Chapter 3
three
H e hated the way this day was going. And he especially hated that it was hard to feel confident and capable with a giant wet spot on his jeans from his clean-up attempt in the men’s room.
Noah had finally gotten his coveted short stack, but despite sitting there staring at the rivulets of syrup, all he could think about was how Elisa had cut her hair. The last time he’d seen her, that blond mane had been long and flowing halfway down her back, skimming the tie on her swimsuit top as she’d jumped off the dock. Today, that short little ponytail only served to draw attention to her eyes, wide and blue like the bay first thing in the morning.
Stop. The last thing he needed right now was distraction—especially the distraction of Elisa. He stabbed his fork into his pancakes.
“So, where were we?” Isaac moved a discarded, coffee-soaked napkin farther away from his iPad with a grimace.
Noah set down his fork. “You were threatening me with the local judge.” Too bad the coffee spill hadn’t taken out that blasted inspection report. Just for the poetic justice of it all.
Isaac released a sigh that would have sent two of the three little pigs scurrying. “That wasn’t a threat.”
“I know what you’re doing here.”
“You gentlemen need anything else?” The red-haired waitress—Tammy? No, Trish—paused at their table once again, carrying a jug of water. She’d already brought a towel, pancakes he hadn’t ordered, extra pats of butter, and a miniature pitcher of syrup. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was hitting on?—
He looked up at her fluttering eyelashes and stifled a sigh. “I think we’re all set here.” He kept his tone polite, but firm. She was friendly and attractive, but he wasn’t interested—after all, he would be leaving town once he got the mold situation under control.
“Let me know if you change your mind...” The young waitress trailed one hand along the edge of the table.
Noah blinked, and the redhead’s image was replaced with Elisa’s that one summer, bringing him a milkshake and jokingly sliding two straws across the table before shooting him a wink. How different might things be if he’d resisted her then, too?
He attempted to drown the memory with more syrup. Noah had a lot of practice getting Elisa Bergeron out of his thoughts—though some efforts worked better than others. He poured faster, avoiding Trish’s eyes.
She finally gave up and took the water pitcher to another customer.
“I must say, that was nicely done—extricating yourself from that one.” Isaac shook his head. “At least you seem to be an apple that rolled a bit farther from the tree.”
“What did you say?” Noah’s fork clattered to his plate. Sadie looked up from her book, and a middle-aged couple Noah didn’t know cast them curious glances.
“Calm down.” Isaac lowered his voice, holding up both hands as his gaze darted around the room. “That was a compliment.”
Sure it was. “If you’re aiming for a compliment, then tell me I’m pretty.” Noah tossed a napkin on his uneaten pancakes, which were soggy with excessive syrup. He’d had enough. Isaac Bergeron was never going to help him—he was wasting his time. Maybe Isaac held all the power in this situation with the mold, but he wasn’t going to sit there and let him talk about his family like that.
However much his old man might deserve it.
Noah abruptly stood—wet spot and all—and reached for his wallet. “Thanks for the inspection. I’ll be in touch.”
“Oh, come on. Sit?—”
A sudden clatter rang from the kitchen. Noah, along with most of the patrons, looked up, forks paused en route to their mouths.
Isaac, however, appeared unfazed. He took a slow sip from his full mug. “Good ol’ Delia. Clumsy as always.”
That might be true, but Isaac said it more like a slam than a loving endearment. Noah liked Delia. She’d never played favorites in the feud between the families, taking a rare Switzerland position in Magnolia Bay. And yes, she always joked about breaking mugs.
Still, Noah’s gut twisted as he stared toward the swinging doors. Something didn’t feel right—that didn’t sound as simple as a dropped glass. He hesitated, waiting for a confirmation laugh or “it’s okay” to sound from the kitchen like he’d often heard in restaurants after a dish broke.
It didn’t come.
He strode toward the kitchen, ignoring Isaac’s protest. Sadie and several other customers shot each other concerned looks as Noah pushed behind the counter. Everything was probably fine. Delia would lovingly fuss at him for invading her space, then wrap him in a big hug and chastise him for not stopping by sooner.
But just in case.
He wasn’t certain what he expected to see when he walked through the double doors into the kitchen, but it certainly wasn’t Elisa bent over Delia, who lay unmoving on the floor by the island, her eyes shut tight as blood trickled down one arm. A smattering of vegetables covered the floor around her.
Noah’s heart ricocheted against his throat. He dropped to the hard floor beside Elisa. “What happened?” He gently touched Delia’s neck, searching for a pulse. There . His shoulders sagged with his exhale.
Tears tracked Elisa’s cheeks. “I don’t know. She was talking to me, and then suddenly, she was…she—” She shook her head, cutting off her explanation as she gestured toward Delia’s still figure, wringing her hands.
He released a slow breath. “We need to find a clean towel, see how bad this wound is on her arm.” He sat back on his heels, looking around for anything they could use. “And we should support her head.”
“Right. We need a pillow.” Elisa drew a shaky breath as she stood, and for a wild, unexpected moment, he wanted to comfort her. To offer assurances he didn’t have, to pull her into a hug for old times’ sake, to smooth that furrowed line between her brows.
And to explain that the kitchen probably wasn’t going to have fresh bedding at her disposal.
He looked up, following her movement toward the counter, and noticed for the first time a busboy and a blond waitress hovering helplessly near the stove. He redirected his towel statement to the busboy as Elisa hurried across the kitchen on her misguided search for a pillow.
“Has anyone called for help?” Noah’s question was only met with wide, blank stares.
He addressed the shaken waitress. “Call 911. And see if there’s a nurse anywhere in the café.”
She quickly obliged, pulling a phone from her apron pocket and rushing out the kitchen doors.
Then Elisa was back, crouching beside him and holding out an apron. “Will this work?”
“I think so.” Noah folded the thin fabric several times to provide a cushion and gently slid it under Delia’s head, careful not to move her neck more than necessary. He knew that much from television shows, at least.
“I can’t believe I didn’t immediately call 911.” Elisa sat on the floor next to him, crisscrossing her legs. Guilt troubled her eyes and her chin, streaked with dark makeup trails, trembled. “Wake up, Delia.” Her voice crested with panic as she gently tapped Delia’s shoulder.
The same shoulder that Noah had cried on when he was a young teen, the day his dad had taken that age-old family feud and doused it with gasoline. Yet Noah had been so selfish since he’d been back in town, consumed with the inn and forgetting those who had helped him when no one else would.
“I should have visited the café sooner.” His whisper slipped free—half to himself, half to Delia. Could she even hear him?
Then the busboy handed him a towel and Noah pressed it against Delia’s arm wound. “See? It’s not as bad as it looks.” He didn’t know that, but hope was a good thing to cling to until the professionals arrived.
“Why is she unconscious?” Elisa gingerly took Delia’s hand in her own and rubbed the woman’s wrinkled knuckles.
“She must have knocked herself out when she landed.” Noah removed the towel long enough to see the bleeding had thankfully stopped. He nodded toward the butcher knife laying a few feet away on the tiled floor. “And that must have fallen with her. Looks like only a nick. Hit on a bad place, is all.”
“She’d been chopping vegetables when it happened.” She frowned. “Whatever ‘it’ was.” New tears filled her eyes and her voice broke. “What do you think happened?”
A throat cleared from across the room. The young busboy looked about as uncomfortable as Noah felt—he needed an escape.
Noah shot the guy a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you stand guard and make sure no one else comes in the kitchen except the paramedics. Or a nurse, if your co-worker was able to find one.” The last thing they needed was anyone crowding Delia.
The busboy eagerly took his post, what looked like relief crowding his expression as he hurried through the swinging doors. Then they immediately swung back open as Trish rushed inside, her eyes wide and her face pale. “What happened?” She covered her mouth with her hands when she saw the blood-stained towel.
Elisa shrugged helplessly. “We don’t know. She just went down.”
“What can I do?” Trish’s voice shook as she squatted beside them.
“The first responders will need her insurance card.” Noah studied Trish, who seemed up for the task. “Why don’t you go find her wallet?”
Trish stood slowly, her gaze darting between Elisa and Noah. Then she nodded stiffly. “Of course. She usually keeps it in the storage room.”
Noah turned back to Delia, who hadn’t moved.
“Is she stirring?” The hope in Elisa’s voice nearly undid him. Then her countenance crashed as she answered her own question. “I don’t think so. Never mind.”
He briefly touched her hand. “Don’t worry.”
“I hate blood.” She squeezed her eyes closed, her breathing shaky.
Oh, how he knew. “Hang on.” Noah took the opportunity to toss the stained towel off to the side, around the corner of the island. “Okay. You can open your eyes now.”
She did, focusing right on him, and Noah realized his mistake in the suggestion. Her baby blues, now red-rimmed, met his gaze with more vulnerability than he’d ever seen. It nearly knocked him backward.
“I need her.” Her tone pleaded, as if he had the power to give her what she wanted. And for a half-cocked minute, he wished he did.
“I know. Come on, Mama D. Wake up for us.” He shifted into a more comfortable position on the floor, avoiding Elisa’s eyes. Vulnerable or not, she was not his ally.
“The paramedics should be here any time now.” The seconds felt like minutes, the minutes that had already passed, like days. His mind raced with what to do next. Right—the medics would want details on Delia. He shifted positions, trying to get the tingles out of his right foot. “Do you remember if she was slurring before she fell? Could it have been a stroke?”
Elisa adjusted her hold on Delia’s limp hand. “I don’t think so. We were talking about—” Then she abruptly rolled her lips together.
He followed the movement by habit before wrenching his gaze away from her mouth. “Talking about what?”
She lifted her chin a notch, eyes focused on Delia. “Puzzles. And the local Puzzlers Club.”
That obviously wasn’t the full story. Had they been back here discussing him ? Delia had a way about her—mothering everyone in her path. Offering jobs, wisdom, hugs…whatever was needed, especially to the youth in the area. But you never outgrew Delia. She was one of the most respected women in Magnolia Bay, and the thought of Elisa spewing unfair details about him all these years he’d been gone lit a match in his chest.
Noah fought back his temper. He didn’t want to fight with Elisa, but he also couldn’t sit there pretending like they were polite strangers anymore. If they were going to be running into each other around town at all after this, they needed to set some ground rules. “Elisa, listen, we need to?—”
“Look!”
Delia’s eyes fluttered open and locked on Noah. “It’s about time you showed up, boy.”
* * *
Elisa didn’t need Noah Hebert. Fool me once and all that, and she’d been fooled twice already.
But bless it, the man was hard to resist.
Elisa shoved her hair back from her damp forehead as she hovered, wanting to help the uniformed firemen but knowing she was completely in the way. Noah had tugged on her arm a moment ago, trying to edge her away from the bustling crew taking Delia’s blood pressure, examining the lump on the back of her head, and bandaging her arm. But she’d shrugged him off, partly out of desire to stay right where she was…and mostly because the touch of his fingers had her lighting up like a firefly.
Now Noah waited near the door, arms crossed as he kept an eagle-eye on Delia as the men finished their efficient routine. Noah, protective? He’d bailed on everyone years ago and hadn’t looked back. He was a little late.
Even if he had been quite the hero for Delia today. The way he’d taken charge of the scene, helped Elisa breathe again, and acted cordially—as if their family’s joint history wasn’t more tattered than her great-grandma’s quilt currently draped over the foot of her bed. As if the older firemen hadn’t cast curious looks between her and Noah standing in the kitchen. Together. Montagues and Capulets.
Elisa tugged her phone free of her pocket, straining to hear the low voices of the men moving Delia onto a stretcher. She should text Mr. Bowman. The kind lawyer who always ordered bear claws had asked her to stop by his law office that afternoon, but she might need to stay at the café now. Everything that was so sure a half an hour ago felt so up in the air.
Then a muffled female voice joined the din. “Elisa?”
Oh thank heavens. Delia was awake again. After she’d looked up at Noah and spoken those few cryptic words, she’d drifted right back out.
“I’m here!” Elisa shoved her phone back in her pocket and shot forward as the firemen secured the older woman onto the gurney. “She’s talking. That’s good, right?”
They ignored her question, but as she met Noah’s gaze across the room, she watched a wave of what seemed to be relief wash over his face. So it was a good sign, even if the paramedics couldn’t admit it. For the first time in what felt like an hour, Elisa took a full breath.
“Elisa? Is that you?” Delia’s head was secured into a position where she could only look at the ceiling.
“It’s me!” She knelt next to the lowered gurney and took Delia’s clammy hand, trying to lean into the older woman’s limited view while staying out of the way of the fireman working the straps. Then she looked up. “Wait. Where is she going?”
“Magnolia Memorial.” Captain Sanders impatiently adjusted the brim of his cap and then gestured for two of the men to hoist the stretcher. “Come on. Let’s get her loaded.”
The hospital. Elisa’s throat tightened. “Why?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, Ms. Bergeron. Protocol.” Captain shrugged. “You’re not next of kin.”
Elisa reluctantly stood and moved away from the stretcher as Noah cleared his throat. “Elisa is close enough to family, and everyone in the room knows it.”
Elisa stilled. Noah Hebert, defending her? Somewhere really far south had just frozen over. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that—and on second thought, it was probably best she didn’t feel a single thing about it.
And she sure didn’t need him coming to her rescue twice in one day.
Ignoring Noah, she rested her free hand on the captain’s arm, working up a soft smile. “Darlin’, Ms. Bergeron was my mama. You call me Elisa.”
“Of course. Elisa.” Captain dipped his head, shifting his weight beside the now raised stretcher. His arm warmed beneath her hand.
She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Now, Evan…of course I respect you as captain and all…but you know you used to pull my hair in fourth grade. I think we’re beyond protocol , don’t you?” She cocked an eyebrow and widened her smile.
Heat flushed the man’s tanned cheeks, and he coughed. But the sudden banging of the kitchen doors sounded before he could answer. Elisa whipped her head to see who had left.
Noah.
She shook her head, returning her gaze to Evan. “Her arm is bandaged and that nice gentleman there”—she pointed to one of the firemen with a Scripture reference tattooed on his forearm—“said there weren’t immediate signs of a concussion. So why the need for the hospital?”
Captain shuffled his feet. “Elisa, I can’t?—”
“Good heavens, I’m right here. I can tell her myself.” Delia waved her hand between them. “Elisa, who needs a watchdog when I have you?”
Captain smirked, then looked chagrined as he ducked out of Elisa’s sharp gaze. “We’ll, uh, we’ll give you a minute.”
“You’ll give us two minutes,” Delia said, clearly coming back to herself.
The other firemen stepped back, whispering with their captain, who was still flushed.
“Delia, what’s going on?” She should be relieved Delia was her normal fiery self, but something still wasn’t right. Normally, Delia would be shrugging off the fuss and returning to her black beans.
“Honey, all this stuff they fixed was a side effect of my fall.” Delia pointed to her bandage and then gestured toward her head. “There was a reason I fell.”
“So they’re going to run some tests? Rule a few things out?” Elisa gripped her hand. “I can tag along, if you need me to.”
Delia gave her a knowing look. “Now you don’t really want to go to the hospital. I know it reminds you of your sweet mama.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine.” Elisa shook back her hair. “I became a fan of those M&Ms in the vending machine on the chemo floor—finally figured out how to get D4 to work.” She smiled, even as tears filled her eyes. Of course Delia would be more concerned about Elisa’s memories than her own current health crisis.
Delia squeezed her hand. “Maybe so, but I want you to stay right here and close up the café. Make sure everyone gets their ticket and maybe give out the rest of the donuts as apology for shutting down early.” Then she closed her eyes, as if faced with a sudden wave of pain.
Elisa sucked in her breath. “What aren’t you telling me? Why did you fall?”
Delia opened her eyes, with what looked like a mixture of embarrassment and pain shining with the lingering tears. “My leg went out on me.”
“That happens sometimes, though, right?” She hadn’t wanted to point out how often, but if she knew, then Delia must.
“I think this was the last time they’re going to let it.” Delia licked her dry lips and focused on Elisa. “I can’t keep putting off my surgery, hon.”
“Hip replacement?” Elisa swallowed hard. That would be a massive undergoing, on top of the extended recovery afterward. How would the café survive without its chef that long? But Delia’s health had to come first. “I’ll help any way I can. Just tell me what to do.”
“That part I don’t know yet. Financially, this isn’t something I can take on right now and you know how my insurance is.”
“Yes, and I also know your aversion to doctor’s offices.” This 911 expense would be a big enough headache—but hip surgery? It would be completely out of reach.
“The Lord will provide.” Delia’s voice deepened as it often did when she spoke about her relationship with God—one Elisa never could quite relate to her despite years of trying. “But do you understand what I’m telling you, honey?”
Elisa frowned.
“Ma’am, we need to go.” Evan’s firm captain voice didn’t leave room for argument this time, not even from Delia Boudreaux. He gestured to the crew to take the stretcher again and they quickly obliged.
She grasped for Delia one more time. “I don’t—what are you talking about?”
“I don’t want you to panic, and I know how much this place means to you, but Elisa…” Delia’s gaze locked with Elisa’s as they began to steer her out of the room. “I might have to sell the café.”