by Ali Parker
“As well as they could have, I think. I’m definitely glad they’re over. Now I have more time to be here and help out. What about you? What’s new? How’s Iris?”
Aldo’s smile faltered a bit.
I frowned. “Is she unwell again?”
Iris was Aldo’s six-year-old daughter. She had a rare autoimmune disease that prevented her from going out in the sunlight. I’d only met her a couple times because she couldn’t really leave her house. She was as sweet as honey with the same big brown eyes as her father.
“Iris has been struggling a bit,” he said. “It’s better for her in the winter usually, but this year has been almost as bad as the summertime.”
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Aldo smiled and shook his head. “No. But thank you for offering. I appreciate it.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. I hated that his little girl was suffering and her quality of life had been compromised because of something completely outside her or her family’s control. “There’s no cure for this, is there?”
“No. But there are daily shots she could try that would make it a lot more manageable.” He shrugged. “But something like that is far out of reach for me. A blue-collar guy with my income won’t ever be able to afford a drug like that. I’d have to win the lottery.”
Or have a friend who won a dating contest and walked away from the end of next year with a million dollars in her hand.
“Is she excited for Christmas?” I asked in an effort to change the subject.
“She is, yeah. It’s been a bit rough with not being able to go out and participate in the normal things we do every year. Like the parade and Santa visits and what not.”
“I bet there are Santa’s who will do house visits for situations like this.”
“I never thought of that,” Aldo said, pursing his lips.
“Let me look into it for you. I’ll see if it’s even an option before you invest any time or get Iris excited about it.” I had to do something to help. I didn’t have money, but I had time.
“That would be great, Piper. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I smiled. “I’ll get out of your hair and brew a pot of coffee. Want a cup?”
Aldo nodded.
I left the kitchen and went up front. While the coffee dripped down into the pot, I went to the back room and fished around in my purse for my phone. I pulled it out and texted Janie. Hey. Are you home tonight? I’d like to talk later.
The rest of the evening was spent tidying and restocking—even though there wasn’t much to stock. I drew up a new menu board display to put out on the sidewalk tomorrow. Maybe we just needed to change some things up to draw people in.
In a city like New York, people were constantly on the lookout for something new to stimulate them. If I could find something for people to gravitate toward, then maybe I could change our fate. If only Mom and Dad would let me change the name to anything other than Piper’s Paradise.
I also spent some time rearranging the front of the restaurant’s layout. I moved tables and chairs to create a more open and less crowded space. I dimmed the lights and stripped the tables of the dark table cloths my mother had purchased a long time ago.
Then I went into the kitchen and went on the hunt for something I could use to put candles in. Aldo told me there was a box of old mason jars in the back room.
I found them buried beneath boxes of coffee cups and napkins, and I dragged the box to the front of the restaurant. There were two sizes: large ones used for pasta sauces and then tiny ones used for jams or pastes. It took a good forty-five minutes to clean them all and get them looking presentable. I placed one on every table after filling it up halfway with water.
“Aldo!” I called down the hall. “I’m just stepping out front. Holler if you need me.”
“All right,” he called back.
I went outside and braced myself against the chill. All along the front windows were little shrubs that were bright green despite the cold. My mother had insisted on planting them because they survived all forms of weather.
I plucked little sprigs off the bushes and made sure I wasn’t destroying the shape. I used my apron as a little bowl to hold all the green foliage in, and then once I’d collected enough, I went back inside and dropped a couple in each of the mason jars with water in them. Once that was done, I marched down the hall and back to the storage room.
My mother used to take pleasure in setting the tables in the restaurant. She’d spend hours rearranging the place and switching out centerpieces. But that was back when they had tons of employees running the kitchens and good money flowing in to cover the cost of being able to experiment with decor.
Now she didn’t have that luxury. My mother was doomed to her fate in the kitchen. She didn’t like working back there. It wasn’t a secret. But she never complained. She never reminded my father that the deal for opening this restaurant was that she would work the front of the place and he would handle all the backend business stuff and the kitchen. Now they were both drowning, and neither of them loved this place the way they used to.
Maybe if I gave it a little face lift, it would renew their pride in the business they’d built from the ground up.
At this point, I was willing to try anything.
On one of the shelves in the back room, tucked in amongst old napkin rings and mismatched cutlery, I found two deep boxes full of tealights. Smiling to myself, I pulled them out and straightened the wicks before taking them out to the front and placing one in each of the small mason jars. Then I set two small candle-filled jars on each table.
It was dark outside by then. When I lit the candles, the whole inside of Piper’s Paradise glowed with warmth. I stood back to admire my work and felt a smile stretch my cheeks.
It was crazy how much difference such a small change could make.
I heard Aldo come up behind me. He chuckled. “You have your mother’s eye for design, Miss Piper.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Do you think it looks like the sort of place you would walk by and stop in to check out?”
“Most certainly. All that’s missing are other customers. I hate to be that guy, but people don’t want to be the only ones in a restaurant. It’s awkward, regardless of how good the food or service is.”
“I know,” I sighed.
He patted my shoulder. “But you have to start somewhere. Don’t give up, Miss Piper.”
“I won’t,” I said.
Aldo returned to the kitchen, and I let my gaze wander around the room. There were still some changes I could make to elevate the look. Instead of having the drink menus handed out with the main menus, I set them on the tables near the jars filled with water and green sprigs. I planned on stopping at the dollar store on my way in tomorrow morning to get glitter and fake cranberries to add to the mix. It would be nice to make the place a little more festive. Maybe I could also afford to get a wreath for the door and some string lights for the windows.
We needed to create a more welcoming environment, and I was pretty sure I was the only one who had the energy left to even try.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. Janie had texted me saying she was home tonight and she had stopped to pick up a bottle of wine for us to share. I told her I’d be home in two hours. Then I remembered I’d told Aldo I would look into seeing if anyone was willing to play Santa and pay a house visit to Iris.
I slid into one of the tables by the window and opened my web browser. As I searched for something that might work, the door behind me opened.
I twisted around in my chair.
Three people walked in. Two men and a woman. They looked around and then saw me. I stood up and walked over to them where they waited near the door.
“Hello.” I smiled, pulling three menus out from under the hostess stand. “Just the three of you this evening?”
Had my quick decorating really drawn people in that easily?
One of the men looked around. “Oh
. You work here?”
I nodded.
“Sorry, we thought you were a customer.”
I smiled. “Well, I eat almost all my meals here. The food is delicious. Does that count?”
He winced. “Not really.”
My cheeks started to burn as they bowed their heads together. The young woman gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. We’re going to try somewhere else. Thank you.”
I watched them leave, and a pit formed in my gut. I hung my head and slid the menus back under the stand.
Aldo was right. We needed to find a way to get people in here. Nobody wanted to be the only one sitting in a restaurant. The emptiness was thick and heavy, and it smelled like doom.
Chapter 7
Wyatt
The stewardess placed a dainty hand on my shoulder. “Sir, can I get you anything else? We’re about to begin our descent.”
I looked up from the in-flight magazine I’d been flipping through. “No thanks. I’m all right.”
Her full pink lips stretched in a white smile. “You’re sure? There’s nothing?”
I chuckled, and her cheeks turned pink as I shook my head. “I’m sure. Thank you, sweetheart.”
She straightened and gave me a polite nod before walking around the rest of the first-class cabin to check in on the other passengers. Her voice was not nearly as kind and her smile not nearly as bright as she spoke with them.
I was used to that sort of treatment. My thick Texas accent played a part in the attention I received from women, but I’d been told on numerous occasions that my face and my smile helped some.
I folded up the magazine with a sigh and tucked it into the seat pocket in front of me. Rolling my shoulders to try to alleviate some of the strain in my back, I leaned sideways to peer out the window.
New York City was spread out beneath us. It was impressive now in the light of day, but I wished my flight had come in at night. New York was at its most beautiful in the dark when its lights were free to glow and wink in pride.
But coming in during the day just reminded me of all the things I didn’t like about the city. I didn’t like how it felt like you were stacked on top of other people. Back home on my ranch, I was used to sprawling green fields and property and the smell of manure and hay. I didn’t like the car fumes and exhaust and litter-covered sidewalks. I preferred the grass and dirt and mud. I wasn’t fond of the noise, either. I appreciated the calm and quiet of my ranch.
A sanctuary, really.
At least my time here would be temporary.
I watched the city rise up to greet me and the other passengers as the plane descended to the tarmac. The landing was smooth, and I could hear people in economy clapping. It wasn’t long before the fasten-seatbelt light went off and we were free to stand and get our carry-ons or other bags down from the upper compartments.
I hadn’t checked a bag. All I had tucked up there was my suit jacket. I stood up and fished it out while everyone else around me hurried to drag their suitcases down.
A middle-aged woman in front of me was struggling to reach her bag. It had slid to the very back of the cubby during the flight. She couldn’t have been taller than five feet, and even on the tips of her toes, she couldn’t reach it.
I stepped up to her. “Hey. Let me get that for you.”
She looked up at me. Her cheeks flushed, and she put a hand over the swell of her chest. “Oh, why thank you. Silly design, really.” She laughed nervously.
I lifted the suitcase out, pulled the handle extension, and put it down on the floor before angling the handle toward her. “Here you are.”
She gave me another tight-lipped, bashful smile and a clumsy apology before inching her way to the door to leave with the other passengers who already had their bags.
Not only did I dislike the hustle and bustle of New York, but I disliked the hustle and bustle of the people whenever they were in the city. The energy the rest of the world seemed to enjoy about New York was what I tried to avoid.
I loathed the word “busy”. I hated that busy seemed to mean the same thing as “important” and “successful” nowadays. Sure, I had my hands full, and I juggled a lot of responsibilities, but I didn’t consider myself busier than the next person, and I certainly didn’t see it as a state I wanted to achieve.
All the people around me had an air of business as they hurried to get out of the plane.
There was no sense to their rushing. They were merely hurrying from one line to the next, where they would eventually end up at a luggage carousel alongside the rest of us, waiting for their bags. How fast they got off the plane now would not determine how fast they left the airport.
None of it made sense to me.
So, I took my time getting off the plane and making my way through JFK toward baggage claim. Other people hurried around me as Christmas music played faintly in the shops. I reached the baggage carousel, and as expected, there were no bags. They were likely being unloaded from the plane that very minute, so I found a spot away from the crowd to turn my phone on and check any new messages. I always turned my phone off when I flew. It was a perfect opportunity to disconnect, if only for a few hours.
I had no important messages that required an immediate response. There were, however, a couple messages from friends and family wishing me a good stay in New York. Not many of them knew what I was really up to.
I’d been playing this whole Casanova Club thing close to the vest. The only person who knew all the details of my visit to New York was my sponsor, and he was keeping his mouth shut about the whole thing at my request. Words would not be spoken of the club until the event started at the beginning of the new year.
Even now, this far into the process, I was bothered by the reason I had agreed to be part of this.
I was terrible with women.
Not terrible in the sense that I didn’t know how to talk to a pretty girl, but terrible in the sense that I moved too quickly. I put it all out on the line too soon and scared women off.
It was strange to be “that guy”. I spent a lot of time in my youth trying to tame that wild and romantic side of myself. It invited too much pain into my life. Even when I was just a teenager, I knew what heartbreak felt like. I’d sworn time after time that I wouldn’t let myself fall victim to a beautiful woman again. I’d be smarter about it. I’d wait longer than a few weeks before I told her how I felt.
But I never pulled it off.
I was destined to have my heart ripped out of my chest time after time. And this time, I was willingly walking into a situation where the girl I was supposed to be falling for would be dating eleven other men.
I slid my phone into my pocket and tried to force myself to stop thinking about this whole Casanova thing. It was messing with my head.
But I couldn’t slow the thoughts rushing through my mind.
What if you fall for her?
What if all the women up to this point were just child’s play, and this girl is the real deal?
What if she breaks your heart and chooses some asshole with a flashy career and a bigger bank account?
I rolled my shoulders. My back still hurt. That was what I got for still spending some of my time working the ranch. I shouldn’t have pushed it so hard this week when I knew I’d be stuck sitting a lot this weekend. Airplanes. Board rooms. That sort of thing.
It was cruel punishment for a guy like me.
The luggage finally slid onto the carousel and began making a slow lap all the way around. I sidled up to it and hooked my thumbs in the pockets of my pants. I was glad for something to do, other than standing around with my thoughts bouncing off the inside of my skull.
I helped a few of the ladies around me to lift their bags off the carousel. Some of their husbands stood idly by on their phones as I did so.
Fucking city boys.
I received some flirty smiles, and a couple women even batted their eyelashes at me. I slipped away as soon as I had my own bag in hand and struck out across th
e terminal to the exit. I stood at the curb as cars rushed by. I hailed a cab and caught the first one that pulled over for me.
The driver, a middle-aged white man with a receding hairline and sunglasses purchased from a gas station, twisted around in the front seat. “Wanna put that bag of yours in the trunk, son?”
I patted the suitcase beside me on the seat. “This is fine.”
“All right. Where to, then?”
I told him the address where the Casanova Club was. He nodded and pulled away from the curb, cutting off four other cars in the process, all of which honked their horns at us. The first four minutes of the drive were silent. It irked me. So I struck up a conversation. “How long have you been driving a cab in the city?”
“About fifteen years.”
“You like it?”
He shrugged, and his head moved a half an inch to the side. I assumed he was looking at me in his rear-view mirror. I couldn’t see his eyes through the pitch black sunglasses. “It’s all right. Sometimes, you’re stuck driving a lunatic around. That takes the fun out of it.”
I grinned. “I’m sure it also makes for some great stories.”
“Indeed it does. You wouldn’t believe the shit people try to get away with in the back of a cab.”
“I can only imagine.” I chuckled.
“I’ve had people fuck in my backseat before. And in the middle of the damn day. Makes you wonder what’s wrong with kids these days, you know?”
I grimaced. “On this seat?”
He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I shifted uncomfortably but couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “I guess some people just can’t keep their hands off each other.” I wondered what it would be like to be so in love with someone that I just couldn’t wait until we were somewhere private. I couldn’t imagine ever being that reckless and indecent, but I could imagine fooling around in the back of a cab. Maybe pushing it to the absolute limit before making it to the confines of a bedroom.
“Drunken idiots, I say,” the cab driver grumbled.
