Highway to Happy (Southern Sunsets #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Keri Clayton

The Wild Daisy café is packed. Every single table is taken, filled with familiar locals and several tourists.

I grin, knowing the folks in Miss Jenny’s establishment were coaxed out of their offices or had to pause their small-town explorations because of the rich, meaty scent of brisket cooking low and slow in the back alleyway.

It’s all coming from one of those gigantic pellet smokers.

“You wanna come back into the kitchen and sit? I’ve got a card table set up for my favorites.” Jenny swipes a rogue hair from her eyes under her wide-brimmed hat. Her red lips curve into a knowing smile as she motions me toward the swinging kitchen door.

“No, thank you. I’d like a plate to-go, if you don’t mind.” I watch Jenny plant her fists on her hips, her daisy apron crumpling with determination. “What?” I grin.

“Keri Clayton, you’ve got to slow down and eat your meals at a proper table for a change. Taking a break from real estate and enjoying lunch won’t kill you.”

I laugh. “I know.”

She gently loops her arm through mine, her grip reassuring. She guides me to the long counter by the staircase. The counter bows under the weight of delicious desserts beneath glass domes. I spot her famous strawberry cake crowned with pink-berry frosting, and my mouth waters.

“Leroy and Marcus are closing out their tab now. I’ll get their two-top in the corner cleaned up real quick. You stay here, and I’ll send someone right over with a glass of fresh iced tea with two lemons, just how you like it.”

“Miss Jenny, you don’t have to do that…”

“—I insist,” she interrupts.

One of Jenny’s perky waitresses breezes past, arms full of mouth-watering meat and three sides. She tilts the plates toward me with a conspiratorial wink, letting the sizzling scent waft my way.

I roll my eyes and palm my stomach. I’m suddenly starving. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

“Good girl.” Miss Jenny pats my arm and disappears down the narrow hallway into the kitchen. A few seconds later, a pretty twenty-something girl hands off a Mason jar of iced tea with two bright lemon wedges clinging to the side.

“Thank you,” I say, taking the glass from her hands. It’s cold to the touch and streaked with condensation.

“You’re welcome.”

I squeeze the juicy lemons into the unsweet tea and take a quick sip before setting the glass next to the cake domes, my hip leaning against the ancient counter.

The hubbub of conversation is like a comforting white noise, and a stark contrast from the dead quiet of my office.

I take in my surroundings with pleasure, glad Miss Jenny insisted I stay.

I mean, I don’t have much going on anyway.

Business is painfully slow. Might as well enjoy a sit-down lunch for a change.

The 1908 Wild Daisy building was once a general store.

It was renovated with a dramatic staircase leading to the large upstairs, where there are four guest rooms. I love the exposed brick walls, worn wooden floors, and the eclectic mix of antique furniture.

The lobby and café downstairs exude an era from another century.

It’s my favorite lunch spot in Heartsboro, Georgia.

I always feel like I’m dining in someone’s home, not a restaurant.

I usually opt for Miss Jenny’s chicken salad plate or a side of her delicious tomatoes and cucumbers in homemade balsamic vinaigrette.

But the smell of that meat changed my mind.

Today is Friday. I might as well get the weekend started with a substantial meal.

I really wasn’t looking forward to eating the tiny power bar in my desk drawer.

Jenny waves me over to the two-person table in the corner by the front window. I smile, grab my tea, and make my way through the busy café, nodding and saying hello to several locals I’ve known for decades. That’s the thing about living in a small town like Heartsboro—everybody knows your name.

“You need a minute to look over the lunch menu?” Miss Jenny asks.

I slide onto the padded chair, careful not to bunch up my skirt. “I know I want the brisket.”

“Great. It comes with three sides today.”

I look up at her and smile. “Surprise me.”

“You got it.”

With my elbow on the table, I prop my chin in my hand and gaze out the window with a sigh.

Miss Jenny recently added three wrought-iron tables and chairs out front underneath the striped, yellow-and-white window awnings after she was approved for an outdoor dining permit.

It’s a win-win for those tourists and locals with dogs.

My eyes scroll from left to right, taking in the patrons enjoying lunch outside.

An elderly couple sits at the first table, and I grin as the man offers a bite of pie to the woman holding a tiny Chihuahua, his actions gentle and sweet.

The middle table holds a foursome of middle-aged women I don’t recognize, probably tourists having lunch before they visit the gorgeous lavender fields at Jamison Farm in peak season.

That, or maybe they’re out antiquing or passing through on their way to Atlanta?

My eyes land on the third table. I notice a man hunched over a plate of food, eating like he hasn’t had a proper meal in days.

My brow furrows, and I sit up straighter to get a better view.

I’ve never seen this guy before. His sun-streaked hair brushes his shoulders, and his flannel shirt is torn at the elbows.

I watch him run a napkin across his scruffy face.

He takes a piece of meat between his fingers and offers it to his big dog, sitting obediently on the sidewalk next to him.

“Here you go,” Miss Jenny interrupts.

I turn away from the window and offer her a polite smile. “That was fast. Thank you.”

“Brisket with a side of turnip greens, tomatoes and cucumbers, and squash casserole. I know you don’t eat the cornbread or biscuits that usually come with the special, so I got you a small helping of coleslaw as a substitute.

And…” She sets a cardboard box at the place setting across from me.

“… a to-go box to carry home the leftovers when you don’t finish everything. ”

I eye the huge spread in front of me, thankful for Jenny’s thoughtfulness. “You’re the best. All of this food will probably last me through the weekend.”

“You eat like a little bird, Keri.” She laughs. “Is there anything else you’d like? Hot sauce and pepper vinegar are on the table.”

“No, this is perfect. I have an odd question for you, though.”

Jenny tilts her head and looks directly at me. “What is it?”

I nod and motion with my thumb toward the window, lowering my voice so only she can hear me. “That guy outside with the dog. Is he… homeless?”

She peers out the window, recognition causing her to chuckle. “No. He’s from California.”

“Oh.” I’m taken aback. I wasn’t expecting her to know anything about him. “Well, how do you know? Have you talked to him?”

“Just pleasantries. He’s eaten here a few times this week. Seems to enjoy the outdoor seating so he can bring his sweet dog. I noticed he drives a camper van with California plates. And I’ve seen him taking pictures on Main Street using a fancy camera hanging around his neck.”

Both of us are looking right at him. He seems to sense us gawking and turns, offering us a handsome grin. My eyes go wide, and I look away. “How embarrassing,” I mutter.

Jenny laughs. “You don’t need to worry about him. He seems like a nice enough fella. He leaves huge tips for my staff too. And you know what they say about men with dogs.”

“What?”

“They thrive on the joy of being needed.”

“Really?” I’m perplexed and glance through the window again, my mind swirling with more questions. What is a dog-loving, long-haired, camper van driving California photographer doing in teeny-tiny Heartsboro, Georgia?

Jenny pulls my tab from her apron pocket and places it on the table, knowing I won’t stay long. “Take your time with lunch. And, uh…” She clears her throat before leaning in. “Don’t forget to enjoy the view.” She winks at me before she turns to tend to another table.

“Very funny.” I giggle.

I unroll my silverware from a napkin, spreading the daisy-printed fabric across my lap.

Slowly, I sample the incredible brisket and each delicious side, then glance curiously out the window at the man.

With his shoulder-length, sun-streaked hair, he definitely has the aura of a California dude.

Talking with several passersby who stop to pet his dog, he exudes an easygoing nature.

After watching him, I’d bet money this West Coast visitor has a surfboard strapped somewhere on his camper van.

I watch him throw his head back and laugh at something the cute waitress says.

He hands off a few bills and thanks her before he stands and stretches.

His faded jeans are a little loose around his waist, and his dusty boots remind me of those vagabond movies my dad and I used to love watching when I was a kid.

The kind where the leading man carries secrets.

He plucks a toothpick from the table dispenser and loosens the dog’s leash from the vacant chair.

Mesmerized, I watch him. Where is he off to next?

Why is he in Heartsboro? Questions swirl through my mind.

Did his job send him out here? If so, why the camper van instead of the Wild Daisy Inn?

And why does he have to be so handsome without even trying?

He raps his knuckles on the window, and I startle, palming my heart with my manicured hand.

His caramel eyes are bright, and he’s grinning right at me. I can barely make out what he says as he cheekily leans closer to the glass. His baritone voice rumbles, “Hope you’re having a great day.”