7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Kayla
The café was quiet, save for the soft murmur of voices and the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor. An elderly couple sat by the window, sharing a pot of tea, while two teenage girls, backpacks slung over their shoulders, placed their order with Patty. The clock on the wall read 8:15, and sunlight streamed through the windows, casting warm patches across the floor.
Clay and I approached the counter, his arm looped loosely through mine. Patty’s smile brightened when she spotted us. The girl’s turned, their gazes immediately landing on Clay. They exchanged whispers and giggles as they took their coffee’s and headed for the door. Clay, oblivious or perhaps just amused, shot them a wink.
“Good mornin’, ladies.” He drawled, his easy charm on full display. The girls flushed crimson, ducking their heads as they hurried outside. I shook my head, stifling a laugh.
“Clay Thomson! Stop playing with young girls’ hearts and give me a hug, boy!” Patty scolded, stepping out from behind the counter. Clay grinned and didn’t hesitate, wrapping her in a warm embrace and dropping a kiss on her head.
“You’re the only one who has my heart, Pat,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “And I’ll sign it over to you forever if you get me one of those apple turnovers.”
Patty chuckled, ruffling his hair as though he were still a child. I bit back a laugh enjoying the exchange. The air smelled of apples and cinnamon, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread. It reminded me of weekends at home—of Braden and me helping Mom bake, sneaking tastes of the batter and licking the spoons clean. A pang of longing hit me, bittersweet and sharp, but I pushed it aside.
“You know, boy, if you keep eating all my pastries, you’re gonna turn into one,” Patty warned.
“It’s your fault for making them taste so good.” Clay shot back, flashing her a grin. Patty turned to me, still smiling. “It’s not fair, is it, Kayla? This boy here can eat whatever he wants and still stay lean, but if I so much as look at a candy bar, the doctor’s warning of diabetes.”
“What?!” I exclaimed, alarmed.
Clay snorted. “She’s joking, Kayla.” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. Patty and Clay burst into laughter at my expense. I managed a sheepish smile, rolling my eyes as the bell above the door chimed. We all turned toward the sound. A man entered, his head bent as he spoke into a cell phone. A camera slung around his neck, and his clothes, board shorts, and an open white shirt—gave him the look of a tourist. He glanced up, his tired eyes meeting ours. He ended his call abruptly, snapping the phone shut.
“Good morning. Black coffee to go, please.” he said, rummaging in his pocket for change. Patty’s eyes narrowed slightly, and I felt Clay stiffen beside me. I stepped forward, offering a polite smile.
“I’ll get that for you, sir.” Patty handed me an apron, and I tied it on, moving to the coffee machine. I could feel the tension rolling off Clay as he leaned against the counter, his posture rigid. When I glanced back, his gaze was locked on the man, his expression unusually guarded.
“You look familiar, love.” the man said, tilting his head as he studied me. My heart stuttered, but I kept my voice steady. “Oh? I get that a lot.” He didn’t respond right away, his eyes lingering on me a moment too long. I placed the coffee on the counter and pushed it toward him. His phone buzzed again, and he answered it quickly, sliding the money across the counter before leaving without another word. Clays voice broke the silence.
“I don’t like him. Did you see the way he was looking at you.”
“He’s probably just a tourist,” I said shrugging.
“Tourist or not, don’t leave here without Dean later, okay?” His protective tone caught me off guard, but I nodded. Patty took the money and disappeared into the kitchen without another word. Clay’s expression softened, but his usual cheer seemed to have dimmed.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, abandoning his pastry and coffee. I watched him slip into the kitchen and grabbed a dishcloth, wiping down the counter to busy myself. Just as I finished the bell chimed again. I look up, recognition widening my eyes as the redhead from the bathroom last night entered. Her face lit up when she saw me.
“Good morning! What can I get you?” I asked, smiling.
“Makayla,” she squealed, “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“It’s just Kayla.” I said gently, my smile widening.
“Oh, okay!” she winked dramatically, “I’m Amber.” She leaned across the counter, her perfume –a mix of chocolate and roses –wafting through the air.
“So, what do you think of Portland so far? Where are you staying?” Clay reappeared from the kitchen, his face lighting up when he spotted me. He grabbed his coffee and pastry, but his gaze lingered on Amber. “Hey, do I know you? You look familiar.” Amber’s cheeks turned pink.
“W-we have Biochemistry together. And Humanities.” Clay’s grin turned apologetic. “Sorry. I should have recognized you.” he paused studying her. “Hey, do you want a ride to school?”
“N-no, thanks,” she stammered. “I drive.”
The awkward silence stretched until Patty returned, a tray of pastries in hand. She glanced between Clay and Amber.
“Young love,” she muttered under her breath, before returning back to the kitchen. I smiled faintly, but my thoughts wandered. Braden, Logan and I had always been inseparable, our bond effortless and unbreakable. Thinking of those days felt like chasing shadows, fragments of a life I couldn’t quite piece together. Maybe one day, I’d stop feeling like I was searching for something just out of reach.
I’m pulled from my memory when Patty hands me a big bag filled with icing. Setting it aside, I notice Clay and Amber watching me, concern evident on their faces.
“Sorry, I was in my own little world.” I say with an apologetic smile.
“Okay…” Amber replies cautiously, “Well, I’ll have a hot chocolate to go, please.” I nod, still distracted, as I clumsily prepare her drink. Sliding the sealed drink across the counter, I catch Patty nodding approvingly before gesturing to the bag.
“That’s for the cakes cooling in the kitchen,” she says from behind me, making me jump, “I wanna see what your decorating skills are like. Clay, quit gawping, and get your cute buns off to class now, ya hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Clay says with a cheeky salute.
As he heads out Si the mechanic from across the street heads in. A towering man in his early sixties, with a build that could rival a lumberjack. His broad shoulders stretched the seams of his well-worn coveralls, and his hands, rough and calloused from years of work—looked big enough to crush a basketball. His thick, salt and pepper beard framed a face that was perpetually smudged with grease, and his eyes, a piercing blue, sparkled with a mischievous warmth that made it clear he loved to laugh. Despite his intimidating size, there was a gentleness about him—visible in the way he carried himself, and spoke to others, especially Patty. I’d served him in the diner a few times, he always had time for a friendly chat, and his deep rumbling voice was as comforting as a warm blanket on a cold night. Si was the kind of man you wanted in your corner—loyal, dependable, and fiercely protective of those he cares about. I watch Clay exchange words with Si, before Si claps him on the back hard enough to send him stumbling forward. Si’s booming laugh echoes through the café.
“What are they talking about?” I ask Patty, whose busy brewing another pot of coffee.
Patty shakes her head, wagging a finger. “Now, Kayla. I’m not one to gossip…”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
She grins. “My guess is our boy there’s trying to get Si to wrestle with him. Si babysat Clay when he was younger—kinda like his unofficial Uncle.” Her tone turns dreamy. “What a man…”
I smirk. “Patty, do you have a thing for Si?”
Patty’s ears and cheeks flush scarlet as she lets out a giggle that seems decades younger than her age. Her reaction sets off a fit of laughter between Amber and me.
“He’s got big hands,” Amber teases, grinning wickedly.
“I bet that’s not all that’s big!” I add, earning an exaggerated gasp from Patty. She flutters her hands as through batting away the thought. Just then, Si ruffles Clay’s hair on his way out and steps up to the counter.
“Morning, Patty. Usual, please,” he says, drumming his massive hand on the counter.
Amber dashes out of the door, cackling. Si watches her leave puzzled.
“She okay?”
“She just had an idea.” I reply with a smile.
The rest of the day was uneventful—until evening. The door chime rings as I clear a table, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. It’s the man from this morning, but now he’s brought two friends. Camera’s hang from their necks as they joke loudly, their pale complexions and greasy appearances making my stomach turn.
“I told you, Frank, my source says he’s coming here.” One of them says. The others speculate loudly about a potential family member, love interest, or even a pregnancy scandal, laughing crudely.
Patty steps up. “What can I get you fellas?”
One of them sneers, “Anything here that doesn’t suck?”
The others chuckle, but Patty stands her ground, her silence pressing.
“How about sending the cute waitress over?” another suggests, leering. “We can make her famous.”
Patty’s voice turns sharp. “That’s enough. Order, or head to the bar down the street—they serve hot wings in fifteen minutes.
The apparent leader smirks. “Espresso and a brownie, then.”
As Patty serves them, I focus on wiping tables until one of the men suddenly appears behind me.
“Sorry, darlin’” he slurs, “Need any help?”
I stiffen. “Would you mind stepping back please, sir?”
Instead, he leans in, his hand brushing the small of my back. I flinch and step forward.
Patty notices. “Everything okay?”
Before I can answer, the man leans in closer, his breath reeking.
“If I leave a big enough tip, will you—”
The door chimes. Dean strides in, “Evening, lover. How was work?”
I step toward him, but the man grabs my wrist.
Dean’s eyes darken. He takes one step forward, and in the same moment I yank free and punch the guy square in the nose. Blood gushes, and his friends jump to their feet.
“What the hell?!” One yells, but Patty doesn’t hesitate. She clubs him on the head with a metal napkin dispenser, dropping him to the floor.
The leader glances at Dean, then at me, weighing his odds.
“Get out,” Patty growls.
Dean grabs the guy I punched, twisting his arm behind his back and marching him to the door. With a shove, he sends the man stumbling into a pile of trash cans outside, before dealing with the other two.
Patty turns to me mumbling, “Dented my dispenser.”
Dean locks the door and flips the sign to CLOSED. He checks me over, taking my hand gently.
“That was a badass punch.” he says, his voice low. “But reckless. You and Patty were outnumbered.”
“I’m fine.” I protest, but Patty squeezes my hand, making me wince.
“ER,” Dean said firmly.
We drive to the hospital in tense silence, Dean keeping a protective eye on the road. By the time we reach the parking lot, he’s back to teasing, his crooked smile easing my nerves. Inside the ER he takes my hand again, his warmth grounding me as the sterile smell of the hospital threatens to dredge up painful memories.