by Alex Rosa
My parents built this business from the ground up before I was born, a time when they had big dreams and moved their life from the east coast to this small town to open their own restaurant. This place is the evidence of their blood, sweat, and tears… not to mention, their happiness. It was their dream for it to carry on for generations to come.
My guilt is multi-layered, and Elwood’s happens to be part of the foundation. It’s part of the reason why I should have stayed.
“Gotta face it sooner or later.”
I pull my stare from the building to see Brandon waiting for me at the double door entrance. “I know. I just—”
“Stop trying so hard and go with the flow. Has big city living made you that uptight?”
“No!” I scowl.
“Then giddy up!” he replies, opening the door for me.
“What do I do when I go inside?”
“You start with hello.”
That isn’t what I mean, but I go with it as I put one foot in front of the other.
He presses his palm against the center of my back, forcing me to walk faster than my snail’s speed. “C’mon,” he groans.
“I got it.”
The apple pie smell is ten times more pungent as it twists around the aroma of hotcakes and fried goodness.
I don’t know where I belong when I reach the hostess’s podium. There was a time I’d walk right behind the counter and straight to the back office. My name may be on the building, but after so much time, it feels unnatural.
A tall, striking redhead blindly approaches the stand, focusing on a notepad in her hand, as if recounting her most recent order. “Welcome to Elwood’s, how many?”
She still hasn’t looked up, and I can’t help the involuntary arch of the corner of my mouth as I take in the sight of my best friend since elementary school. The prominent freckles that dot her nose are just as I remember. Her fiery red hair sits in a lazy but still effortlessly pretty bun on top of her head.
It was never a secret that Cecelia Baker was the prettiest girl in town—from the slope of her nose and heart-shaped face, to the sapphire blue of her eyes and her slim stature, she always had the boys in this town giving her double takes.
Brandon is on the verge of laughter. Having him here makes me feel slightly more confident than I would be alone, but I can’t seem to speak. It forces CeeCee to look up at me. Her eyes widen as she dissects my face. “Holy hell,” she chirps, “a ghost.”
She drops the notepad and flings herself around the podium. She practically jumps on me as she throws her arms around my neck.
“Hailey-effin-Elwood!”
The eyes of all the diner patrons dart my way. Brandon snickers behind me. So much for going incognito. I hug her back, squeezing tight, and she squeezes right back. We practically suffocate each other before we pull away. “CeeCee, you’re not mad at me?”
“Ha! I’m mad as all hell! But for right now, I’m too damn happy to see you! Look at you! Fancy city living has done you good.” She places a hand on each of my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length. “Oh, you look like your mama.”
My smile falls.
She gifts me with a sympathetic one in return as she shakes my shoulders. “We all miss her.”
“CeeCee, it’s so good to see you!” I can’t bring myself to talk about my mother yet, not when I’m standing inside Elwood’s.
“So, what’s on your agenda? Here to come check out the biz? Promote me? Or tell me you desperately missed me?” She winks.
I let out a second round of laughter, amazed by the effect my old friends are having on my soul. The dread I felt over the idea of encountering them drips away. “I can’t believe you work here.”
“Well, I never saw it coming, either. It’s a pathetic story, really. You know I was never good at the school thing. I only survived high school copying off you. College wasn’t for me. I lasted a year. Then your mom gave me a job. Turns out, I’m better at balancing books than I thought. I’ve been managing the place for the past two years.”
When I was in high school, my mom told me she was always worried about CeeCee, who paid more attention to boys than her studies. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised my mother swooped in to save the day. She was always the hero. “Wow, that’s fantastic.”
“Right?” a voice erupts deeply from behind me. CeeCee flicks her eyes to Brandon, who bobs on his heels with a smug grin. “Hey, CeeCee, you look good.”
Her lips twitch. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Brandon gives her a knowing smile, and I find myself grinning as I watch them stare at each other. A giggle escapes me, and then CeeCee is on me like white on rice. “Stop that. I know that sound. We have a lot of catching up to do! Brandon over there has a rap sheet longer than your book.”
“C’mon,” Brandon whines, but he doesn’t seem too fazed by it as he bashfully sticks his hands in his jeans pockets. He almost seems proud.
The sliver of normality warms me. These two have been teasing each other since they could talk. Though, I’m more than curious to know what’s happened between them. The scene sparks something I haven’t felt for a long while, and I mentally file this situation away in my brain. Inspiration. The writer in me is pleased, which will in turn please my agent. I’ll be sure to start my research with CeeCee, who has never been one to mince words, whereas Brandon has always had the tendency to omit the truth.
That prevalent question comes to the forefront of my mind. “Speaking of my book, did you—?”
“Oh-my-gawd, you’re gonna ask me if I’ve read it, aren’t you?”
Her frantic tone gives her away, and I pull her into another hug. My secrets continue to stay safe. “Don’t even worry about it! I was just wondering.”
CeeCee pulls away, blushing. “Sorry, we aren’t much of the reading type around here, but I’m so proud of you. I should never have ever doubted you. When Hailey Elwood wants something, she goes and gets it, Miss Fancy Author.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “It’s just a stupid story.”
“Whatever, we know you’re a superstar. Thanks for coming to remember the little people.”
“Oh, stop it!”
Brandon butts in. “Let’s convince her to stay.”
“Looks like I have a new project,” she agrees.
My shoulders tense. “Jeez, one thing at a time. Let’s not plan an all-out kidnapping.”
Brandon puts his arm around me. “C’mon, Baby Bird. We ain’t so bad.”
He’s right. This town—my friends—they’re wonderful. But to stay? That seems terrifying. I’ve been home less than twenty-four hours. I have more to navigate, and too much to figure out.
“All right, let’s not terrify her or she’ll jump ship. Are you here to just say hi or to look around?”
Brandon answers for me. “She’s treating me to coffee and pie.”
“Is that so?” CeeCee looks at me with a crooked smile. “I know you probably want to catch up with this oaf, so I’ll leave you to it, but I demand girl time.”
I nod with a level of enthusiasm that feels like I’m overdoing it, but I’m so desperate for her friendship right now.
This town swallows you like an all-encompassing bear hug, complete with fuzzy feelings and all. For most, there isn’t much reason to leave.
I was never really like everyone else, though. I had wants and needs that no one here could understand. Now that I’m back, it’s funny to see people proud and in awe of my success. At the time, everyone openly told me my dreams were too wild to chase when I already had what most people called bliss:
Love.
It was never a choice I thought I’d have to make, but then again, I didn’t willingly make that choice.
“Take a seat in a booth and relax.” CeeCee’s voice pulls me out of my reveries. “I have some stuff in the back to take care of—work and all. I know Elwood’s is yours now, but let’s save that for after you’ve settled in.”
I welcome her words. I’m
not ready to take the reins just yet, and I’m thankful she senses that. In a way, it’s strange and comforting to have the people I grew up with able to pinpoint exactly what I need, especially during such a sensitive time. Time may have passed, but they seem to still know me better than my friends in LA.
They don’t call it home sweet home for nothing.
She leads me to a booth. “Take a seat.” She lifts her eyes to Brandon. “Not you. You know where the coffee and pie are.” CeeCee winks, but it’s most definitely an order.
She skips off in the direction of the kitchen, and I watch Brandon’s eyes on her swaying hips as she disappears. “Well, glad to see who wears the pants in your relationship.”
He grunts. “She only pretends to hate my guts.”
“How curious…” I gleefully file another mental note, wishing I had a notebook with me.
“Pie?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m not ready for mom’s pie yet.”
He shifts his bluish-brown stare to mine. “Understandable. Still take lots of sugar in your coffee?”
“You know it.” I exhale.
He walks toward the breakfast bar and helps himself to pie and coffee.
It gives me a moment to catch my breath, but as I scan the space, I notice that the half-filled diner seems to be focused on one thing: me.
The patrons try to hide their expressions behind forkfuls of food or mugs of coffee, but I feel them—little numbing pinpricks that send tingles down my spine.
I recognize some of them, and I’m tempted to wave. Instead, I try for a tight smile, too nervous to embrace the attention.
I attempt to focus on the vintage décor. The green vinyl booths and barstools. A neon Corvette clock on the wall above the bar. And the classic movie posters adorning the walls. Elvis hums in the background.
The waitresses still wear the same mint-green aprons.
Nope. Things haven’t changed a bit—and they won’t, as far as I’m concerned. I want Elwood’s to stay just the way my parents always wanted it. A clean, classy 50s home-style diner and local hangout to the population of 4,000. One of PineCrest’s landmarks, I’d say.
Brandon reappears, placing two mugs of coffee on the table, and then retrieves his pie. He slips his roguish build into the seat opposite me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as he peeks up from his plate. “I mean besides…”
“Everyone is staring.”
“Of course they are. You’re fresh meat. I’d give it a day before the whole town is gossiping about you.”
I perch my elbows on the table and place my head in my hands. “Brandon, you’re not helping.”
“Face the music, Baby Bird. You knew this was how it was going to be.”
“I hate that you know me.”
“Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” he replies with a shit-eating grin.
“I wish I had something to throw at you.”
He laughs. “It’s so good to have you back. I can only imagine CeeCee just got her partner in crime back.”
My heart swells as a smile spreads across my lips. “I guess we always gave you shit, huh?”
“More than my dear old dad.”
“How is Mr. Watkins?”
“Still an angry old coot. He’s retired now and just tends to the horses. Keeps him busy. He sold the hardware store last year and couldn’t be happier.”
“Who’d he sell it to?”
Brandon, who was in the process of lifting his forkful of pie to his mouth, flinches at the question. “Um.” He chews. “This Palmer guy. He’s bought up the hardware store and Martha’s Market from the Cavanaughs. He’s a small-town developer. He’s been around for a few years.”
You rarely hear of newcomers to this town. It’s been nothing but generations of the same families for as long as I can remember. “I guess that’s a good thing. This town needs some variety.”
His eyebrows shoot up as he chews through the thought. “You say that now.”
His response is odd, but the peeking ink revealed as he scratches his arm distracts me, and I can’t cage my intrigue any longer.
“Let’s see those arms. I need to see what’s hiding under there. Last time I saw you, you were a scrawny firecracker with scars and bruises. Definitely no ink.”
He smiles as he folds the gray sleeves up the length of each arm, revealing intricate art, extends both of his arms out to me and lets me drag my fingers over his tattoos as I examine them. A nautical theme marks his right arm, with ships, oceans, and a compass, complete with a scantily-dressed woman, while the other arm is more traditional with a rockabilly theme of skulls, roses, and hearts.
I can’t help my gobsmacked expression. “Two full sleeves? In this town? They didn’t get their pitchforks and torches and run you out?”
He laughs. “You should see the other guys. It’s hard to hate us when we are, admittedly, the not-so-humble heroes of this town.”
I roll my eyes but can only seem to focus on one sentence. “Who are the other guys?”
“Are you sure you want me to talk about it?” He raises his brow. “I guess Caiden is an inevitable topic.”
Deep breaths.
He eats another forkful of pie and wipes a bit of whipped cream from his mustache, enjoying keeping me in suspense. “Guess who runs this town now?”
“Wait, are you a cop now?”
He nearly chokes on the last bit of his pie. “No, nothing like that,” he sputters with a laugh. “We all work at the fire station. Some of the old grumps who refuse to retire are still there, like McPherson and Dalton, but now it’s all of us boys you know and love.” He winks. “We tried to go our separate ways, but you know how we can’t operate without each other—”
“How cute.” I sip my coffee.
“We followed Caiden’s lead and joined the fire academy with him. There isn’t much that goes on in town, so most of the time we end up getting sent away to fight the fires around the state during fire season. Brush fires and such, ya know?”
Fire academy? I nod my way through it, trying my damnedest not to show how floored I am by this new information. I had no idea that even interested Caiden. My guts start squirming again. “Wow. That’s crazy… but awesome,” I add as I try to unclench my jaw. “And the tattoos have to do with this how?”
His chest puffs out proudly as he says, “We all have them. Remember all those drawings I did in school? I bought a tattoo gun and sharpened my skills. Never thought being good at drawing would get me anywhere, but it seems it finally proved useful.”
Now that’s a cool fact. I can’t help but beam with him, remembering the moments in high school when I would let Brandon wreak havoc on my notebooks with his elaborate creations and designs.
“What about your tattoos? Did you let the boys do yours?”
“Pfft! Hell-fuckin-no. I go into the city for mine.”
My mind jumps to the tiny bit of ink that I have hidden among my other secrets. A blush rises to my cheeks.
“So, all the boys have tattoos done by you?” I ask, wondering about a certain person who shall not be named.
“Most of us. Oh, Adam moved to Denver to open his own construction company, but he’s back in town a lot. His sister and parents are still here. Adam stayed away from the ink, but me, Tyler, Cameron, and… Caiden stayed to work the fire crew, and we all have them.”
I heave in a leveling breath. “Where does that tattoo gun of yours live?”
“At the station, of course. Hailey, this is a small town. We need something to do.”
I roll my eyes and let out a belt of laughter, which only draws more attention, but I decide I don’t care.
Chapter Three
Meow.
My eyes flicker open, and I can’t figure otu what woke me up. Is it the sunshine from the living room windows, the lumpy couch, or that incessant meowing?
I stand up and stretch, my memories sliding back to all those overpriced yoga classes I took in LA as I attempt downward dog.
I pull for zen, but the screechy meowing ruins it. Frustrated, I stand up straight, realizing the couch from my youth will not be the best option for sleeping.
I haven’t allowed myself to walk upstairs. I don’t know what I fear. I just know I’m not ready.
I adjust my shorts and tug my tank top over my waist as I walk toward the front door and yank it open. “Here, kitty kitty.”
My bare feet contact soft, worn wood as I step onto the porch and look around. Patches of fog are lifting from the forest floor; the smell of crisp pine wraps around me. Well, one thing’s for sure: Colorado is stunning in the early morning.
Meow.
Grr. I walk around the porch, expecting to see a cat, but instead notice a freshly filled bowl again.
“What the hell,” I whisper. I lift my chin and attempt another look. “Helloooo?” I shout, walking the full length of the wrap-around porch. “Is anyone here?”
I make it back around to the front feeling like I’ve stepped into a Stephen King novel. Who is feeding this cat—if this cat exists at all? I rub at my shoulders, getting the creeps. I mean, I was on the couch just beyond the window.
“Hellooo-ooo?”
I huff, shaking out my body. As much as I love the privacy of this house, there’s something comforting in the fact that your neighbor is mere feet away in LA It almost seems safer, but I know it’s a laughable thought when I consider the city’s crime rate.
The writer in me glances into the pine forest, and I can’t help but think LA may be home to crime thrillers, but this could easily be the home of a horror novel.
RedRum, RedRum…
The thought propels me inside. I lock the squeaky front door behind me.
I need a mental evaluation. And coffee, stat.
In the kitchen, I help myself to the dark roast. As it brews, I swing open the fridge door to grab the milk, and the smell of rancid food hits my senses. I slam it shut, rattling the jars inside. I don’t even want to think about how long it’s been since someone last used this kitchen—and why.
