Whispers of Winter: A Limited Edition Collection of Winter Romances

by Nicole Morgan

  The rest of the day was a blur, my mind filled with thoughts of that place. What kind of a name is Steak through the Heart for a restaurant anyway? I’m usually a courteous and friendly host. But today, I was off my game. I forgot to give people menus but still asked them if they were ready to order. I mixed up the orders of two tables, who were, luckily, very understanding.

  Every time someone came or went, the little brass bell over the door was struck, ringing at the same pitch and rate as the ones I’m now convinced are used as means of torture in hell. The bell rang yet again, and I cringed.

  “Do you need to go home,” Jesi finally asked. I couldn’t tell if she wanted me to say yes, or just wanted me to get my shit together.

  “No.” I said, letting a deep huff of air leave my lungs. “I’m good. I’m sorry.” I raked both hands through my hair and rubbed my face with an invisible washcloth. “I’m good. I promise.”

  “I hope so,” one of the prep cooks added. “You’re making me look bad.” He smirked. I threw him a playful glare.

  “Okay. Okay.” I put my hands up in submission. “I’ll just bus and clean tables. I’m sure I can’t fuck that up.” Jesi and the prep cooks exchanged looks among themselves. “What? What can I possibly do?”

  “Well...” the prep cook started to answer.

  “Nothing,” Jesi interrupted, politely finishing his sentence for him. “Bussing and cleaning is fine. We’ll cover the orders. Thank you.”

  The rest of the evening consisted of dirty dishes covered with half eaten sandwiches, slopped soup on bowls, and more cups and spoons than even I could ever want to count. And listening to that damn bell.

  My mind flew around the world and back again, scattering my thoughts across the universe, preventing me from staying on track or focusing on the tasks I was expected to complete. Being utterly distracted, I stacked too many dishes, in a pile too high, and too heavy. Not conceiving what I had done, I attempted to pick them up. After only two steps, I nearly had the disaster they all feared I would.

  One of the waiters happened to be walking by and steadied the tower of dirties before they crashed to the floor. He took more than half of them and helped me to the kitchen. He was nice enough not to say anything, or even give me an, I told you so glare.

  “Thank you,” I said humbly. I walked away, grabbing a rag and a spray bottle on the way back to the dining room. I’m such an idiot. I left the bussing of the tables to the experts and just cleaned up after them.

  As the bell jingled for what I thought would be the final time of the day, I watched the last customer walk out the door, turning to wave goodbye over her shoulder. Part of me was sorry to see her go, and part of me wished she would just hurry up and leave. Within seconds of the door closing, I heard that damn bell over the entryway jingle again. My entire body cringed. I felt my shoulders pull in so tightly they nearly touched my ears.

  “What now?” I mumbled and rigidly turned toward the entrance. But instead of seeing the obnoxiously chatty customer returning, I saw a very handsome man escorting his energetic young daughter through the door. The little girl of four years old sprang across the floor, her blonde curls bouncing with each hop.

  Jesi turned to see the pair entering and her face lit up. “Mommy!” The little girl squealed. She wrapped her arms around Jesi’s leg, smooshing her cheek as she squeezed her mother’s appendage. I could see by the look on the little one’s face she had been looking forward to this moment. Jesi’s husband kissed her lips and placed his hand on her distended belly, looking adoringly at the baby bump.

  Watching the beauty of this family interact, I felt a pang of jealousy tugging at my heart, making the empty space in my soul burn and ache.

  “You okay?” Jesi asked. She stroked my long auburn hair. The pain I felt inside must have been showing on my face. I need to work on that. “You look upset.”

  “Oh, yeah, well ...” I tried to defuse the situation quickly. “It’s just been one of those days. I just have some crazy thoughts running through my mind. You know how I get when I’m tired.”

  “Yes, I do,” Jesi said, wrapping her arms around me in a gentle hug. She smelled good. She smelled like vanilla. She smelled like my Mom. It’s the only thing I remember about her – the deliciousness of her fragrance. “Which is why I’m telling you to go home, take a hot bath and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Okay, Mom. Jesi hugged me tighter before taking a step back. She was only a few years older than I was but took care of me as a mother would. Or at least how I imagined a mother would. In that department, I truly didn’t have much experience or examples to compare.

  Jesi grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze. She spun around, grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair, and seemed to glide as she moved toward her husband. Tossing the light blue jacket around her shoulders, she attempted to pull it around her body, but the baby bump prevented it. She looked at me and we both smiled.

  The trio made their way out the door and I listened to the bell jingle. Again, it annoyed me, plucking at the nerve in the back of my neck like the strings of a guitar. I’m really beginning to hate that fucking bell.

  Chapter Two

  I didn’t sleep well that night. And not sleeping well makes for a very long and stressful morning.

  There are fourteen steps from my bed to the bathroom. There are twenty-three steps from my bedroom to the kitchen. And there are twenty-nine steps from the kitchen to my car. Forty-one items of clothing are currently in my washing machine, and sixty-six clothing items are folded in the laundry basket.

  More stress equals more counting.

  I did my best to hide how stressed I felt. It wasn’t easy, but I had to. The bell rang and pinged on the nerves in the back of my neck. I cringed, balled my fists, and let out a huff of breath. Turning, I saw a girl standing at the entrance – a cute girl. Maybe eleven or twelve. I grabbed a menu, put on my best fake smile, and walked to greet her.

  “Hi,” I said, smiling. “Welcome to Infusion. Would you like a table?”

  “Hello,” she said. Her voice was high pitched and sweet. “Yes. Please.” I escorted her to a table near the window and motioned or her to take a seat. I placed the menu on the table and studied her as she settled in – her tiny purse, pink cell phone, and Harry Potter shoes.

  “Can I get you some water while you look over the menu?” Shit. Was I ever that young?

  “Um, okay,” she said. Her voice wavered, unsure. I moved to the kitchenette area, prepared her a glass of water, and grabbed a wrapped set of silverware. As I walked back to her table, I watched a look of confusion wash over her face.

  “Is this your first time here?” I asked. I placed the water and silverware on the table.

  “Yes, it is.” She stared at her menu, flipping back and forth, as if something were going to jump off the page to help her decide. “I don’t know what to order. Or how to order, or what’s good here. I’ve had tea before, but nothing like this.” Her eyes scanned the page, following her finger up and down the columns. She looked up at me with a silent plea for help. “What should I order?”

  Normally someone who came into our teahouse not knowing anything about what to order would annoy me on a day like today. But this young girl seemed interested, intrigued, willing to listen and learn. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I can help you. What kinds of things do you like? What are your favorite flavors?”

  “Oh,” her eyes widened, and she smiled brightly. “I like vanilla. Cinnamon. Orange. Cherry.” I could see the excitement on her face.

  “Do you like blueberries?”

  “Oh, yes. Very much.” She wiggled in her chair.

  “Well then, I recommend the vanilla Chai tea and the blueberry scones. I promise you, you’ll love them.” The more I talked to the young girl, the less stressed I felt. “How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds delicious! But, um ...” she twisted and pulled the tiny purse off the back of her chair, and began to pull out wadded bills
of money, placing them on the table in front of her. Flattening out the dollars with her palm, she counted them, moving her lips as she did. “I only have eight dollars. Will that be enough?”

  I smiled at her. I knew with tax, and even if she only left me a small tip, eight dollars would barely cover the bill. But I didn’t tell her that. She seemed so excited to try what I’d recommended. I didn’t want to disappoint her. “Well you’re in luck,” I said. I wrote up the ticket and marked the price as seven dollars and ninety-nine cents even before I put in her order. “That’s exactly how much it is.” She smiled back at me. “I’m Peyton, by the way.”

  “I’m Angela.” She held out her hand, I took it softly in mine and shook it lightly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too, Angela. Give me just a few minutes and I’ll be back with your tea.” I walked away and put in her order. Stealing glances of her every few minutes, I watched as she scribbled in a small notebook with a bright pink pen. She would look out the window for a moment, the end of the pen between her teeth, and then quickly turned her eyes to her notebook and scribble, scribble, scribble. She was adorable.

  I served Angela her tea and scones and checked on her several times. “This is delicious,” she said, her mouth half full. She pointed to the two small scones left on the plate. “These are my new favorites. And I love this place.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I had a feeling you’d like them.” I glanced down to get a look at Angela’s notebook, but she closed it and pushed it to the side. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

  Angela hung out for another two hours, drinking tea and water, and jotting in her notebook. After a minute or two of pondering, I looked to the staff. “Samantha, I’m taking a break.” I grabbed myself a scone, a cup of tea, and joined Angela at her table.

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked. I offered my sweetest smile, hoping to win her over.

  “No, not at all,” she replied. Again, she covered her notebook, hiding whatever words she had gathered. I sat down and began eating my scone. “So how long have you worked here?” she asked.

  “I don’t just work here,” I said grinning proudly. “I’m the owner.” I popped a piece of scone in my mouth. “Me and my partner, Jesi.” I motioned toward Jesi walking out of the kitchen.

  “You own this place?” Angela seemed impressed. Her eyes widened. She leaned forward. “You actually own this place?” I nodded. “So, you can drink all the tea you want?” I nodded again. “And eat all the scones you want?”

  “Actually,” I leaned in closer to Angela. “I’m the one that makes the scones.”

  Angela smacked the table and fell back into her seat. “No way!” she said. Her voice neared squealing. She stared at me, intently for a moment, a look of deep thought washed over her face. “Can you teach me?”

  “Teach you? To make scones?” I tossed another piece into my mouth and chewed, considering her request. I’d never really taught anyone to make anything. “Um, maybe. Doesn’t your mom cook?”

  “I don’t have a Mom.” Her voice was softer, quieter, almost sad.

  Dammit. Well, now I feel like a total shit. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Angela said. She shrugged her shoulders and played with the spoon on her plate. “My parents died when I was a baby. I never really knew them. I live with my uncle. He’s raised me, so he’s like my Dad.”

  “Well, that’s pretty cool. He sounds like a pretty great guy.” Not too many of those out there. “Where is your uncle?”

  “He’s working.” Angela slumped down in her chair, looked out the window, and crossed her arms over her chest. I glanced down at the page of her tablet. It looked like a poem. I wanted to ask her about it. But, as she grabbed the tablet and held it close to her chest, perhaps in an attempt to conceal it, I decided against it. “He’s always working.”

  I drank the last of my tea and stacked the dishes. A small stack. Standing up from the table, I pushed in my chair. “Well,” I said turning to Angela. “We have a pretty great Wi-Fi connection. We introduce our tea of the week on Mondays. And I make a couple different flavors of scones every month.” Angela sat up in her seat and showed an intent interest in my words. “You’re more than welcome to come in anytime and stay as long as you’d like.”

  Angela’s mood seemed to lighten as she began to pack up her things. She handed me her eight dollars and headed toward the door. Spinning around on her heels, she turned to me with a big smile on her face. “Who do I need to talk to about permanently reserving that table?” She laughed.

  “Good night, Angela,” I chuckled. She’s adorable.

  “Good night,” she said. Angela pushed the door open and scurried out, and the bell jingled, as it always did. I paused. Looking at the door, I realized that for the first time in days, I didn’t cringe at the sound of that damn bell and smiled.

  Chapter Three

  After talking to Angela, I began to think about my parents. How I didn’t know them. How I’d never known them. How my mother had just abandoned me when I was seven years old. Her reason: she could no longer handle my issues. That’s what she had called them. Issues. Thinking about it made me anxious.

  Okay. Whatever. People aren’t born with issues, Mother. They happen. They develop. They are a result of an outside action. No one comes out of the womb counting things when they are stressed. People aren’t born with OCD.

  Before I knew it, I found myself in the pantry. My sanctuary. In the pantry, I could control things. I could make perfection from chaos. In the pantry, I could allow my OCD to take over and run its course until I felt better. Boxes stacked perfectly. Cans placed in perfect rows. Labels perfectly lined up and facing out. Perfection and control that I didn’t have in my life I could create and maintain in this space. Complete perfection.

  “Peyton.” Jesi’s voice came from behind. It had a soothing tone. She is going to be a great Mom. “Peyton it’s time to go home hon. Michael is here.”

  I stepped back and took in the mastery of my work. Perfect. I slowly rotated to face Jesi. “I’m ready,” I said, smiling. “What’s left to do?”

  “Nothing.” She replied putting her hands on her hips. “I had the minions do everything. Payday is tomorrow so they were more than happy to do all of it.”

  “Nothing? Really?” I teetered between relief and disappointment. I didn’t want to wash a sink full of dishes, but I wasn’t ready to go home yet, either.

  “Well, maybe sweeping the dining room,” Jesi walked next to me – or, she waddled, shuffling her feet. “I’m not sure Samantha got to it before she had to leave. I can do it though.”

  “No,” I said, moving past Jesi. “You need to get home and spend some time with your family.” I looked down at her swollen ankles and chuckled. “And put your feet up. I’ve got it.”

  “Are you sure?” Jesi put her hand on her hip and stretched backwards, projecting her already bulging belly even further.

  I grabbed the broom and dustpan from its place on the wall and walked into the main dining room. “Absolutely.” I gently wrapped my free arm around Jesi and rubbed her shoulder. “Make the hubby give you a massage. And let’s hurry up and get someone hired so you can start your pre-maternity-leave time off.”

  “The ad starts tomorrow so the calls should start after the morning edition hits.” Michael helped Jesi with her coat. They are so damn cute. Wish I could find a guy like that. But no guy wants someone who’s broken. I stretched my calf, feeling the pull on the scar tissue. A constant reminder of just how broken my body was. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said. Michael escorted Jesi to the door. The bell jingled, and Michael paused.

  “Do you want me to take that down?” He looked at me, pointing at the bell. “I can install an electronic system that you can turn off at closing time”

  I smiled. “Really? That would be great.” I felt something, I’m not sure what, lighten in my chest, in my absolute center. I just felt lighter. “T
hat would be so great. Thank you, Michael.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll do this weekend. Can you handle the bell for a couple more days?”

  “I can now that I know it won’t be there for forever,” I laughed. Jesi put her hand on Michael’s chest and she kissed his cheek. They continued out the door. I leaned the broom and dustpan against one of the tables and moved to the doorway.

  “Oh,” Jesi turned sideways, giving me a more realistic view of her size. Is she sure there aren't twins in there? “And don’t forget about your rehab appointment in the morning.”

  “Oh yeah.” Shit. Rehab. “Thanks for reminding me. I almost forgot.” I think I was hoping to forget.

  “Don’t worry about anything here,” she said, pointing her swollen pregnant finger at me. “I’ve got it covered. Samantha is coming to help me open.”

  Samantha. Kiss ass. “I should be done by noon at the latest.”

  “Don’t watch the clock. Just do what you need to do.”

  Jesi walked out and I locked the door behind her. I grabbed the broom and began sweeping, moving from the front door toward the center of the room. Suddenly, and seemingly from out of nowhere, a song popped in my head. Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone. I began to hum. After a few bars, I began to sing.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and found the song on Spotify. I placed the phone on the table, and as the music started, the broom in my hand became my dance partner. The weight of the world, the day, my OCD flew away as I moved and swayed my body to the music.

  I flipped the broom, balancing the rounded wooden handle on the floor, the straw bottom facing upward. Flipping the broom from my right hand to my left, I shifted my weight, pointed my toes, and dipped the broom until it nearly touched the floor. I began to sing along to the words, softly. Lifting the broom, I held it to my chest and allowed it to roll down the opposite arm, and rested it across one of the chairs, abandoning my partner for the free movement I craved.