The Enchanted Garden Cafe

by Abigail Drake

  “Again with the same question.” He shook his head. “You told me about the pancake place on the corner. I wanted to try it, but I’m sick of eating alone. Feel like some breakfast?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know . . .”

  Matthew lifted his hands. “Not a date. Friends can eat pancakes together. Right?”

  I stared at him for a long moment. “I am pretty hungry.”

  He smiled. “It doesn’t surprise me. I’ve seen you eat.”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “On one condition. I get to pay this time.”

  I ran upstairs to change my clothes, whipping off my normal baking gear of shorts and a cami and putting on a miniskirt and a pretty, sleeveless blouse. I took my hair out of its bun and brushed it until it shone and fell over my shoulders like a blonde waterfall. I also washed the flour off my face and put on a little lipstick and some of the expensive perfume Auntie Mags gave me for Christmas. I slipped on a pair of sandals when my phone rang. It was Scott. I blew out a long breath and answered it.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have called you from a bar.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “And I’m sorry about our argument. Not how I intended things to go.”

  I hadn’t thought about Scott once since Matthew walked through the door, which probably made me a bad person. It also made me even more certain about what I’d done.

  “I’m sorry, too, but I still think we’re making the right decision.”

  He paused for a moment. “I’m going to my parents’ for the weekend. I won’t be back until late on Sunday. Can I stop by sometime to chat?”

  I winced, not certain it was a good idea but unable to come up with a valid reason for my hesitation. “Sure.”

  “Thanks, Fi. I’d come sooner, but my parents need me. They’re having some issues with the plant, and I want to sort things out for them.”

  “You’re a good son, Scott.”

  “To those whom much is given, much is expected. Talk to you later.”

  I hung up the phone, shaking my head as I thought about his last comment. Scott’s parents owned a meatpacking plant. They were not the Kennedys. Scott had occasional delusions of grandeur, but I kind of blamed his parents. He was their spoiled, cosseted little boy and more than a bit self-centered, although I hadn’t noticed until recently.

  Very recently.

  Like as soon as Auntie Mags opened my blocked chakras.

  I knew it was a coincidence, but it still made me wonder. Had she actually changed something inside me? I shook my head as I ran down the narrow steps to meet Matthew. It couldn’t be. My feelings had changed for Scott simply because they’d changed. It had nothing to do with Auntie Mags, and it also had nothing to do with the man I was eating breakfast with this morning. I was sure of that too. Sort of.

  Pamela’s had a funky fifties vibe of checkerboard patterns and silver chairs with pastel vinyl cushions. Photographs of old movie stars lined the walls, some of them autographed. Only a few doors down from the café, the diner had been around forever. It would be gone soon, however, if Mr. McAlister sold the building. We got a table by the window and looked through the menus.

  “What do you recommend?” asked Matthew.

  “Everything.”

  He laughed. “Can you narrow that down?”

  I shook my head. “It’s all wonderful, but you should have the pancakes since it’s your first time.”

  Matthew got blueberry pancakes, and I ordered banana walnut. As soon as he took a bite, he sighed with pleasure. “Incredible.”

  I got some of the banana walnut on my fork and put it into his mouth. He groaned again. “Even better. Trade me.”

  I shook my head, giggling, as we chatted like old friends. I told him the news about my father, and he reacted appropriately. “How crazy. Are you okay?”

  My mouth was full of pancakes, making it difficult to answer. “It’s nice knowing they loved each other.”

  Matthew leaned forward, his face serious. “It doesn’t make sense. There must have been some kind of misunderstanding. Something happened to stop him from meeting her.”

  “Like what?”

  His eyes met mine, and the temperature in the room went up by about ten degrees. “I don’t know, but if I loved someone the way your father loved your mom, I’d never let her go.”

  Rosie, our waitress, came over to fill our coffee cups, breaking the spell. “Any news about Moses?” she asked.

  “Not much. He’s getting better, but he has a long way to go.”

  She shook her head sadly. “It’s so awful. We’ve all been talking about it, but no one has any idea who would do such a thing.”

  “If you hear anything, even something small, would you let us know?”

  “Sure, sweetie. Is this the boyfriend I’ve heard so much about?”

  I froze, and Matthew watched me closely. “Uh, no. This is Matthew. He’s hosting acoustic night until Frankie comes back.”

  Rosie smiled. “Nice to meet you,” she said, turning to me. “I have something important to ask you, Fiona. How would you feel about speaking for us at the council meeting?”

  I almost choked on my pancake. “What do you mean?”

  Rosie was my mom’s age, and she treated me like one of her own. Having six kids made her awfully good at mothering. She had faded red hair and bright blue eyes and wore a pink T-shirt that read “Pamela’s Diner” in sparkly silver letters. She wrote out our bill and laid it on the table.

  “We’ve been talking, and we think you should be in charge.”

  The banana-walnut pancakes suddenly felt like a dead weight in the pit of my stomach. “Who’s been talking?”

  Rosie slid into the chair next to mine. “Everyone on the block. You’re cute as a bug, good with numbers, and can think on your feet. Also, you know this place better than anyone. We thought about asking your mom, but you know how she is.”

  Yep. I did. Mom would get emotional and cry in the middle of her speech. It had happened before.

  I fiddled with my napkin. “I don’t know if it should be me, Rosie. It’s a lot of responsibility . . .”

  She patted my hand. “If we didn’t think you could handle it, we wouldn’t ask.”

  “Oh. Great. Thanks.”

  She winked at me. “Thank you. Goodness knows we need you, girlie. It looks pretty bleak at the moment.”

  I’d never actually agreed to do it, but Rosie considered it a done deal. She got up and went back to work. Matthew watched me as he finished his pancakes. I dipped a bite of pancake in syrup but wasn’t hungry anymore.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I guess I’ll have to help. So many people will lose their jobs if we fail. Rosie has six kids and has worked here since she was in high school. What would she do if this place closed? And Sally at the secondhand shop is transgender. Do you think Macy’s will hire her if she has to close her shop? Probably not. She doesn’t quite fit the Macy’s mold, or any other mold, to be honest. And my mom . . .”

  Matthew interrupted. “I was asking about your pancakes, but I agree with what you said.” I laughed, unable to stop myself, and he grinned back at me.

  “Here. Take them,” I said. I pushed my plate over to his side of the table, and he immediately dug in. His plate had already been wiped clean.

  “Thanks,” he said, his mouth full of banana-walnut goodness.

  I grabbed my napkin and wiped a bit off his chin. “You have no shame.”

  He smiled at me, looking like a naughty child. “None at all. These pancakes are fantastic.”

  “Did you know Julia Child visited Pamela’s years ago?”

  “So cool,” he said, his mouth crammed with pancakes.

  “It’s more than cool. She loved it, and that woman knew her stuff. She was a culinary rock star.” I looked around the restaurant. “I love this place, too, but Scott won’t eat here.”

  Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”


  “He says it’s old and dirty.” My voice was a whisper. I didn’t want Rosie to hear. “It’s not true. I mean, the building is old, of course, but Scott doesn’t understand it has character.”

  Matthew studied the high ceiling and the eclectic interior of the shop. “This place is a treasure.” He gave me an irate look.

  I put down my napkin. “I agree. Why are you mad?”

  “Why aren’t you mad? And why are you with him? Is it because you actually like him, or do you just like the suit and all it represents?” He leaned forward until his face was close to mine. “That would make you awfully shallow. And spineless too.”

  I blinked, feeling verbally slapped. I picked up the bill and pushed back my chair. “It’s none of your concern, is it?”

  I got up to leave, and Matthew grabbed my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  I pulled my hand away from his. “Yes, you did. Let me go please.”

  He had meant it. And the sad truth was he might have been right.

  Chapter Twelve

  The best advice is always given

  over steaming cups of coffee.

  ~Aunt Francesca~

  I thought about what Matthew said while punching down the bread dough and kneading it. I thought about it some more as I made the shells for cream puffs. I also whipped up vanilla pudding as a filling and covered it in plastic so it wouldn’t get a skin. I decided biscotti with dried cranberries would be a good idea and made several different kinds of scones, both savory and sweet. When I finally finished, covered in a layer of flour and sugar and with aching arms, I realized it hadn’t helped. I still thought about Matthew and what he’d said.

  Kate came into the kitchen and looked around. “What happened in here?”

  I stared around at the chaos I’d created in the kitchen. “I broke up with Scott.”

  Her jaw dropped. “No way. What did your mom say?”

  I grimaced. “I haven’t told her yet. It’s kind of new.”

  She pulled herself up onto one of the stools and rested her elbows on the island. “It’s weird you haven’t told her, don’t you think?”

  I shrugged, but Kate was right. I just wasn’t prepared to deal with it yet. After the lecture on making good choices, an immature and irrational part of me didn’t want my mom to think I’d broken up with him based on her advice. She might not say anything, but I knew she’d think it, and that irritated me. And she and I had been a bit awkward with each other ever since she told me about my father.

  “Speaking of my mother, she dropped a bit of a bomb on me the other day.” I told her about my father, and Kate listened, wide-eyed.

  “And your mom never heard from him again?”

  “Nope.” I handed her a biscotti dipped in white chocolate.

  “That’s horrible,” she said, taking a bite of the biscotti and groaning with pleasure. “But this biscotti is the opposite of horrible. It’s fantastic. I love it when you’re upset, Fiona. Your tension baking is delicious.”

  I put pots and pans into the sink, banging them loudly. Kate came up behind me, still munching on the biscotti. “Is something else bothering you, my biscotti-making friend?”

  I stuck my hands in the sudsy water. “Am I too focused on appearances . . . and money?”

  She pondered this like she was trying to figure out the correct answer. It spoke volumes. “Um, what do you mean?”

  “Matthew told me I’m shallow.”

  “You aren’t shallow, Fi. Not at all. If you’re a little fixated on financial success, it’s because that’s always been a struggle for you. You’ve managed things here since you were in diapers. I know you. You don’t want money for status. You want it for safety. There’s a big difference there.”

  I stared at her. “Wow. You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I’m a poet. I ponder.”

  “Matthew Monroe also insinuated I went along with whatever Scott wanted, implying I don’t think for myself.”

  Kate opened her mouth and then paused. She’d obviously pondered this too. “Well. You are easygoing.”

  My eyes widened. “You think I’m a pushover?”

  She shook her head. “You want to make the whole world happy.”

  “Then why can’t I ever be happy?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I stared at Kate in surprise. “Did I say that out loud?”

  She nodded. “Progress, I think.”

  I stared at her as a horrifying realization sunk in. “Scott didn’t make me happy. He should have been the perfect man for me, but he wasn’t.”

  “I’m glad you finally see it. We all figured it out a long time ago.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you happy, Kate?”

  “This isn’t about me.”

  “I’m making it about you. Answer my question.”

  She wrinkled her nose at me. “Is this the new Fiona? If so, I don’t like her. She’s pushy. Make her go away.”

  After putting the pans up to dry and grabbing two cups of coffee, I forced Kate to sit down with me at the island. “Tell me about Chad. Distract me from my problems.”

  Kate stared at me, wide-eyed. “Pushy, nosy, and confrontational. Who are you?”

  “Shut up and talk.”

  Kate frowned. “Not possible. I can’t both shut up and talk.”

  “You know what I mean. You and Chad have both been acting weird lately. What’s up?”

  She thought about it a minute. “I’ll answer your question if you agree to answer mine. Deal?”

  I wanted to refuse but knew she wouldn’t talk otherwise. “Fine.”

  She stirred her coffee. “Chad and I hooked up a few weeks ago.”

  “I suspected as much. Go on.”

  “He wants to make it official. He wants to date.” Kate shivered as she said the last word.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Other than the fact we work together and are utterly unsuitable for each other, nothing at all. Oh, wait. There’s another minor detail. I live with Mrs. Porter and have to take care of her at night. It would never work. I slept with him once, and Chad acts like it was some big deal. He wants me to meet his family.”

  “Again, what’s wrong with that?”

  Kate gave me a steady look. “Chad’s father is a minister. How well do you think this would go over?” Kate held out her arms to better display the tattoos, the sheer blouse, and the black bra.

  “A minister?”

  Kate nodded. “Chad is getting his master’s in philosophy but plans to enter into some theological seminary next. He wants to be a minister too.”

  I winced. “It might work, I guess. I never even knew Chad was religious.”

  Kate’s shoulders slumped. “He’s a good person. He doesn’t broadcast it. He volunteers at soup kitchens and helps homeless people. I usually go for guys who are edgy and kind of dark. Chad is as edgy as a marshmallow.”

  “So why did you hook up with him?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate whined. “I couldn’t stop myself. The sad thing is I don’t even regret it. The sex was that good. I would do it again in a heartbeat if only Chad would be casual about it.”

  “Wow. What a terrible person. Refusing to use you for sex.”

  Kate scowled at me. “Now it’s your turn. What are you going to do about Matthew?”

  My mouth opened and closed again. I looked like a fish out of water. “What are you talking about?”

  Kate took a sip of coffee. “I answered you honestly. Now it’s your turn.”

  I groaned and put my face in my hands. “Is it obvious?”

  She snorted. “Uh yes.”

  I sat up straighter and folded my hands on my lap. “The attraction I feel for Matthew is a random thing. It’s irrelevant and meaningless.”

  Kate paused as she lifted the mug to her mouth. “Is it?”

  I swallowed hard. “Isn’t it?”

  Mom breezed into the kitchen carrying a bo
x of teapots. “Nothing is random. Everything is determined by fate. There is no chaos. It all happens for a reason.”

  She left the box on the island and breezed back out. Kate and I both laughed. “How does she do that?” asked Kate.

  “I don’t know,” I said, getting worried. “Is she right?”

  “I do believe she is.” She covered her mouth as a residual giggle popped out. “Holy crap. I still can’t believe you broke up with the Ken doll.”

  I covered my face with my hands. “He brought up subjects like buying rings and having a house in the country next to his meatpacking parents, and I sort of freaked out. I think I led him on, but it’s not what I want. At all. Am I a bad person?”

  She pulled me into a hug. “Of course not. You’re one of the nicest people I know. You rank right up there with Chad. If you were a dude, I would totally do you too.”

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  Kate got up and brushed biscotti crumbs off her ample bosom. “Your mom has a point. Everything does happen for a reason. It’s a good thing you met Matthew before you and Scott got too serious.”

  I stood up and carried the mugs over to the sink. “It might not even matter. I have no idea if he even reciprocates those feelings.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.” Kate laughed. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? And have you noticed he’s here almost every single day now? He’s got it for you bad, Fiona.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  Kate held up a hand to quiet me. “I’m not telling you to sleep with him, although that man is a walking, talking sexual fantasy.” She fanned herself to make her point. “But you should spend a little more time with him, get to know him better. Or get him drunk and kiss him. A kiss will tell you what you need to know.”

  “This conversation was supposed to be about you and Chad,” I said with a little stamp of my foot.

  “Was it?” Kate grinned at me and went back into the shop.

  Between Mom telling me about my father and how she’d felt for him and Kate’s revelations about her passion for Chad, it was a lot to think about. My feelings for Scott hadn’t been anything wild and crazy, but they had been safe and warm and cozy and . . . boring. The more I thought about it, though, the more I knew Mom and Kate were right. Something vital had been missing from my relationship with Scott. I’d been so sure about him, but once the seeds of doubt were planted in my mind, they’d taken root. I didn’t see him in the same way I once did, and it scared me. What if I messed up again?