift? We'll have a trial day, see how she settles in."
"Really? That would be wonderful." The relief is so profound I feel momentarily lightheaded.
"It's settled then," she says with the crisp decisiveness of someone used to managing classrooms. "Max, be a dear and write down my phone number for Jennie while I pack up some of this bread for her to take."
Max dutifully jots his former teacher's number on a floral notepad, then tears off the sheet and hands it to me.
"She means it about the cottage," he says quietly while Mrs. Gunderson busies herself in the kitchen. "Mrs. G doesn't make offers she doesn't intend to follow through on."
"I'm beginning to get that impression," I reply, tucking the paper into my pocket. "Everyone here seems so..."
"Nosy?" Max supplies with a grin.
"I was going to say 'helpful'," I correct him, though his assessment isn't entirely wrong.
"Small town," he shrugs. "People look out for each other. It takes some getting used to if you're from somewhere bigger."
I don't tell him that what takes getting used to is kindness without conditions and help without a price tag. That's not something I've encountered much in recent years, regardless of town size.
Mrs. Gunderson returns with a small bag containing several slices of pumpkin bread.
"For later," she insists, pressing it into my free hand. "Growing girls need proper nutrition, and I suspect you've been too busy getting settled to cook proper meals."
Again, that piercing accuracy. I wonder if all teachers develop this uncanny ability to read situations or if Mrs. Gunderson is particularly perceptive.
"Thank you," I say, truly grateful. "For everything."
"My pleasure, dear." She walks us to the door, stopping to straighten a gnome that's listing slightly to the left. "See you tomorrow morning. Shall we say 5:45?"
"Perfect," I confirm, shifting Amelia to my hip and adjusting my purse and the bread bag. "We'll be here."
As we start back down the gnome-lined path, Max beside me, I feel a curious mixture of relief and apprehension. So many kindnesses in one morning—it makes me nervous, like I'm accumulating a debt I'll eventually have to pay.
"You okay with finding your way back?" Max asks as we reach the sidewalk. "I should probably get some sleep before my shift tonight."
"We'll be fine," I assure him, needing him to know I'm not completely helpless. "Thank you for introducing us. It was... incredibly kind."
He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed by the gratitude. "It was nothing. Just being neighborly."
There it is again—that casualness about helping, like it's no big deal to potentially solve one of my biggest immediate problems. Like kindness is just what people do.
"Still, I appreciate it," I insist. "It's not easy being new somewhere."
"No, it's not," he agrees, and something in his tone makes me wonder if he's speaking from experience. "But Cedar Falls grows on you. Give it time."
Amelia chooses this moment to reach for Max again, her little hands grasping toward him insistently.
"She really likes you," I observe, surprised and a little unsettled by how quickly my usually cautious daughter has warmed to him.
"Chicks dig firefighters. It's science," he jokes.
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. "Must be."
"I’m sure," he chuckles, wiggling his fingers at her in a little wave. "See you around, kiddo. You too, Jennie."
I watch him walk away, his stride easy and confident. He glances back once and raises his hand in farewell when he catches me looking.
"Come on, Amelia-bean," I murmur, turning in the opposite direction. "Let's get back to the motel and make some plans."
As we walk, I mentally review the events of the morning. Job secured. Childcare potentially solved. Possible lead on affordable housing. It's more progress than I've managed in the last three towns combined.
Maybe it's Cedar Falls. Maybe it's luck. Or maybe it's the tall firefighter with kind eyes who picked up a stuffed cat and saw a woman who needed help without making her feel pathetic for needing it.
I shake my head at myself. This isn't about Max Davidson. This is about establishing stability for Amelia, about creating a life where we don't have to look over our shoulders. Handsome firefighters with easy smiles and helpful suggestions are not part of the plan.
Still, as Amelia and I make our way back through the tree-named streets toward our temporary home, I wonder if he works the same shift every day and whether he'll come into the diner for breakfast this week.
Not that it matters. Not that I'm interested.
But as we pass the fire station and Amelia points excitedly, babbling "faya, faya," I make a mental note of when my breaks will be. Just in case.
The next day
"Coffee, table seven. Pancake special, extra butter, table three. Order up for the booth by the window."
Lou's voice cuts through the morning chaos, somehow both authoritative and calm. I grab the coffee pot and head to table seven—a pair of elderly women who've been watching me with the open curiosity that seems common in Cedar Falls.
"More coffee, ladies?" I offer with a smile.
"Please, dear," the one with bright red glasses says. "You're doing wonderfully for your first day."
"Thank you," I reply, refilling their cups. "Let me know if you need anything else."
It's been three hours since my shift started, and I'm settling into the rhythm. The diner is busy but manageable, the regulars mostly patient with the new waitress, and Lou runs a tight but fair kitchen. Compared to my last waitressing job in Minneapolis, this is practically a vacation.
Yet I can't help scanning each new customer as they enter, assessing for threats. Old habits.
Dropping Amelia at Mrs. Gunderson's had been surprisingly easy. My daughter, usually wary of new environments, had been too fascinated by the older woman's collection of children's books to notice my departure. Mrs. Gunderson had assured me she could call if there were any problems, but so far my phone has remained silent in my apron pocket.
"Order up, Jennie!" Lou calls.
I collect the plates—a Denver omelet and hash browns—and deliver them to a middle-aged man reading the newspaper.
"Anything else I can get you?" I ask.
He glances up and smiles. "Just some hot sauce if you've got it."
"Coming right up."
As I return to the counter to grab the condiment, the bell above the door chimes. I look up automatically and see two men in navy blue T-shirts with the Cedar Falls Fire Department logo enter. Neither is Max, though. They settle into a booth in my section, and I give myself a mental shake. Why should I care whether Max is among them? It's not like we're friends. He was just being nice to the new girl in town. That's all.
I drop off the hot sauce and approach the firefighters with my notepad.
"Good morning," I greet them. "Coffee to start?"
"Yes, please," the taller one says, then extends his hand. "I’m Lewis. You must be Jennie. Max mentioned meeting you yesterday."
I shake his hand briefly, caught off guard by the familiar greeting. "That's right. First day on the job."
"You're already a step up from the last waitress Lou hired," the other man says. "She lasted four hours before crying in the walk-in freezer."
"Ollis," Lewis chides. "Don't scare her off."
"Just stating facts," Ollis shrugs but offers me a small smile. "The breakfast crowd can be brutal."
I pour their coffee, oddly comforted by their banter. "I'll take my chances. Do you know what you'd like to order, or do you need a minute?"
"We always get the same thing," Lewis says. "Firefighter special for me with eggs over medium, bacon extra crispy and peppers."
"Same thing," Ollis adds. "And can you tell Lou to go easy on the peppers? Last time, it was like eating fire."
"Ironic, coming from a firefighter," I quip before I can stop myself.
Lewis laughs heartily while Ollis' smile widens.
"She's got you there, Ol," Lewis says.
I jot down their orders, surprised by my own ease with them. "I'll put this right in. More coffee?"
"We're good for now, thanks," Lewis replies. Then, "Max is on a 12-hour night shift this week, by the way. Gets off at 12 PM."
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "I didn't ask."
"No, you didn't," Lewis agrees, his expression innocent but his eyes knowing.
I retreat to the kitchen, placing their order on the spinner for Lou. As I wait for my next ticket, I try to understand my own reaction. Why should I care about Max's schedule? Why should it matter that these men clearly think there's something to tease about?
Because there isn't. There can't be. I have nothing to offer a man like Max Davidson—a woman with a complicated past, a baby, and barely enough money for first month's rent on an apartment. And more importantly, romance is so far down my list of priorities it might as well not exist.
I learned my lesson with Derek. I trusted the charming, attentive man who swept me off my feet, who promised to take care of us. By the time I saw behind the mask, I was trapped—financially, emotionally, physically. Never again.
The day progresses steadily, and by 12:30 PM, the lunch rush is tapering off. My feet ache pleasantly, and my apron pocket jingles with a decent haul of tips. Lou approaches as I'm refilling the sugar caddies.
"You did good today," he says, his gruff voice approving. "Think you can handle it five days a week?"
"Absolutely," I confirm. "Thank you for giving me a chance."
"Experience counts," he shrugs. "And you don't spill coffee or sass the customers. That's rare enough these days."
The bell chimes again, and I look up. This time, it is Max who enters, looking slightly rumpled and tired but still unfairly attractive in his department T-shirt and jeans. His eyes find mine immediately, and his face breaks into a genuine smile, creating an unwelcome flutter in my stomach.
He slides onto a stool at the counter, nodding to a few regulars as he passes. I finish with the sugar caddies, take a deep breath, and approach with the coffee pot.
"Good morning," I say, aiming for professional but friendly. "Coffee?"
"Please," he replies, flipping over the mug before him. "How's the first day treating you?"
"So far, so good," I tell him, filling his cup. "Amelia seemed happy at Mrs. Gunderson's this morning, so that's a huge relief."
His smile softens. "I knew they'd hit it off. Mrs. G has that effect on kids. How are you liking the famous Lou's Diner experience?"
"It's good," I say honestly. "Busy, but the people are nice. Your friends Lewis and Ollis came in earlier."
"Ah," Max winces slightly. "I hope they behaved themselves."
"They were perfect gentlemen," I assure him, though I wonder what he's worried they might have said. "What can I get you for breakfast?"
"The usual," he says, then seems to realize I wouldn't know what that is. "Sorry—three egg-white omelet with spinach and mushrooms, wheat toast, fruit cup instead of hash browns."
I raise an eyebrow as I jot it down. "That's surprisingly healthy for a guy who was extolling the virtues of Lou's cinnamon rolls yesterday."
"Gotta keep fit for the job," he explains, flexing an arm with exaggerated swagger that makes me laugh despite myself. "The occasional cinnamon roll is my one vice."
"Your only vice?" I ask skeptically, then immediately regret the teasing tone. I'm here to serve coffee, not flirt with customers. Especially not this customer.
But Max just grins. "The only one I'll admit to in public."
I feel my cheeks warm again. "I'll put this order in."
As I turn away, he says, "Hey, Jennie?"
I pause, looking back. "Yes?"
"I'm glad it's working out with Mrs. G," he says sincerely. "And that the job's going well. Cedar Falls looks good on you."
The simple compliment catches me off guard. Not about my appearance, not with any hidden agenda—just genuine pleasure at my good fortune. I'm not sure how to respond to kindness that wants nothing in return.
"Thank you," I finally manage. "For everything."
As I move away to attend to the other tables, I feel Max's gaze following me. And despite all my defenses, despite every promise I've made to myself, I can't help the small, warm glow that kindles in my chest.
Cedar Falls might be growing on me after all.