by Dylann Crush
Once I reached the center of downtown, the house I grew up in would be another twenty-five minute drive. I’d drained my coffee over an hour ago and hadn’t eaten since I’d run through a drive-thru last night. Might be better to fuel up on caffeine and fill my stomach before seeing my mom.
As I drove down Main Street, the bright neon sign of the Lovebird Café caught my eye. My stomach growled. I could almost smell the fresh fried chicken and homemade biscuits I’d enjoyed so many times in the past. Bright hanging baskets filled with pink and white flowers hung from the awning in front, begging me to stop in.
Another half hour wouldn’t make much of a difference in my long-overdue return home. My mouth watered in anticipation. Just imagining a platter of blueberry pancakes or one of their famous cinnamon rolls had me pressing on the brake.
By the time I managed to park my truck and the trailer I’d hauled behind it, my belly groaned and griped like I hadn’t eaten in ages. I glanced up, running my gaze over the loopy letters advertising the weekly special at the Lovebird Café. Mav was right. Maybe I was due for a little R&R. And I’d start with a giant platter of steak and eggs. Might even add on a Danish or two.
If I had to be back in Swallow Springs, the café was as good as any place to make my first appearance. Odds were no one would even recognize me. And hopefully none of them watched late night TV. I’d been gone fifteen years. Things around here had to have changed in that amount of time.
I was counting on it.
2
Harmony
“Mom, come quick. It’s an emergency!”
If I had a dollar—or even a quarter—for every time my son, Liam, summoned me for an “emergency” that turned out to be nothing but an attempt to snag my attention, I wouldn’t be waiting tables at the Lovebird Café. I took my time responding. First, I topped off the coffee mugs of the two regulars sitting at the counter, then turned to slide the carafe onto the hot plate.
“What do you think it is this time?” Mr. Blevins, a widowed, retired math teacher from the high school, leaned his elbows onto the counter.
“Who knows?” I shrugged, rounding the counter before heading toward the front door.
My thirteen-year-old son stood on the sidewalk in front of the café. With his fists on his hips, he appeared to be yelling at someone or something across the street. Since we’d moved to Swallow Springs a few weeks ago, he’d done nothing but cause trouble. The move was supposed to provide a safe place for him, far away from the rough crowd he’d gotten involved with out in LA.
“What’s going on?” I pushed through the door, causing the overhead bell to jingle. “You’d better not be picking a fight.”
“Come quick.” Liam grabbed my hand, dragging me around the corner to the back of the parking lot where I’d left the old pick-up truck my cousin Robbie had loaned me.
“I’m in the middle of a shift. You’d better stop right now and tell me what’s going on.” I planted my feet, not willing to budge until Liam filled me in.
“That douche Rodney—”
“Liam. I won’t have you talking like that.” Based on everything else that had been going on, his language ought to be the least of my concerns, but I couldn’t help but go into auto-correct mom mode.
“He’s a dick, Mom.”
“Liam.” Teeth clenched together, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Language.”
“Fine. D-bag Rodney and his friends were chasing something down the sidewalk. Whatever it was ran back here and under the hood. I think they were trying to hurt it.” Liam set his palm on the hood of the truck.
My heart warmed. Liam might cause trouble from time to time, but he had a tendency to stand up for anyone and anything weaker than him if he sensed an injustice.
“Looks like you scared the boys away. I’m sure whatever it is will crawl down and run back into the woods. You’d better get going or you’re going to be late for school.” I pulled him into my side. He gave me a half-hearted hug in return. I counted my blessings every day that he was still willing to hug me, even if it was half-assed.
“But what if it’s stuck?”
“It got in there, it can get out, okay?”
“Are you sure?”
Technically I had no idea. Before a few weeks ago my only regular interaction with wildlife was limited to shooing away the nagging seagulls at Ventura Beach. But in the time we’d been in Swallow Springs, we’d already had run-ins with a scraggly rooster and a persistent albino squirrel that regularly raided the birdfeeder I’d managed to hang in the front yard of our temporary living quarters.
“By the time I’m done with my shift, I’m sure it will be long gone.” I put an arm over Liam’s shoulders. If he got any taller it would be impossible to continue to do that without rising onto my tiptoes. My heart twinged. If his father could see him now…would he be amazed at what a little man our son had turned into? I shook the thought away. Liam’s dad had no right to know anything about his son. He’d made a different choice years ago.
“You promise to look before you leave? Just in case?” Liam spun to face me. The look of concern on his face begged for reassurance.
“Yep. Pinky swear.” I held out my pinky and he wrapped his little finger around mine, sealing my promise with the gesture we’d used since he was just a kid.
“All right.”
“See you at three, okay?” During his limited time at the Swallow Springs Middle School, he’d already been banned from the bus which meant he had to ride into work with me in the mornings then walk the few blocks to school. It also meant I had to stick around to pick him up after, unless I wanted to make another hour-long trip back and forth into town.
“See ya.” Liam skulked down the sidewalk, leaving me to wonder if I’d made the right decision by pulling him away from the only place he’d ever known.
“Everything okay?” My boss, Cassie, joined me.
“Yeah. He was defending some sort of animal that might have crawled under the hood of the truck.”
“Did he say what it was?”
“No, he didn’t get a good look at it. He said those kids were chasing it. Rodney somebody.”
“Yeah, he’s a troublemaker.” Cassie shook her head.
“Do you think I was wrong to bring Liam here? What if he never fits in?”
Cassie put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. “He’s a good kid. He’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so.”
“You sure you can handle things here for a bit? I’ve got to go drop off that box lunch delivery.” Cassie held the door open as we re-entered the café.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I’d been at this job for a few weeks, but this was the first time I’d been left alone to wait on customers. We didn’t get a huge weekday morning rush, and it was too early for the lunch crowd yet. With only a couple of regulars manning stools at the counter, I’d be fine until Cassie returned.
“All right, then. I’ll see you later.” Cassie grabbed a huge bag off the counter.
I held the door for her as she passed through. With any luck I wouldn’t even see another customer until lunchtime. I poured myself a mug of coffee from the carafe sitting under the massive commercial machine, wishing for an almond milk chai latte instead.
The bell over the door jangled, pulling my attention from the steaming source of caffeine. A guy paused in the entryway of the small diner. Couldn’t he tell we had a seat yourself policy?
I grabbed the carafe and a clean mug before pushing through the swinging half-door into the main room. “You can sit anywhere.”
His gaze met mine. Green eyes, somewhere between the bright shade of my malachite crystals and the dusky green of moldavite, seemed to evaluate me. “Is this okay back here?” He pointed to a booth in the corner—the same booth I usually hid in when it was time for my break.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” I followed him, taking in the breadth of his shoulders and the twisted black ink covering his forearms. “Want coffee?”
>
“Please.”
I set the cup on the table and poured. If I’d learned nothing else during my brief time waiting tables at the Lovebird, it was that everyone wanted coffee and they wanted it as soon as possible. The first time I’d offered a customer a choice of coffee or tea, they’d stared at me like I’d grown another head and asked the question in ancient Greek.
“Thanks.” He picked up the mug and lifted it toward his mouth. My gaze followed. As he swallowed, I gulped in a breath. A chunk of his shoulder-length hair fell toward his face. He reached up to tuck it behind his ear. Something about him looked familiar, but I struggled to figure out why. I’d definitely remember seeing someone like him if he’d come into the diner before.
“Um, do you need a menu?” I asked.
“They still make that steak and eggs platter?” He rested a muscled arm along the back of the booth. The twisty ink followed a path from his wrist past his elbow, disappearing into the sleeve of his T-shirt.
“What?”
“Steak and eggs. A T-bone as big as your face with fried eggs on top and a huge side of buttered grits. They still have that on the menu?”
More like a heart attack on a plate. I couldn’t get past the way the folks in Swallow Springs loved their country cooking. Cassie made it as fresh and healthy as she could, but still, it was a miracle some of the regulars hadn’t collapsed of heart failure decades ago.
“How about a side of fresh fruit or some wilted spinach to go along with it?” If anyone were grading my efforts, I’d get an A+ for trying to introduce some healthier options to the diner crowd.
“No thanks. Just the grease today.” He took another sip of coffee while I stood there, totally mesmerized by the way he managed to make taking a sip of coffee look super sexy.
“Harmony?” Mr. Blevins called me from across the room, snapping me out of my trance.
“Be right there.” I whipped the pencil out from behind my ear to jot the order down on my notepad. “Anything else?”
“Just keep the coffee coming.” He slid his mug toward me, already ready for a refill.
I topped it off before retreating toward the safety of the kitchen, stopping to check on my two favorite customers on the way. “What can I do for you, Mr. Blevins?”
“I told you, hon, just call me Frank. Lou and I wouldn’t mind splitting a piece of that coffee cake you’ve got in the front case over there.”
I bit back a grin. They played this game at least twice a week, at least since I’d been in town. “You sure one piece will be big enough to share?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What do you think, Lou?” Frank nudged his friend with his elbow. “Maybe we ought to get our own.”
I set the coffee down on the counter. “Two pieces coming right up.”
“If you insist.” Lou leaned across the counter. “Who was that you were talking to over there?”
I looked up, seeking out the stranger in the back booth. “I don’t know. You think he’s from around here?”
Lou and Frank tilted their heads together, whispering back and forth.
“Well?” I slid a plate in front of each of them, a generous slice of coffee cake on each.
“Looks to me like the Jarrett boy,” Frank said, picking up his fork.
“Who?” I refilled their mugs while sneaking another glance at the man who’d taken over my booth.
“Dustin Jarrett. Used to live outside of town,” Lou mumbled. “Left to go make movies in Hollywood.”
“Hollywood?” I rose to my tiptoes to get a better look. The guy definitely had the looks for the big screen. “Really? Would I have seen him in anything?”
Frank snickered. “You might have seen him on Bobby Bordell’s show earlier this week. He was supposed to do a burnout on his bike but lost control and took out the house band and Bobby.”
“On a bike?” I asked.
“He does stunts,” Lou said. “Motorcycles and such. Haven’t seen him around here in years, though.”
“Hmm.” I shot one more glance at the back corner before heading into the kitchen to drop off the order ticket. That’s probably why he looked familiar. Liam had posters of motorcycles hanging on his walls and was always watching stunt videos. I’d have to ask him if he knew of someone with the last name Jarrett.
While I waited for Cassie’s new-hire, Ryder, to fry the steak and eggs, I sized up the giant commercial coffee machine. Cassie had shown me a half dozen times how to brew a fresh pot, but it still hadn’t clicked. I took a new filter out of the cabinet and reached for the handle of the basket. As I pulled it toward me, brown liquid flowed out of the machine, leaking onto the counter and dripping onto the floor.
“Oh no.” I tried to shove the basket into the slot, but it wouldn’t go back.
“What are you doing over there?” Ryder asked.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” I tried to fill my voice with confidence, a difficult task as steaming hot coffee raced toward my hand. With a final push, the basket clicked into place. I’d forgotten to check which side was still brewing. Now I had coffee on the floor, the counter, and down the front of my apron.
“Order up.” Ryder tapped on the bell. I dabbed at the coffee trailing down my front with a paper towel.
“Got it.” I nabbed the plate from under the warming station and snagged the half-full pot of coffee off the burner.
As I approached the table, the man unrolled his silverware and slid the paper napkin onto his lap. Somehow that tiny gesture instilled a new measure of confidence in my serving ability.
“Here you go. Steak and eggs and I brought you more coffee, too.” I set the plate on the table in front of him before leaning over to fill his mug.
“Did you have an accident in the kitchen?”
“What?” I stood abruptly, causing the stream of coffee to flow away from the cup, slosh onto the table and dribble into his lap.
“Sweet mother of…” His knees bucked up. The platter of steak and eggs flew into the air before it clattered back onto the table. “Aw, shit.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” As I slammed the pot down on the table, the carafe cracked. Coffee went everywhere. I grabbed a stack of napkins and swabbed at the spill, wiping up the traces of coffee from the edge of the table then dabbing at the growing wet spot on his thigh.
“I’ve got it.” His hand closed around mine, making me realize I’d just been rubbing my hand over a stranger’s groin.
Heat flooded my system. Flames of embarrassment scorched my cheeks as I wrenched my hand away from his. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I—”
“How about some more napkins?” he asked.
“Absolutely. Right away.” I fled to the kitchen where I pulled an entire sleeve of paper towels from the storage cabinet.
By the time I returned to his table, he’d sopped up as much of the coffee mess as he could. I handed him a stack of paper towels and gathered the dripping mess in my hands. His pulse ticked along a vein on his neck. Based on the way his jaw set, clenched and tense, I figured it would be best to leave the man to eat in peace. He held his hand out, flexing his fingers. A patch of angry red skin covered the area between his thumb and pointer finger.
“You’ve got a burn.” I held the soggy towels against my apron. “Let me grab something. I’ll be right back.”
“It’s fine,” he called after me, but I’d already raced across the room and pushed through the doors into the kitchen.
I tossed the towels in the trash. My purse was in the office. I always carried a small kit of my oils with me, just in case something like this happened. Armed with my makeshift homeopathic medical kit, I hustled back to the table.
“Here, let me put a little lavender oil on it.” Before he could argue with me, I’d uncapped the small bottle and cradled his hand in mine, letting a few precious drops drip onto his hand.
“What the hell is that for?” His brows knit together, drawing my attention to the furrow creasing his forehead.
Once upon a time I might have smoothed the lines away. I couldn’t stand to see anyone suffer, no matter how small and insignificant their pain might be. But time and life experience had taught me that not everyone was a willing recipient of my concern. This man looked like he’d experienced his own lessons in the school of hard knocks, and wouldn’t be so open to my healing touch.
“Lavender oil. Should help it heal faster.”
He gently pulled his hand away. “It’s just a little burn.”
“Let me know if I can get you anything else.” Poised to retreat, I snagged the broken carafe of coffee.
“I think you’ve done enough.” He nodded toward his mug. “Although, if you manage to figure out how to work that machine, maybe you could bring me a refill without a bunch of grounds in it?”
A wave of panic rolled up from my gut, through my chest as I noticed the clumps of dark coffee grounds amid the mess of broken glass and towels. “I’m sorry. I’ll bring a fresh pot right away.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
I waited, not sure if he’d say anything else. When he picked up his knife and fork I considered it a dismissal, and retreated to the safety of the kitchen. Why had I thought this would be a good idea? I’d never waited tables in my life. But things had changed. The life I’d known before had taken a turn, and if I needed to learn how to be the best damn waitress in the world in order to create a safe place for me and my son, I’d figure out a way to do it.
As I dumped the goopy mix of towels, glass and grounds into the trash, I reconsidered my goals. Maybe becoming the best waitress in the world was too lofty of an aspiration. At the moment I’d settle for becoming the best waitress in the tiny town of Swallow Springs, Missouri. Competition was next to none. I should be able to at least handle that. Or die of embarrassment trying.
Fortified with resolve, I turned my attention to the huge coffee maker. “Let’s do this, you shrew.”
3
