6. Troy
It’s been a few days since my welcome home party, and my phone now has a bunch of new numbers in it. I received multiple offers to catch up with the guys. I’ll be sure to take them up on them when I finally get settled. It’ll be nice to have friends again.
It was strange to see how different they were after all these years. Especially Dave Kilburn. Somehow, I always thought he’d be fighting fit for the rest of his days. He told me family life and his joinery business have kept him too busy to keep up with sports. I told him it was a poor excuse. He laughed and agreed.
I’m just washing my breakfast dishes when I hear a knock at the front door. I stride through the house and open it to my always-energetic sister.
“Hey.” She steps into the house once I pull the door open wide. Looking around, she says, “Wow, Troy. It could do with a bit of cheering up in here.”
Milly’s not wrong, but I’ve been too busy ordering things I need for the restaurant as well as trying out new recipes to decorate. “I’ve been here less than a week, Titch. Give me a break.”
“Sure. What shall I break? Your arms? Your legs?” she teases with a wide grin.
“You’re hilarious,” I sneer. “Let me get my coat.”
I’m taking Milly to see the restaurant. While Mom and Dad looked it over before I bought it, I have yet to see it. Milly was working the day my parents were there, so she hasn’t seen it, either.
We jump into Dad’s truck. I maneuver out of the driveway—unable to help but throw a glance in my next-door neighbor’s direction, not that she’s anywhere to be seen—and head down the road.
I haven’t seen much of her since the party, and I get the funny feeling that this is just the way Charlie wants it. At least the conversation between us at the bar seemed to break the ice a bit. I actually made her laugh, which, I will admit, was a surprise.
“Are you excited?” Milly gushes while I drive us across town.
I nod. “Of course.”
And I am. Really excited, actually. I’ve been tempted to go and see the restaurant by myself in the last couple of days, but I promised Milly she could come with me. She’s the manager at the big chain hardware store and couldn’t get the time off, so I’ve occupied myself with other important things, like ordering stock.
“Me, too,” she continues energetically. “And now that all your friends know that you’re back, you’ll have your first customers when you get opened.”
I haven’t really had the chance to thank Milly for the surprise party, and this seems like as good a time as any to do it. “Thanks for that, Titch. It was pretty cool what you did.”
“Well, I knew you wouldn’t want a fuss. But I also knew all your friends would want to see you and welcome you back home.”
My questions about Charlie are on the tip of my tongue. My new neighbor has never been a good liar, and I know she wasn’t telling me the truth in the bar. Her honesty was actually refreshing when we first started hanging out. She was this sweet, innocent girl that I didn’t really know how to be myself around. The usual girls who the guys and I hung around with were caked in make-up, vain, and serious attention seekers.
Charlotte Woods could not have been more different, and I liked it. She’d been friends with Milly for years, but as she got older, her real beauty started to show. Not that she could see it, of course. She was this quiet, self-conscious thing who grew up wearing modest clothes that her mother made. I know she got ridiculed for that. But what struck me about her the most was how genuine she was.
I know. It probably seems weird that I’d care, having been a young jock with a bad rep. But that reputation wasn’t wholly deserved. We were just being kids. My parents raised us well, and in many ways, Charlotte reminded me of my mother.
It’s her inability to lie that alerted me to the fact that she didn’t really want to be at Withering’s the other night. What I couldn’t understand was, if she didn’t want to be there, why had she gone? Had Milly used her Jedi powers of persuasion and cunning?
I’m tempted to ask, but at the same time, I don’t want Milly thinking I’m overly interested.
But you are overly interested.
Yes, I know that. But Milly doesn’t.
I pull the truck to a stop outside a run-down building and gaze through the windshield.
“Is this it?” Milly looks doubtful.
“Don’t judge a restaurant by its dirty windows, Titch,” I say.
“Or its broken sign,” she counters, looking up at several letters missing from a sign that, when lit, should’ve said Joey’s Diner.
“I’ve got a contractor coming tomorrow to replace that,” I say.
“Oh, you’ve chosen the name already?” Milly says, climbing out of the truck.
I get out and take a step back to look at the place fully. It’s a decent size for my new venture. It’s not so big that it will be overwhelming, but not so small that I can’t make a good go of it. I’ve already advertised locally for a sous chef.
“So, are you going to tell me?”
I look at her across the hood with the most serious face I can muster. “Sure. I’m calling it Troy’s Diner.”
Milly’s jaw drops, and she gawps at me. “You are not.”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug, trying to keep up the fa?ade. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Are you kidding?” she blurts. “Like, really? Troy, that’s an awful name.”
“I know,” I say, and then I start chuckling.
Her face falls as she realizes I’m teasing her. “You’re a ratbag.”
I’m still chuckling when I say, “I’m calling it The Statesman.”
Her eyes fly wide open again, and she’s back to looking… not so much appalled, but certainly astonished. “The Statesman?” she balks. “Don’t you think that’s a little pretentious?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. I’m not serving burgers and tacos, Titch. In Paris, I trained in fine dining, and that’s exactly what this town needs.”
I’ve done my research, not that I didn’t already know what was available where eateries were concerned in Cherryville. But the thing we are missing is a fine dining restaurant. There are pizzerias, fast-food joints, and Withering’s, which is a family-friendly kind of place. But I want something far more elevated. What’s the point of all my training and qualifications if I’m just going to come home and flip burgers?
Once inside, I get a better gauge of the place. I’ve seen a million and one pictures that Dad took on his phone, but it’s not the same as being here. The place smells musty, and there’s dust everywhere. Nothing a good clean won’t solve. I mentally take a note to hire a professional cleaning service.
The tables are in good condition, though I’m not sure that I’m going to keep them. I might at the start and then update as I go. I’ve only got so much capital, and I want to spend it on the more important things. Linen tablecloths will cover a multitude of sins.
“It’s a bit dreary,” Milly says, looking around. “It’ll need a good decorator.”
“For sure,” I say. “There’s a lot that needs doing. You’ve got to look at the potential, Titch, not what you see right now.”
“Charlie’s a fantastic interior decorator,” Milly pipes up, looking over at me knowingly. “You should get her to come and take a look. She’s so creative. She has a million ideas a minute.”
So that’s what she does these days.
I give my sister a look. A look that tells her that I know what she’s doing. She’s once again using her powers of persuasion—or, as the whole family calls it, manipulation.
“I’m sure there are plenty of decorators I could choose from,” I reply.
Milly shrugs as though she doesn’t care one way or another. “Sure. I suppose you could if you want a shoddy job. It’s just, well, you know,” she continues in her off-the-cuff manner, “Charlie has won awards for her work. Her clientele all earn six figures. If you want this place to be fine dining and all…” She trails off.
And even though I know I’m being played, I now want to see what Charlie could do to the place. My mind goes back to my welcome home party and Charlie’s obvious reluctance to be there.
“Did Charlie come to my party willingly, Titch?” I ask.
Milly suddenly looks uncomfortable and turns away from me. She starts walking through the tables, mumbling something I can’t quite hear. “She showed up, didn’t she?”
“I know that. I was there, remember? You’re avoiding the question. Did she come to my party of her own volition?”
“What difference does it make?” Milly counters. “I thought you didn’t care about her one way or another.”
“I want to know, Titch,” I say, trying not to lose my cool with my sister’s avoidance.
“Look—”
“Milly!” I say firmly.
“Fine,” Milly huffs. “I told her I was taking her out for dinner to say sorry for not telling her that you were moving in next door. There. Are you happy now?”
“You gave her the same tall tale that you told me?” I balk, hardly able to believe my sister’s deceit.
“I thought it might break the ice between you guys,” Milly defends herself. “Are you mad at me?”
I sigh and shake my head. I’m not mad at Milly. I do, however, feel a wave of disappointment wash over me. Even though I already knew the answer, it would have been nice to believe that Charlie had been there because she wanted to welcome me home.
It was a foolish notion, and as I consider it, I wonder why I’m so disappointed. But I know the answer to that, too. While standing at the bar talking to her the other night, old, familiar feelings came rushing back. She looked stunning in that dress. Her soft, musky, floral scent hardly helped, nor did her glistening black hair.
I’m in trouble already, and I haven’t been home for a week yet.
“So, are you going to ask Charlie to come and take a look?” Milly asks.
“Maybe,” I reply.
You’re going to ask her. You know you are.
Yes. I know.