Chapter 12
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
Silver River, South Mississippi, USA
Present
“Daisy Doll! Pancakes for Mr. Arnold.”
I hurried into the kitchen. Smiling at Oliver, I grabbed the plate from his inked hands.
“Well, well! Look who’s in such a good mood today!
” I joked, finding my boss with a smile from ear to ear, wearing a white shirt and suit pants, which was quite surprising considering he never gave up his biker style.
“Does it have anything to do with a certain aunty of mine?”
He laughed, scratching his bald head. “Do you think Lizzie will like it?”
I assessed him with a demanding pout and a wrinkled nose. “I think she prefers you in retired biker mode. But you look pretty good in that outfit.”
“Oh, get the hell out of here before the pancakes get cold!” he grumbled, whipping my bottom with a dishcloth.
I laughed heartily, bouncing out of the kitchen.
I had been working as a waitress at Mr. Sweet Pancakes since it opened six years ago, and still found it amusing how Oliver fell head over heels for my Aunt Lizzie.
From the moment she first showed up, he never stopped pestering me about when he’d see her again.
And it had taken him six years to win her over.
“Here are your pancakes, Mr. Arnold!”
The old man looked up from his newspaper and laughed.
“Tell that guy to stop daydreaming about your aunt! I've never seen pancakes take so long.”
"Come on, Mr. Arnold, cut him some slack. Oliver finally got a date with Aunt Lizzie. He's going to be her date at a wedding this afternoon."
Mr. Arnold's mouth fell open, clearly demoralized. “Does that mean I won't be able to come in for my midafternoon burger?”
I pretended to sympathize with my favorite retiree's pain and patted him on the shoulder. “Unfortunately, Mr. Arnold, unfortunately.”
I left the old man grumbling to himself and hopped behind the counter, making sure the coffee pot was well stocked.
It was still early, just after seven in the morning, but I knew our customers would start trickling in soon.
Mr. Arnold was always the first, the rest would start showing up fifteen to twenty minutes later.
I hummed a song softly, shifting my weight from one leg to the other, feeling the warm air on my bare skin and the short skirt of my uniform swaying with each of my movements.
Starting to work at Mr. Sweet Pancakes had been the best thing to happen to me in recent years.
The work could be hard at times, but Oliver was generous with his pay and acted like that cool uncle all the kiddos loved to see arrive, kind of like Aunt Lizzie.
Besides, the money I made there had allowed me to perform a small miracle.
Shortly after I started working at Mr. Sweet Pancakes, I saw an ad in one of the many newspapers Mr. Arnold took with him to the diner and immediately recognized the house that once belonged to my dad.
Aunt Lizzie was pressured by my mother to sell the house shortly after his death, so that the inheritance could be divided.
It ended up being bought by a family who liked to spend their summers in Silver River.
When I realized it was for sale again, it felt like a miracle.
I could recover something that was precious to me and had been lost.
The problem was the price.
The house had been sold for a pittance, but it returned to the market for a million and a half dollars.
Aunt Lizzie and I made it our life's mission to get it back.
She sold her apartment so we could put down a good deposit, and I took out a loan from the bank.
Papa's house had been ours again for five years, and I couldn't have done it without that job and Oliver's patience.
The door chime dinged.
I turned with a smile on my lips to greet our customers, wondering if it was Mrs. Mildred and her Chihuahua, Pistachio. However, what I saw made me freeze in my tracks.
Black suit pants and shirt. Tattoos coiling around his tanned neck.
Rectangular sunglasses hiding his eyes. That was the man who had just walked into Mr. Sweet Pancakes.
When he stopped in front of the counter, I shivered at his impressive stature.
He seemed to be over six feet tall, I was almost certain.
I took a deep breath. Waitress mode: activated.
“Welcome to Mr. Sweet Pancakes, sugar!” I greeted with my sweetest smile, sliding the menu across the counter. “You can see our options here. When you choose, just call—”
“Coffee. No sugar.” His rough, deep voice, with a thick accent, made me shrink a little. Everything about him seemed threatening to me, even the way he was now resting his forearms on the counter.
I gulped.
“Sure! Right away!” I tried to keep up the cheerful facade that had won over all our customers. There was something strange about that man, but he wasn't the first to show up, nor would he be the last. And I had learned not to ask too many questions.
I quickened my pace and filled a mug with coffee. Oliver's rule was simple. If a guy looked shady, serve him as quickly as possible and cross your fingers that he leaves fast.
“Here you go, sugar! Anything else?”
The rectangular lenses of his sunglasses caught my reflection. I held my breath, my cheeks aching as I kept smiling, waiting for a response while he sipped his coffee without taking his eyes off my dumbfounded face.
He grimaced, his nose wrinkled, and a discontented groan escaped his lips. My eyes widened and my friendly expression vanished, nervousness rising in my stomach. I waited for complaints. Instead, his words surprised me.
“Is this place usually busy?” I shivered a little and cleared my throat after hearing that voice again.
The man could very well work for a radio station or be the narrator of something. I don't think I've ever heard a voice with such a deep timbre in my entire life. And the accent was... beautiful. Could it be Spanish? Maybe Italian?
I put the charming smile back on my face. “It depends on the day and whether there's anything interesting going on in town!”
“Hmm.” Wow, a man of many words. “Any interesting regulars?”
“Oh, the usual and—”
“Daisy Doll.” Oliver interrupted, making me whirl around like a top. I tilted my head to one side, trying to understand why he had abandoned his sacred kitchen kingdom. “Can you go clean those tables? I'll take care of this gentleman.”
I opened my mouth for a moment to remind him that I had cleaned everything as soon as we opened, but the nod he gave me told me to get out of there. I quickly grabbed a cloth and cleaning spray and dashed out from behind the counter.
Shortly after Mr. Sweet Pancakes opened, we had some customers from Oliver's biker days.
Three burly men dressed in leather, chains, and metal band T-shirts, which was the same as saying, dressed just like Oliver.
When I tried to take their orders, my dear, precious, sweet boss almost beat me out from behind the counter.
I was furious for the first few minutes, wondering what was so wrong with me that I couldn't serve the men.
Until one of them jumped over the counter and they all started to fight.
From then on, lesson learned. If Oliver left the kitchen to deal with a customer, he probably had valid reasons.
Even so, I stayed close by, eavesdropping, and noticed how Mr. Arnold had pushed his glasses down to the tip of his nose and was looking sideways at the men, ignoring his faithful newspaper.
“I know everything about tattoos...” I heard Oliver comment, while rubbing the tabletop that was more than clean. If I rubbed it any harder, the varnish protecting the dark wood would come off.
“So, I take it you understand that silence is a fundamental quality.”
“Obviously,” Oliver replied. “What do you want to know?”
“If you have any important clients.”
I frowned, my hands slowing down. So, the mysterious man was looking for someone, huh?
“Local or state?” I paused, moving to the next table, squinting as I tried to make sense of the conversation.
“State.”
“Olivia Goodwin, District Attorney.”
My eyes widened and I couldn't help myself. I looked over my shoulder, wondering why the hell that idiot was talking about my best friend to the stranger. Noticing the stranger's head tilt slightly in my direction, I turned immediately to the table and rubbed the top vigorously.
If he gets Liv into some trouble, I'll cut his balls off.
“Anyone more… interesting?” insisted the stranger.
“Senator Madeleine Jones. She comes every day, without exception.”
That name made my throat tighten. I shook my head and moved away to other tables, my hands shaking. The men continued to talk, but my mind was spinning again, trying to take me away from there.
To the past, to twelve years ago, to Lester.
I shook my head and placed the backs of my hands on my forehead.
“Daisy Doll!” Oliver's voice startled me once more. I looked in his direction, surprised. He was still behind the counter, opposite the stranger. “Set up the corner table for our customer, please.”
“Right away!” I replied, back in my friendly waitress mode, with a wide smile.
I cleaned the corner table, rolling my eyes. At that rate, I was going to wear the varnish off the diner’s furniture. I quickly wiped the booth seats with the cloth and smiled at the stranger, who was already heading towards me.
I motioned for him to take a seat, forcing my cheeks to do their best to hold up my ‘I'm stupid, don't kill me’ smile. He lowered his huge body into the seat with surprising agility, and I nearly choked when I saw a pair of light green eyes peeking out from behind his glasses.
“I gather that, as your boss, you understand that silence is an indispensable quality.”
My smile died. I stood petrified in front of the man, terrified by that animalistic gaze that didn't leave me, not even to blink.
So beautiful... They are the eyes of a wolf.