Chapter 8
EIGHT
Love is something cheerful. Actually, love is the answer.
Saturday showed up overcast and gloomy. Which seemed fair as it was the day Gil would be moving onto Ollie’s property. I got up at five as usual. Oliver and I headed over to the café where we’d be busy from the moment I flipped the lock on the door until we closed.
Opening on Saturdays was one of the few changes I’d made since Ollie’s passing. We started about three months ago and it had been an instant hit. Ollie never, and I mean never, worked weekends. He wasn’t real big on anything that messed with his routine.
I think that’s why the entire town was surprised when Ollie had taken to Oliver and me so quickly.
Especially Oliver. The two of them had been inseparable some days—going fishing, watching old cartoons, taking long walks on the twenty acres behind the house.
Someone had nicknamed them the Double Os, which delighted Oliver.
I even had matching t-shirts made for them and, shockingly, Ollie wore it.
It should have been weird, I guess, a single mom and her son living with the grumpy old man who bordered on antisocial.
Maybe others thought that. But Ollie had given me something I had desperately needed—a reason to keep going, a space to learn and grow, a new dream I hadn’t realized.
Sure, he hadn’t been eloquent with his words, and he was set in his ways, but he had a heart bigger than anyone realized.
But, boy, oh, boy would he have hated Saturday brunch.
A month ago, the Houston newspaper had started a series about small towns in the area.
Ali had campaigned hard to get Two Harts a spot, but she’d made it happen.
After the paper had done a review of the Sit-n-Eat (and my chocolate zucchini muffins), business had picked up more than we expected.
I was even considering hiring another server.
When we got to the café, Main Street was quiet and still, the dusky-purple early February sky hinting at daybreak.
Most of the shops wouldn’t open until later in the morning.
I let us in the back door and Oliver took off to turn on all the lights—a task he did every single morning.
The clink of the chairs being taken from the tables and set on the floor came next, another of his chores.
After putting on an apron, I pulled out the ingredients to make the pancake and waffle mix in bulk.
We’d go through a lot of it today. The kitchen was small and outdated.
Not enough counterspace, as Jorge was quick to point out, but it had a small island, a finicky walk-in fridge, a large griddle, and double ovens.
Would I like to give it a makeover? One day. But for now, it worked.
The dining room, on the other hand, needed a major overhaul.
The once bright-yellow walls were faded and chipped; most of the seven tables wobbled.
The booths along the walls were solid but the red vinyl that covered them had seen better days—about forty years ago.
The floor was basic linoleum in a muddy (and unappetizing) brown.
Tarnished metal stools were tucked under the counter for more seating.
It was clean and tidy though, and people didn’t seem to notice the imperfections here.
Instead, they found good food and better company.
As one of the two oldest continuous businesses in Two Harts, this place held a whole town’s worth of history.
One wall was covered in senior class photos from the high school.
It was tradition that every year on Senior Skip Day, the kids would end up at the Sit-n-Eat for lunch.
That day, they’d present Ollie with a class photo, which he hung up on the wall next to all the others, going back decades.
Sadness pinged my heart; Ollie wouldn’t be here to do that this year.
He’d always complained about having to deal with all the teenagers but every now and then, I’d catch him looking at those class photos with a mix of nostalgia and pride.
On the other walls were Holder family photos through the years, newspaper clippings that mentioned the Sit-n-Eat, or any Two Harts’ residents for that matter.
I pushed through the half-door and into the dining room.
Oliver skidded to a halt in front of me. “Mommy, I turned on all the lights, set the chairs up, put the con-a-ments?—”
“Condiments.”
“Yeah, that. I put those on the tables. Can I help put the money in the register?”
“Sure.” I figured by the time he was ten, he’d be running the place on his own and I could relax a little.
Ten minutes later, Oliver was sitting at the counter eating an orange spice muffin and chattering away. “Is today when Mr. Dalton comes?”
My shoulders tensed. “Yes.”
“I’m going to draw him a picture so I can give it to him.”
“Why?”
“’Cause we’re gonna be friends.”
Sighing, I leaned next to him at the counter. “We talked about this. He’s a stranger. You need to keep your distance.”
“But he’s Ollie’s grandson.” Oliver’s lips pulled to the side. “Ollie said he was a good guy.”
I froze. “Ollie said what?”
Oliver’s eyes darted from my face to his muffin. “Um, he said?—”
The back door burst open, and Jorge yelled, “Morning.”
“Jorge’s here.” Oliver popped up and ran to the kitchen, I suspected more in a hurry to get out of answering that question than saying hello to Jorge. We would be revisiting that later.
Jorge got to work with any prep he needed with a surprisingly chipper attitude.
Then again, the guy had six kids at home.
Sometimes I thought he viewed work as a vacation.
After sending Oliver into the office to watch cartoons, I settled down with a cup of coffee and an egg-and-sausage breakfast muffin.
Had to eat before we opened. There wouldn’t be time again until we closed.
Iris dragged herself in fifteen minutes before we opened, looking a little rough around the edges.
Her blonde and pink hair was wound messily atop her head, and she didn’t have a drop of makeup on.
After hightailing it to the coffee, she sighed deeply with the first sip and leaned against the counter.
“Rough night?” I asked.
“Being in love sucks.”
Iris and her boyfriend Aidan had been together for three years. The first two years, they attended the nearby community college, but this year, Aidan had moved to Lubbock after getting a scholarship to Texas Tech.
“Ouch. Do you want to talk about it?”
“He brought up marriage again.” Absently, she fiddled with the slim gold band, the small round diamond catching the light, on her left ring finger. Aidan had given her the promise ring at Christmas.
“And?’
“And I don’t know.” She slipped on her apron and patted the pocket for her order pad. “I’m not even sure I want to get married, like, ever.”
“I don’t have much advice on the subject of marriage.” Never married, and all that. “But I don’t think you should rush into anything if you don’t feel right about it.”
“Yeah.” She stared over my shoulder. “I guess it seems like I should feel right about it though. I love him. My mom loves him, Mae loves him. But maybe tha?—”
Someone rapped on the front door impatiently, interrupting whatever she might have said. When I saw who it was, I groaned. “Why is he here?”
He was Peter Stone, former mayor of Two Harts, former jackass boyfriend to Mae, and Two Harts’ newest real estate “developer,” the same one who’d apparently contacted Ollie’s estate attorney about buying the property.
“I got it.” Iris sauntered over to the door. She made a big deal of checking the imaginary watch on her wrist.
Peter thumped the glass door with all the impatience of a three-year-old. “Open up, already.”
Iris cupped an ear. “I’m sorry. Did you say something? You know we open at seven on Saturdays and it’s six fifty-eight.”
“Come on, I’m in a hurry.”
“Ellie,” she said, “do you think we could open a couple minutes early?”
I tapped a finger on my chin, playing along. I had to take joy where I could find it, ya know? “No, I don’t think so. How would that be fair to the other customers?”
“That’s what I thought.” She shook her head, her expression both sad and gleeful all at once. “So sorry. You’ll have to wait.”
Peter banged against the door once more before turning around and pacing the sidewalk. Two minutes later, he thumped again on the door and pressed his phone against the window. “Seven o’clock on the dot.”
“Oh, look, he can tell time,” Iris said. “Before we know it, he’ll be able to add and subtract. Our little boy is growing up.”
The look Peter gave her could have set her on fire. If eyes could do that. Which seemed like a waste of a superpower if you asked me. What if you accidentally set someone on fire when you sneezed, or something?
The snick of the door lock turning was followed by Peter’s voice directed toward Iris. “You are ridiculous.”
Iris arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” he said, adjusting his shirt. “You and your sister, both ridiculous.”
An achingly sweet smile spread across her face.
With the blonde hair and blue eyes, Iris looked like the girl next door.
All apple-cheeked and sturdy, tall frame.
Like she would gladly bake you a pie right after she milked the family cow.
“Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee, orange juice? Something easy to spit in?”
“You wouldn’t.”
She twirled around and strolled toward the counter. “Sure.”
“Iris, there is no spitting in anyone’s coffee,” I said without any heat.
“Even if they have stupid soul patches?”
“Not even if the devil walked in and asked for a frittata and a cup of tea.” With a quick pat to Iris’s arm, I marched over to the front window and flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN. “Very bad for business.”
“You never let me have any fun.” Pouting, Iris traipsed into the kitchen and asked Jorge loudly, “If I found a roach, would you be able to hide it in someone’s order? Asking for a friend, of course.”
I bit back a laugh. “So, Pete, what can I get for you this early on a Saturday?”
He hated being called Pete. I knew that; he knew that I knew that. Still, he flashed his best “trust me” smile. “Just here to say hello and get me one of those amazing blueberry muffins.”
Yeah, sure. “Let me get that for you then.”
With a smile, I placed a blueberry muffin in a to-go bag and handed it over to Peter. He paid and leaned across the counter. “Heard you came into a little bit of property. Twenty acres of prime Two Harts real estate, to be exact. Have you thought about what your plans are?”
“I am not interested in selling.”
“Don’t be hasty. Think about it.” He snapped his fingers. “I heard Ollie has a grandson.”
“Yes,” I said warily.
“And that he also inherited Ollie’s property.”
“And?”
“I heard he’ll be around for the next six months. Gonna have to introduce myself to him.”
“We are not selling,” I said firmly, ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach. “You can stop asking. It’s not happening.”
Peter smiled. It was not a nice smile. “We’ll see.”
Whistling, he grabbed his muffin and sailed past Iris to the door.
She shivered. “Did anyone else feel that chill? It was like a sheet of ice passed right in front of me. Mama says that’s what it feels like when a demon passes by.”
“Shut up, Iris,” he growled.
“Oh, Peter. I didn’t see you there.” She smiled sweetly.
He muttered something about evil waitresses before the door shut behind him.
The morning melted away quickly. The café filled up, a few people passing through from Houston.
The group of old men from town who practically made their home at the Sit-n-Eat huddled around two tables where they’d nurse a cup of coffee for two hours.
Sometimes they brought out a chess board to keep them busy.
They took up space for other paying customers, but they also liked to give Iris a hard time and that was worth it.
It was eleven o’clock before the anxiety started to kick in. Anytime now, Gilbert Dalton would be here. In Two Harts. For the next six months.
“Miss Ellie, Miss Ellie,” a voice called about three seconds before a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist. “I missed you.”
“Girl, I missed you, too.” I smiled down at Annie Littlefoot. Annie was in her thirties. Short and stout with bright-red hair and the biggest smile around, she’d never met a stranger. She also had Down syndrome.
Her face split into a wide, devilish grin. “I have a boyfriend now.”
“Annie, he’s not your boyfriend,” her father, Malcolm, said, coming up behind her. Once upon a time, Malcolm had been a writing professor before retiring to Two Harts where he’d grown up. Before that, Annie had lived at home but when her mother passed away, she’d moved to a group home.
It had been a hard transition from what I could tell.
Annie had changed homes three times over the last two years but seemed to have settled into the one she was at now.
Still, she was over two hours away. Although he had turned eighty last year, Malcolm made that trek every week so Annie could come home for the weekend.
“Hi, Ellie,” Malcom said.
Annie crossed her arms and glared at her father. “Yes, he is. He took me on a date. We went bowling.”
“Honey, he works there. It’s his job to take you bowling.”
“Whatever, Dad.” Annie plopped into the booth at their regular table.
“I’m too old for this,” Malcolm said quietly so only I could hear. “She needs her mother for this.”
I patted his shoulder. “You’re doing great.”
“Sure wish she were closer,” he said. “That drive through Houston is enough to give me a heart attack.”
I took their order, got a smile out of Annie, and did a round with the coffee pot. Just as their order was ready, my phone vibrated with a message. I pulled it from my back pocket and stared down at the notification from a number I didn’t recognize.
“You okay?” Malcolm asked when I set his chorizo and cheese breakfast burritos in front of him.
“Totally okay. The okay-iest of okays.”
Malcolm hummed. “If you say so.”
“I do. Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
My phone vibrated again. I marched back to the kitchen and opened my messages.
UNKNOWN NUMBER : Hello.
ME : Who is this?
UNKNOWN NUMBER : This is Gilbert Dalton. I got your number from the attorney.
ME : Right. Gil.
GILBERT : Gilbert.
ME : That’s what I said.
GILBERT : No, you said Gil. My name is Gilbert.
My mouth twitched. For some reason, I could picture him frowning, all stern-faced and laser-eyed and school principal-like, annoyed at me for daring to call him something other than his full name.
ME : So I’ve heard.
I swore I could hear his sigh of exasperation via text.
GILBERT : I’ll be in town around 2p.m. Don’t worry; I have a tent.
ME : Roger that, Gil.
He did not respond back. I saved him in my phone as PRINCIPAL GIL.