The New Hope Cafe

by Dawn Atkins

  She sent her daughter out to the car for a book to read, tied on the apron and got to work, acting like she’d been here months, not minutes. Maybe his luck had changed after all.

  She was clipping slips to his wheel, rattling off the orders when he finished her food and set the plates on the ledge. “You should eat.” He’d put her to work hungry. What a jerk.

  “When there’s time.” She set up her daughter with lemonade, then came into the kitchen to prep the sides. The perfume she wore hung in the air. She smelled…pink.

  How the hell did pink smell?

  When she breezed past him going after the bagged slaw, he got a nice blast and figured it out. Cotton candy.

  A few minutes later, he heard her speak to the little girl. “Please try. You didn’t eat breakfast.”

  The kid was rail-thin. She buried her nose in the matted fur of that stuffed animal. What the hell was it? The ragged ears were long, so a rabbit maybe.

  The woman huffed in frustration. Noticing Jonah watching, she shot him another fake smile. He’d bet a real one would be a sight to see.

  Once she’d walked away, he leaned out the window. “Hey,” he called to the girl. When she looked up, he said, “Try the ketchup cure.” He nodded at the squeeze bottle by the napkin dispenser. “Squirt on a good dose. It works.”

  He turned to his grill so he wouldn’t make her nervous. No one liked being watched when they ate, least of all a picky eater. Evan had gone through a phase.

  After a bit, the mom came back to check on her daughter. “You ate a lot.” She made it sound like a miracle. “What’s on your cheek?” She wiped off the red smear.

  “It’s ketchup. He said it’s a cure.” The girl pointed at Jonah.

  The woman looked at him. “I didn’t realize condiments had healing powers.”

  He shrugged. “Depends on what ails you, I guess.”

  “Evidently.” She held his gaze, her blue eyes full of relief and gratitude and…something else.

  That certain spark.

  He felt it, too—like an oil pop in the center of his chest, sharp and hot and surprising. He hadn’t felt that in so long he’d forgotten its power.

  The woman seemed startled as well, and when she called out the new orders, her voice had a rasp to it.

  When the tour group finally cleared out, he took a twenty from the register and went to where she was paying Ernesto out of her tips.

  He held out the cash. “You saved my ass. Your food’s on the house, too.”

  “It was fun,” she said, taking the twenty. “It brought back good memories.” She reached behind her to untie her apron, arching her back and drawing his eye to her chest. Great rack, Evan would say. That made Jonah think of playing pool, but that made no sense because breasts weren’t triangular or—

  Why the hell was he analyzing her tits?

  “Huh?” he said, realizing she’d said something.

  “The tie’s knotted. Would you mind?” She turned her back to him.

  He was picking at the string when Rosie came through the door, saw them and stopped dead. “You came in after all?” she said to the woman. “You’re Dell Morgan’s niece, right? Monica?”

  “No. My name’s, uh, CJ.” She seemed to have to think about that. Rosie’s gruffness threw people.

  “She’s a customer,” Jonah said. “She used to waitress so she helped with a busload of tourists.”

  “Good deal. I’m Rosie Underhill. I own this place.” She gave the woman’s hand a hard shake. “You met my nephew.”

  “Not formally.” She turned to him.

  He would have sent her on her way without asking her name or giving her his. Typical. He did better alone in his shop, at the grill or in his cave of a trailer. “Jonah Gold.” He held out his hand.

  “Nice to meet you.” Her hand was small, her fingers delicate as balsa, so he gentled his grip.

  “You want the job, it’s yours,” Rosie said. “Hours are six to three. You’ll probably clear one-fifty a shift, more on the weekends when the tourists hit.”

  “We’re just passing through,” CJ said. “We had car trouble. Jonah recommended Duvall Auto Works.”

  “Yeah?” Rosie thought about that. “Rusty’s good. Just don’t let him charge you for the chitchat. So, you on vacation?”

  “Uh, no. We’re moving.” She clearly didn’t want more questions. “And I have a job there.”

  “Where’s there?”

  “Back off, Rosie,” Jonah said. “She said no.”

  “It’ll likely take Rusty a day or two to get parts. How about you cover a few shifts while you wait?”

  “I hope it’s minor,” CJ said, biting her full bottom lip. Top and bottom made a puffy heart shape. A better look for the hearts he’d sketched for the mahogany bench he’d been working on, now that he thought about it. Very soft. Pillowy, even.

  “You know how it is with engines,” Rosie said. “Once they start messing around, all hell breaks loose.” She was pushing hard, which meant there weren’t any other waitress candidates. He’d be stuck with Rosie and she was too damn cranky to serve customers.

  The door clanged. All three turned to see Larry Claymore and his poker buddies walk in. They’d had their monthly all-nighter, which they wrapped up with burgers, fries and trash talk.

  Right behind them came a dozen high school girls in skimpy athletic gear. Cheerleader camp had let out for the day.

  “Damn,” he and Rosie said at the same time.

  “If I get Rusty to come out here to look at your car will you finish out the day?” Rosie asked CJ.

  “Rosie…” Jonah started.

  “Fifty bucks on top of your tips. How’s that?”

  That caught the woman’s attention. “And you’ll get the mechanic out here?” When Rosie nodded, CJ said, “Okay. Let me tell my daughter.” She walked away, retying the strings Jonah had freed.

  A minute later, she had the weary poker players cheerfully putting together their tables and gathering up flatware, while she took the cheerleaders’ orders, acting relaxed, but moving quickly, not wasting a second.

  “She’s good,” Rosie noted. “What’s the big secret about where she’s going?”

  “Not everybody wants to blurt their life story to a nosy stranger.”

  “Like you’re a shining example, Mr. People Person. You didn’t even ask her name. You know the little girl’s?”

  He shrugged.

  “Figures. She’s probably bored brainless. Bet I can come up with something to keep her busy.”

  “Don’t start, Rosie.” He could practically hear the gears grinding.

  “Start what?” she asked innocently.

  “Whatever you’re plotting. Call Rusty like you promised, then find me another waitress.”

  She waved him away, intent on her mission.

  Soon, CJ was calling out orders. The poker players wanted double cheeseburgers all around, the cheerleaders BLTs, chocolate shakes and piles and piles of fries.

  “No go on the fries,” he told CJ. “All that’s left is a torn bag with freezer burn.”

  “I can work with that,” she said and dashed off.

  A minute later, the fries were sizzling and she was making shakes. She’d figured out the timing on the finicky machine without wasting a drop of syrup, unlike Darlene, who ruined every third shake.

  Rosie was right. She was good.

  Jonah expected to be annoyed with her crowding i
nto his kitchen, but she zipped and flitted like the sprite in that game, and she smelled so damn pink.

  He shook his head at himself.

  CJ caught his expression and stopped short. “Did I do something wrong?” She seemed hyperaware, as if braced for trouble.

  “No. You’re doing great.”

  “Good.” She blew out a breath, then squeezed past him, just brushing his backside, setting off a reaction belowdecks, like he was a kid again, late for class because the sight of a bra strap had given him a hard-on.

  When she returned to the fries, she shifted to avoid bumping him, lost her balance and would have landed an elbow on the hot grill if he hadn’t grabbed her arm.

  When he did, her face went ashen with fear.

  “You were about to get burned,” he explained.

  “Oh. Right.” She was too shook up to even fake a smile. He’d scared her. He hated that. It reminded him of that time with Jared, when Suzanne had covered her face, cringing, as if she thought Jonah would hit her next.

  Shame surged through him, as fresh as that night. Like a wounded beast, he’d struck out in pain, done what he’d sworn never to do—behaved like his father.

  More proof that he’d had no business getting married. He’d known already he wasn’t built for it, that when the chips were down, he would fail the people he loved. After that, he knew he could do worse. He could hurt them.

  “Try this.”

  He turned to find CJ holding out a fry. He smelled aged cheese, hot potato and corn oil. He pulled her hand closer and bit off the top, registering the contact and the taste at once, a one-two punch of pleasure.

  Their eyes met and awareness burned between them. Cooks tasted each other’s food all the time. But this felt more personal somehow.

  Jonah released her hand and focused on the bite. “What’d you do?”

  “Double fried them and coated them with parmesan.”

  “Not bad.” The cheese made it tart and creamy, the double frying gave a crisp outside and a moist center.

  “Not bad?” She ate the bottom half, eyebrows dipped in concentration. “It’s delicious.”

  “The girls will just smother them in ketchup.”

  “We’ll just see about that.” She loaded a platter with the fries and carried them to the cheerleaders, hips swaying in a way that held his gaze until she reached her destination.

  A few minutes later CJ bounded back for more orders. “They said the fries were epic. Totally too good for ketchup.” Triumph shone in her eyes and made her smile. This one lit up her whole face, like in the video game when the character peered into the treasure box of powers.

  A sight to see for sure.

  It would stay with him, he could tell, the way the feel of freshly sanded wood stuck with him long after he’d left the shop.

  “Don’t gloat,” he said.

  “Can’t help it.” He liked the gleam in her eyes. It was sure and steady, not scared or jumpy, like when she first walked in. “I did want to thank you for that ketchup tip with my daughter. Bunny.”

  She turned to where the girl had been sitting. “Where is she?” Her eyes were wide.

  He started to explain about Rosie, but she bolted for the hall.

  He followed her.

  She burst out of the ladies’ room. “She’s not there.”

  “I’m sure she’s upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?” She was breathing hard, her eyes big and afraid.

  “With Rosie. Hang on.” He pulled out his cell and hit Rosie’s speed-dial number. CJ watched, holding her breath.

  “You got CJ’s girl up there?” Jonah asked when Rosie answered.

  “I told you I’d keep her busy.”

  He gave CJ a quick nod to relieve her. “You’ve got her mom worried sick.”

  CJ reached for the phone. “I need to know where my daughter is at all times,” she said, clearly trying to hold down her anger. “I appreciate that, of course, but—” She listened. “And the mechanic is…what?” She frowned. “That’s not good.” She listened more. “That’s kind of you, but I’m sure there’s a motel in town we could—” Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? It does? I’ll think about it.... Thank you.” She handed Jonah his phone, looking dazed. She’d been run through the Rosie wringer.

  “Rusty’s got a bachelor party in Yuma,” CJ said, “so he can’t look at my car until tomorrow.”

  “You could try the mechanic at the Shell, but he’s not that good. Small towns.” He shrugged.

  “Rosie invited us to stay with her. I hate to impose.” She gave him a questioning look.

  “She’s got the extra beds.” Though the last time Jonah had seen the rooms they were crammed to the rafters with overflow from her vintage shop.

  “She said the Sleep Inn has bedbugs. Is that true?”

  Rosie. He had to laugh. “I doubt that. She probably figures if you stay upstairs tonight, you’ll work downstairs tomorrow.”

  “I see.” He noticed she had freckles like a shake of cinnamon across her nose and her blond hair had darker streaks like ray flake in an oak plank. “I guess it makes sense to stay really....”

  “Up to you.” But he felt a jolt of pleasure at the prospect. Maybe Rosie’s schemes weren’t all bad.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CARA STARTED UP the stairs to Rosie’s apartment, the pleasant smell of old wood and fried food reminding her of Dolly’s, where she’d worked in high school. She’d loved it there. She’d felt useful and competent and it had been her haven from her mother’s constant boyfriend drama.

  As soon as Cara had picked up the order pad, she’d felt a burst of the confidence she’d felt at Dolly’s. She’d needed it badly.

  She heard Jonah climbing behind her. She felt uneasy with him back there thinking the kind of thoughts men were hardwired to think when a woman’s backside crossed their sightline. Since Barrett, men scared her, especially big men like Jonah.

  Except there had been that moment. He’d zoomed under her radar helping Beth Ann and when their eyes met, she’d felt a hot twist of a feeling she hardly remembered: physical desire. She’d seen it in his eyes, too.

  It had scared her a little.

  She reached the top and turned to him.

  “You okay?” he asked, evidently reading her tension.

  He had kind eyes, she saw, and her anxiety faded.

  “A little dazed,” she said. “This happened fast.”

  “Rosie can spin you around, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”

  His words hit home. She had the stupid urge to cry. “Thank you,” she mumbled, turning for the door so he couldn’t see her so weak.

  Entering the apartment, Jonah called out, “Rosie, don’t shoot. It’s me and CJ.” He led her through a living room jammed with ’60s furniture and knickknacks, then to the kitchen, where Rosie and Beth Ann were playing cards at a red Formica table with chrome legs.

  The kitchen was done in ’50s style, with black-and-white linoleum tile, a red sink and red appliances. Chickens and roosters decorated everything from the wallpaper to the refrigerator magnets. “Rosie taught me poker,” Beth Ann said.

  “Ante up, you little hustler.” Rosie pushed five red jelly beans into the center of the table.

  “What’s a hustler?” Beth Ann asked.

  “A pro who pretends she’s never played the game. You’re skinnin’ me alive here.” Rosie waved at her smaller mound of candies.

  Bet
h Ann beamed.

  The jelly beans reminded Cara of her grandmother, who used to bake jelly beans inside buns, with each color meaning a different fortune. She called them her “good-luck” buns and made them when she had a decision to make or just to cheer herself up.

  Beth Ann turned her hand so Cara could see that she had a full house.

  “Hell’s bells, I fold,” Rosie said.

  “You’re supposed to raise,” Beth Ann said.

  “Not when you’ve got a killer hand.”

  “You looked? That’s cheating.”

  “I didn’t have to. You need to work on your poker face, kid. No matter what you draw, you can’t show it. Totally no emotion.”

  “I can do that easy,” Beth Ann said. The truth of that made Cara sad. Her daughter had been a brave soldier since the attack.

  “We’re grateful to you for your hospitality, Rosie,” Cara said.

  “You haven’t seen the rooms yet,” Jonah said.

  “Don’t be so smart, Mr. Interior Design Star,” Rosie said. “Move a few boxes to the laundry room if you have to.”

  “A few boxes?” Jonah chuckled, then led Cara to the end of the hall, where she saw what he meant. The room was crammed with furniture, boxes, ’60s lamps and more knickknacks.

  “Rosie has a vintage shop in town. This is the stuff she can’t bear to sell.” He went to the casement window and yanked up the blinds, letting the late-afternoon light wash the room in gold.

  Cara went to look out the window. Below, she saw a huge vegetable garden, shaded by netting. “Is that garden Rosie’s?”

  “Yes. Not that she’s happy about it. It was her husband Eddie’s idea. Same with the café.”

  “Is he…gone?”

  “Dead, yeah. Before I was born. Blood clot after a routine surgery.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “Rosie kept the garden, the café and the antique shop in his honor. If Eddie loved it, Rosie kept it.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “Sweet? God, don’t let Rosie hear you call her that.”