by Leanne Davis
She stiffened and quickly turned to rinse the washrag out. Why was she ruminating over that stuff again? So what if she suffered from neglect during her childhood? Her mother was mean to her but that didn’t matter now. It simply did not matter anymore.
Besides, she broke the cycle, didn’t she? Running away from home and living on the streets probably wasn’t exactly the healthiest way to break the cycle, but she had broken it all the same. She was sure of that one fact. She would not grow up to become a vapid socialite whose only ambition was wine in the afternoon and a discussion of how their reputations could sustain the local gossip, or how perfect they looked, or how many more cosmetic surgeries they could endure, and oh! Naturally, not loving or even liking their own children. She would never be like that. Useless. Mindless. Lives of conspicuous consumption and waste. At least being a server here at the café had plenty of purpose and meaning.
Tara fisted her hands and peeked back at the father now greeting his son the way it was supposed to be: with joy, adulation, rapt attention, and presence. Always being there. Look! It really did exist. Honestly? She often wondered if it did. Like a flying fish, which she heard existed somewhere in the world, but she’d never seen one. So it was that she never witnessed parental love in any way, and especially not in any healthy way. She refused to be like her joyless family. She didn’t have to live without joy or emotion or feel cold and neglectful. She chose to be different. Friendly. Happy. Kind. Engaged. Here. She chose that.
She stiffened her back and nearly had an audible conversation with herself, when really she never intended to pitch a dramatic pep talk. She turned towards the restaurant and grinned. She chose to smile at the fish cop and his son. After witnessing his heartfelt display of emotion towards his son, he proved to Tara that right here and now, he deserved her respect. That was something she didn’t easily or willingly give to anyone, especially a cop.
Ryder was still speaking to Wyatt, but his gaze caught her and he suddenly spun around. It stayed on her for a long moment. When she smiled, he nodded as he kept staring. His chin rested on the top of Wyatt’s bald little head. He smiled in return. Blushing profusely over her strange and sudden, nearly ecstatic behavior, she was pretty forward and felt exuberant. After years of keeping her head down and her eyes glued to the ground with little or no reaction to anyone, she never acknowledged her anger or sadness, and even seemed rusty at offering a simple smile for hello. The sad part was that the reserved her, hiding behind the wall she long ago tried to use to isolate herself and not get hurt, didn’t begin after she hit the streets. No, it started while she was still living at home, trying to survive her own family.
She could feel the heat raging in her cheeks. It was beyond the rather normal, ordinary, and placid exchange of greetings, and for her it was so much more. Her first step into embracing a new life, into being… different. Better. Not just a functioning member of society with a job, but also, someone who interacts in the community. A place to live and thrive. She wanted to stay now, because really, why not here? She had no ties to anyone anywhere else. She had no history, and as of now, no future either, and she was sick and tired of feeling that way. That hopeless, drifting, why-bother-to-fight-another-day? kind of feeling. However, she wasn’t suicidal or sad. She wasn’t depressed either; she was just kind of there. And that was no way to be. She wanted to feel alive. Alive and aware. Present. Engaged.
Just as much as the fish cop was there for his son.
Plus, she had already met plenty of nice people here in this town like Chloe and the cook, Tiana, and the three other servers. One was an older lady in her early fifties who had been working with Chloe since she first opened five years ago. Her name was Petra and she had a thick German accent, making it pretty clear where she was from. Chet was in his early twenties and his family was from Thailand. He was helping make ends meet by clearing tables and washing dishes. Chet’s mom, Dok, waited on tables like Tara. Chet rarely made eye contact with Tara and his facial expression never seemed to change. Tara felt a kinship with him instantly, although they never spoke beyond their initial greeting of hello. Dok was lovely and kind to Tara, showing her how things ran in a soft, gentle voice and easy manner. Petra and Dok easily drew Tara in despite all of her efforts to stay standoffish. They wouldn’t allow any of that.
And of course, there was Chloe. She was a warm, always smiling, outgoing woman who Tara found both fair and hardworking. She worked harder than all of them combined and Tara witnessed it every day. Chloe was there at all times, it seemed, no matter what her shifts were. Chloe was already there and working or kept on working whenever Tara was coming in or leaving. Chloe expected a full day’s work out of every employee there, and her warm, generous attitude permeated the overall atmosphere, making everyone who worked there strive to meet her demands, and they usually did. The café wasn’t a sad, depressed or forgotten, lame little restaurant. No. It was a warm, inviting meeting place where the workers, commuters and the locals gathered for good food and drink in an old-fashioned, community-oriented way. Tara had never taken part in or witnessed such a thing before. But she liked being there and what she saw happening around her.
Baby steps. However, she did smile quite randomly at a cop. Never mind it was a fish cop. He still had a gun. A very big gun. That was something. Her progress in the last month was totally filled to the brim with baby steps.
“You done, hon?” Petra asked, coming out with a load of plates on her tray. She had arrived only a few hours ago and was scheduled to work until ten, which was when the café closed.
“Yes. You okay if I leave?”
“Ja. Sure. Go.” She winked. “Jus’ don’t go breakin’ any hearts now. Not many a pretty girl like you around here, huh, Ryder?”
Tara grinned fully at Petra. It almost felt rusty. Grinning. Kidding. And being called pretty. She liked it in a way. She refused to glance over her shoulder towards the fish cop, Ryder Kincaid.
Then… she did it. She took the briefest glimpse, less than a second, over her shoulder and there he was. Nodding, he fixed his gaze on her and addressed Petra. “Not too many, no.” There was no smile. He was serious. Blood literally bloomed into her cheeks. She didn’t need a mirror to know she was broadcasting her embarrassment with her beet-red face. However, Ryder turned towards Petra, thus sparing Tara from having to react. “Except for you, luv.”
Petra passed by Ryder, swatting his chest, while somehow still managing to balance her tray of plates. Tara was awestruck. She could manage two plates on the tray, and no more. At least, not yet. She had to practice her balance first. Most times, she simply carried her plates and trays out two-handedly, begging for Chloe’s patience, and promising to get better at wielding the overloaded trays until she could handle whatever Petra and Dok could accomplish. “Get on with you now, Ryder.”
The pleasure she got from his mild flirting was reflected in Petra’s blush on her face, not to mention the shine in her eyes. Tara glanced at Ryder and he met her gaze, lifting his lips in a shared little smile and shrug of his shoulders, almost as if to say, What are you going to do? It was sweet the way he included Petra and made her feel so good, while also referring to Tara. It had been a long time since anyone complimented her physical being. People considered her pretty when she was still a teen, but in the last few years, not so much. Nothing. A kid of the streets, she was all but invisible. Naturally, she deliberately perpetrated that assumption by keeping a hood pulled over her head and her face in a shadow. She wore loose, dirty clothes and tucked her hair into the back of her shirt. There was never any reason to advertise her femininity.
Ryder turned to leave and she mentally regained her bearings; she had to get back to work. There was nothing there. Certainly not with a cop. No. An older cop with a kid. Nothing. No way. Nuh-uh.
She exhaled a sigh at the mental discussion. Yes, that was important to keep very clear.
Except for that odd little emotional anomaly and being so aware of Ryder Kincaid, she was
happier at the café with the town residents, doing her job, and living there than she’d ever been before, perhaps for her entire life. That was no small thing.
****
Ryder watched Tara shuffle off, bending her head down again to conceal the flaming inferno that overtook the portion of her chest exposed by the uniform’s modest neckline. It didn’t stop there, but rose all the way up to her cheeks. One small, innocuous comment had the shy, reserved, timid server nearly wilting with embarrassment. Funny woman, Ryder marveled as he spun on his heel, setting Wyatt on his feet. He took his hand to leave and head home for the night while Wyatt prattled away in his constant monologue. That occupied Ryder’s brain for the next few hours. After a lengthy discussion about school and his teacher, Wyatt told a long story that made no sense but had both of them laughing together. It was about finding a way that they could drive to the moon. Eventually, Ryder tucked Wyatt into bed before flopping down on the couch and clicking the TV on. He was ready to kill an hour or so with brainless police dramas and sophisticated comedies.
His thoughts kept drifting to Tara. The new hire was very intriguing. It wasn’t like he never met quiet women before, especially those who were somewhat oblivious to their looks. Tara got embarrassed to the roots of her hair from a single compliment. It was the shoes. To be honest, from his first glance at her, the shoes told him there was much more to this girl’s story. She was not the typical twenty-something newbie trying to make her way in the world. Her shoes didn’t belong to her. They were too big for her. He could tell by looking where the big toe should have been. A giant bubble on the dirty, scruffy canvas indicated whoever originally wore the shoes to nearly tatters lifted their big toe up when they walked. Tara didn’t, though. The bubble was always hollow and empty. That made the ends of her shoes squish up all weird. She wore white socks with them, neatly folded over at her ankles. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back to the nape of her neck and she went without a stitch of makeup. If not for her youth and fresh-faced magnetism, she might have been considered dowdy or frumpy.
And yet, Ryder had a hard time keeping his eyes off her. Maybe that was because she didn’t want to be seen or even noticed. Perhaps. Or maybe because of her obvious fear of him. She almost offended him at first, and he wondered if it were a sign she had something to hide. Then he watched her more carefully and saw that her gaze rarely left his gun. His gun was what she seemed to fear the most. Her gaze never left it when she served him or spoke about Wyatt. She was always staring at his sidearm. That was a reaction he’d never seen so blatantly before. He had the usual respect and awe of strangers who recognized authority and naturally complied with it. He also met people who were not afraid to show their disrespect to him simply for his chosen profession. Those folks were pretty obvious, swearing and shouting rude comments right to his face. He almost preferred those because there was no deceit or subterfuge. He knew what he was dealing with. But Tara? She was terrified of his gun. She completely avoided eye contact mostly because she feared his gun and what it could do to her.
The only time she acted differently was with Wyatt. She was fully unaware when he came in that first day and stood behind her. He heard her interacting with his son. She knelt down to eye level, addressing him like a tiny adult and instantly winning his trust. Wyatt displayed his own excitement towards her, although, to be fair, Wyatt did that with everyone. But she was smiling and making eye contact and fully engaged. When it came to being with him, however, and others, she was much more reserved and quiet. She erected an invisible wall of isolation about her. Perhaps that was what intrigued Ryder, and he wondered, what would it take to break through it?
With a sigh, he clicked the TV off when he realized he’d been staring at it without any comprehension.
As if he didn’t know the reason he couldn’t stop looking at Tara. She was a young woman. And not related to him, his ex, her family or his family. Often, it seemed like that was his entire pool of women. That, and she was under the age of fifty. Yeah, his pool of single women was slim to none. Maybe, just maybe, he was ready to dip in now… maybe just the tip of one toe into that pool again. Maybe that was what appealed so much to him about Chloe’s new server. Only a year ago, he doubted he’d have thought too long or hard about Tara. But now? Maybe. Progress? Perhaps.
Ebony. It was over three years. It was time, no, beyond time for him to put her behind him. The divorce had been final for a year and he hadn’t heard from her, not even on behalf of their son in all that time. He sighed as her face, her laugh, and her physical presence passed through his brain, seeming so real, and so intensely alive.
But she chose to go. Her silence and continued absence could not have spoken much louder, could it?
So why shouldn’t he start his life again? So what if he noticed a pretty blonde with worn shoes who was too afraid to even look at him? He rubbed a hand through his hair. Yup, it sounds real promising. Grimacing, he stood up and locked the doors before checking on Wyatt and finally flopping down on the bed. Thoughts of Ebony always depressed him. His heart hurt and he became utterly confused as to how to move forward. How could he get past it? Move towards, what? Another relationship? The thought of that made his stomach churn. Trying to trust anyone after the disaster of his last relationship was impossible for him to imagine.
He shook himself and remembered that at least he had Wyatt. It was stupid to lie there staring at his ceiling, reliving it all again, when in the end, wasn’t he the one who scored? Who ended up the lucky one? The winner? The unadulterated benefactor of their relationship? It certainly wasn’t Ebony. The only accomplishment he had to show for his life was Wyatt. So what if he was a single dad now? Sure it was hard sometimes, and he stressed over all the things about parenting he was missing.
The anxiety would often rise up in him, making his heart beat faster and his breathing more shallow. He was raising a son, all alone, without any mother figure. So sure, there were plenty of things he missed. He shook his head, flipping over and beating the pillow to support his neck. But maybe all parents missed things. The good ones probably understood that and stressed over it and cared, while the bad ones never noticed or worried. Ryder worried, noticed, stressed, and tried his damnedest to give his son the best he had to give. Even so, all of him wasn’t enough to fill the hole for the loss of his other parent. His mother could never be replaced.
He sighed again, flipping over onto his back. The only two things he was grateful for were that the damage was somewhat mitigated because Ebony left him before Wyatt could consciously remember her. It was never a huge loss from Wyatt’s life, just a fact that he didn’t have a mother. And second, Ebony’s twin sister, Chloe, and their parents, Adaline and Kylar, often helped him by picking up the slack and filling in the holes. His own two parents and three brothers did the same. He wasn’t alone. Together, they weren’t alone either, and that was something to hang on to in the dead of night, when he felt stressed and worried. He wasn’t all alone, and more importantly, Wyatt wasn’t alone.
So what if he noticed a pretty server and ogled her a bit? What the hell did it hurt? His heart wasn’t exactly up for the taking. He wasn’t looking for that. He was just looking because he could. Possibly for sex… at the most. Whatever. She couldn’t get past his gun and blushed every time he encountered her presence. Sex wasn’t happening anytime soon for him. He sighed and finally gave up all the tossing and turning to watch more TV.
Chapter Four
THE NEXT SIX MONTHS brought Tara a sense of security she’d never experienced before. Her routine was nearly set in stone and she grew and thrived in that. She got up at the same time each day. She ate meals. Every single day. Three of them. That was a blessing she was just starting to grow familiar with. Chloe’s café provided most of her meals. Chloe allowed the staff to eat for pennies on the dollar of what her customers paid, so Tara swiftly took advantage of it. She also gained much-needed weight on her skinny frame. Even her skin had begun to glow, or perhaps that was the
ideal combination of getting healthy nutrients and washing regularly. The regular washing was more like a decadent luxury, similar to chocolate or hot coffee… Who knew hot coffee could become one of her greatest guilty indulgences?
She worked full time for Chloe and often took extra shifts for anyone who needed a break. To date, she’d already covered the dishwashing for Chet, and served the tables for Petra and Dok, not to mention, assisting Tiana with the food prep several times. Two months in, she managed to buy her first pair of new shoes in years. Funny, if you considered she once had an entire closet lined with nearly a dozen and a half pairs of shoes. Now? After purchasing one new pair of orthopedically-certified-for-walking tennis shoes, they would become her gold standard. First of all, they fit. They felt heavenly when she wore them and greatly reduced the shin splits she regularly got. Being on her feet for so many hours and wearing shoes that were too large and totally broken down nearly crippled her.
Every day, she served meals, refilled drinks and processed the takeout orders and payments. By the week, she visibly came out of her shell just a little more. She greeted the patrons, and slowly began to remember their faces and the names that matched them. Eventually, she even retained some of the stories and details that defined their lives. There was an older gentleman who came in every day. He always ordered one single scoop of vanilla ice cream and a cup of coffee, six days a week at precisely five o’clock. He skipped Sundays. There was a large family that met there, all twenty of them, every Saturday evening like clockwork. They were a huge, loud, crazy family that drew Tara out of her cocoon simply because she hadn’t any other choice with them.
