The Café between Pumpkin and Pie

by Marina Adair

  Overly modest? Perhaps. Even so, she preferred that no one see her undies. She flattened the front of the skirt over her legs with one hand only to have the wind riffle the back. A stiff draft slid between her thighs. Tickled her bottom. She sidestepped into Jake.

  He sensed her predicament and saved her. He grasped her by the elbow and eased both her and the sheep toward the curb. The parade swerved around them. Continued on. Not missing a beat. No one paid any attention to their momentary break. Even her nephews behaved.

  Once curbside, he shucked his leather jacket and handed it to her. “The wind’s really kicked up. Put it on; zip it up,” he told her. “My jacket will fall below your hips. At least it will pin your skirt down. No panty flash.”

  How had he known her worst fear? There was something about the man that both relieved and bothered her. She was glad to have his jacket, yet flustered by how easily he’d read her mind.

  Jake kept track of the triplets while she slipped on his jacket. It was large, roomy, and scented with his maleness. All earthy and musk. The bottom leather edge fell mid-thigh and, once zipped, held down her polka dots. His body warmth embraced her, chasing away the chill and further indignity. Grateful, she smiled and mouthed, Thank you.

  He spoke low. “We’ve denied the wind the big reveal.”

  We, as in he and she. Together.

  A lusty gust pressed his gray cotton T-shirt to his chest. Etching his firm pecs and six-pack. The man was built. “You won’t get cold?” she asked.

  “I’ve plenty of heat, Peep.”

  That he did. She was feeling overheated herself. Not only from the jacket but from his nearness. “The parade,” she managed. They needed to join the folks in costume before the animals caught up to them. The dogs, cats, and a Shetland pony required their own space. And would prove distracting to the boys.

  Jake found the perfect moment for them to reenter the procession. They ducked between a Flintstone family and a row of Caped Crusaders. They’d walked four blocks with two to go when Hal’s shoulders drooped, his one hand dropped off the staff, and he began to drag his feet.

  “Tired, Hal?” Hannah was quick to ask the boy. The triplets had been hyped at the beginning of the parade and expended a lot of energy. They were winding down. She gently suggested, “Let’s step aside and watch the remaining pets and floats from the sidewalk.”

  “Keep going.” Hal pushed forward on a sigh and a yawn. His sluggish steps slowed the parade behind them. A few people shouldered past. The dogs pressed close. A black Labrador sniffed Hal’s costume.

  Jake still held Harry’s hand, yet his concern for Hal was evident. He stepped behind Hannah and hunkered down beside the boy. He patted his shoulder, encouraged, “Piggyback.” Hal climbed on. Jake carried him easily, and they continued down the street.

  Jake’s thoughtfulness wasn’t lost on her. She glanced at the tall man holding one small boy’s hand while piggybacking another. They were quite the sight. She saw a photographer on the sidewalk snapping pictures for the small-town newspaper the Moonbright Sun. The young woman focused on Jake. Clicked several frames. He’d make a great feature photo.

  Hannah looked at Howie, still holding on to the shepherd’s crook. “You doing okay, little man?” she questioned. Hoping he was.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her. He was all smiles as he marched along to the band’s rendition of “Monster Mash.” “Whoopie pie,” he reminded her of the promised treat.

  Hannah had not forgotten. It was fresh on her mind. They progressed down the street, streaming past the redbrick storefronts. Seasons came and seasons went. The autumn russet awnings would soon be retracted and winter frost would curtain the storm windows.

  They’d nearly reached the end of the route. The courthouse marked the southwest corner of the final block. Constructed in gray brick, the 1889 town landmark had aged gracefully. The two-story structure had weathered countless harsh northern blizzards. The clock tower created a sense of time and place. The wide cement steps provided seating for those watching the parade. A vendor costumed as a skeleton sold popcorn and caramel apples from a rattling-bones portable food cart.

  The town park spread out just ahead at the end of Pumpkin Lane. October painted a sparse cropping of trees in faded russet and sienna hues. Few leaves survived on the branches; the bark on the white oak had turned patchy. The grass browned by fall.

  Two police officers directed traffic as everyone dispersed along Pie Street. She debated inviting Jake to join them at the café. He’d gone above and beyond helping her with the triplets. The least she could do was offer him a homemade sweet before she took the boys trick-or-treating. Their father would pick them up at the conclusion of his shift.

  She looked at Jake now. A big man encircled by little boys. He still held Harry’s hand. Hal’s arms were still wrapped about his neck. The little boy had fallen asleep over the last two blocks, his cheek pressed against Jake’s shoulder. A much-needed short nap. He stirred now. Jake twisted about and Hal slid off his back, stood, and stretched. Wide awake and fully revived.

  Howie tugged on Hannah’s hand. “Whoopie pie!”

  Her nephews weren’t the least bit hesitant about inviting Jake to join them. “Come with us,” they begged.

  “He may have other plans,” Hannah said, giving Jake an out.

  “There’s nothing more important than whoopie pie,” he replied. “Once inside, I’ll speak briefly with my granddad, then join you for a snack.”

  “I appreciate your help today,” she told him.

  “I like a grateful woman.” His suggestive tone stroked her.

  “I never expected you to—”

  “Join the parade?”

  “You don’t seem the type.”

  “There’s a first time for everything. I was at the right place at the right time. You had your hands full. Harry did like my costume,” he reminded her.

  His clothes fit him, a physically hard man. Yet she’d also seen his softer side. He liked kids.

  As did she. “I love children,” she admitted. “Sadly, I don’t discipline; I bribe.”

  “They aren’t your kids,” he reminded her. “They’d listen to their parents, but you’re the aunt and an easy mark. There’s nothing wrong with a little bribery.”

  She accepted his take on the day.

  He removed his mirrored sunglasses and hooked them in the collar of his T-shirt. Humor crinkled the corners of his midnight green eyes. “It was a fun afternoon. There was a lot going on, and the boys survived all the stimulation and distractions. They were actually quite good.”

  She crooked her finger. “Cooperation comes with whoopie pie.”

  * * *

  An appealing treat, Jake thought. He willingly followed her the short distance to the Corner Café, one of his favorite places in town. The triplets had gotten their second wind and were all bounce and boundless energy. They jerked the front door wide and entered ahead of Hannah. Jake held the door for her, and she passed beneath his arm. The wind had pinkened her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Her shoulder brushed his chest and her feminine scent enveloped him. Fresh, crisp, and clean. Innocent. Awareness jolted him. Sudden and unexpected. A sexual surprise.

  What the hell? Hannah was pretty and sweet but not his usual type. Maybe it was her costume, he mused. Sexy role play in the bedroom wasn’t new to him. Sinful nurses and naughty nuns turned him on. Little Bo Peep was mild by comparison. Nursery rhymes were meant for children. Be that as it may, her thigh-high stockings were damn sexy and very adult. She had shapely legs.

  His wayward thoughts were lost to his memories of the café. The casual atmosphere included a pressed-tin ceiling, wood-paneled walls, green vinyl counter seats, and wooden booths with coat hooks. The old-fashioned tile work had survived the wear of spring sandals and winter boots.

  Each time he had visited his grandparents they’d brought him to the café for a meal or two. A wide chalkboard on the far wall displayed the daily specials. A wooden sign o
ff to the right was carved with the café slogan: Your Favorite Food Comes in a Pie—Lobster, Chicken, or Fruit. Jake’s favorite was lobster pot pie.

  Mounted photographs of the Allan family along with time-honored customers framed one wall. All from different decades, showing folks at various stages of eating their meals. The locals felt a sense of celebrity to be pictured among diners of another era. Jake planned to look more closely at the photos as time allowed. He hoped to spot Hannah as a young girl.

  All around him local residents hung out on the counter stools or settled into booths. Tables didn’t turn over quickly. More often than not, new arrivals would pull up chairs where people were already seated for extended conversations. The home-style atmosphere offered generous food portions at a fair price.

  The waitresses were older, in their fifties and sixties. Most had aged with the café. Their customers were predictable. The servers could write up an order when someone entered the door. That’s how well the waitstaff knew what the regulars ate. To this day, Hannah’s grandmother Nan left bite-size sugar cookies in an antique cookie jar next to the archaic cash register. Everyone left with a smile on their face and a sweet in their pocket.

  A few people drifted toward the door, which Jake presently blocked. He moved aside. He’d lost Hannah and the boys during his reflections. They were halfway across the café, headed for a corner booth. She corralled the triplets in the booth while he searched out his grandfather.

  His gramps was easy to spot. He sat shoulder to shoulder on a counter stool beside retired electrician and longtime friend Will Moody. The men were known as Moody and the major. Both were widowers and had reached their eighty-fifth birthdays within the same month. A need for companionship drew them to the café twice a day. Like clockwork. A routine never broken. Their morning breakfast and afternoon coffee and pie gave their day purpose. They showed up for each other.

  Jake felt a flicker of regret that he hadn’t visited his grandpa more often. Regrettably, work got in the way. Which was his own fault. Days turned into weeks, into months. He’d recently restored a 1956 Harley-Davidson KHK motorcycle. A hell-raiser bike. An intense and time-consuming overhaul. The owner had been pleased. The Californian had added a large bonus to the bill. Jake had subsequently decided to take some time off. He planned to stay in Moonbright until the major sent him back to Bangor.

  Jake crossed the café and came to stand behind his granddad. He curved his hand over the older man’s shoulder and squeezed. Both his gramps and Moody swiveled on their stools. They faced him, equally gray haired, bespectacled, in their flannel Pendleton shirts and dark trousers. No belts, Jake noticed. Apparently, they were too restricting for pie a la mode.

  The major grinned at Jake, and years faded away. “You’re here,” he greeted Jake. He pushed off the stool and the two exchanged man hugs and thumps on the back.

  Jake next shook Moody’s hand. “You’ve been gone too long, boy,” the older man declared.

  “So I have,” Jake agreed. He had no one to blame but himself and his busy schedule. “I’m here now and hope to stay awhile.”

  His grandfather raised an eyebrow, asked, “What’s a while?” There was hope in his voice that Jake would stay longer than a day.

  “Until you tire of me.”

  “That would never happen. You are my grandson.”

  Jake’s schedule was presently open-ended. He didn’t have a set agenda. He scratched his jaw and his gaze strayed to Hannah and the triplets. He hadn’t realized the major and Moody also followed his stare. An open, revealing look, apparently, given their grins. He wished he hadn’t taken off his aviators. No one could trace his gaze when he wore them. Too late now.

  “Cute kids,” his gramps said. “Hannah’s nephews, I believe.”

  “They’re costumed for the parade,” added Moody.

  “We walked together,” slipped out. Jake set his jaw. He didn’t feel the need to explain himself.

  “Old news. We’ve already heard.” There was humor in Moody’s voice. Moonbright was a small town. Word spread fast. Gossip had run ahead of Jake into the café. His name was now linked to Hannah’s.

  “Little Bo Peep never looked so pretty,” his grandfather admired.

  Gentle and shy too, Jake thought. He mainly knew Hannah through the café. She worked for her grandmother. Waitressing. Hannah occasionally mixed up orders, but no regulars seemed to mind. The customer who received country fried steak and eggs instead of flapjacks switched plates with the other person. Food was eaten. Everyone left the café full and happy. Hannah always received big tips.

  “The kids are enjoying whoopie pies,” noted the major. “There’s an extra treat and glass of milk on the table untouched, as if they’re waiting for somebody.”

  “That someone would be me,” Jake admitted.

  “You’d better go and get it,” said Moody. “The little boy on the end has finished his treat and is eyeing yours. He’s got shifty hands.”

  Jake cracked his knuckles. “Guess I’ll head that way then.”

  His grandfather cleared his throat, hinted, “You’re looking open-road scruffy. You might consider a haircut someday soon. A shave even.”

  Jake couldn’t help but smile. His gramps had lived his life with a military buzz cut. His hair was close-cropped even in retirement. His jaw was cleanly shaved. Jake, on the other hand, wore his own hair longer. A bandanna worked for him or, on occasion, a short ponytail. His facial scruff protected his jawline from windburn when he rode his motorcycle.

  “I’ll think about it,” was as far as he’d commit.

  Moody spoke up. “You’d need an appointment at Theodore’s Barbershop. With the recent cooler weather it’s become as busy as the café.”

  Jake understood. The drop in temperature drove everyone inside. The old-fashioned barbershop drew the male population. It specialized in classic, hot-lather shaves, conservative haircuts, and shoeshines. The shop had three vintage barber chairs and a striped pole out front. Extra slat-back chairs bordered the walls of the shop to accommodate those individuals hanging out, just being sociable. Friendships made time pass quickly. Companionship came with a cut and a shave. Theodore had been in business as long as the café. Both were local institutions.

  Jake finished by telling the major, “I may go trick-or-treating with Peep and her sheep. Where can I find you early in the evening?”

  “Upstairs in my apartment,” he was told. “Moody and I will be playing gin.” The men enjoyed card games. The bets were nickel-and-dime.

  Jake’s granddad’s studio apartment was one of four built above the café. Both he and Moody rented from the Allans. The rooms were small and cozy, perfect for the men and their modest possessions. They’d downsized following the loss of their wives.

  Jake wondered who else leased from Nan. His gramps filled him in. “One apartment presently stands empty. I asked Nan if you could stay there for a single night or several weeks, however long you were in town. She was fine with it.”

  “Thanks, Gramps.” Good news for Jake.

  He’d called around before arriving in Moonbright, checking vacancies at Amelia Rose’s Rose Cottage bed-and-breakfast along with a few smaller hotels. Even those on the outskirts of town. He’d been too last-minute. Halloween weekend drew an enormous crowd to the village renowned for its celebrations. Every place was booked with out-of-towners, oftentimes a year in advance. That hadn’t discouraged his visit. He’d have bought a cot or a sleeping bag at the hardware store and slept on his granddad’s living room floor as a last resort. No need for such purchases now. He had his own space. He was grateful.

  The major’s brow creased. “What about your motorcycle?”

  “Parked in a side bay at Morrison’s Garage during my visit.” A few blocks south. “I figured this might be my last round-trip bike ride before it snowed. I drive my Hummer in winter.”

  A waitress skirted the counter, topping off coffee cups. She held up the pot. “Welcome home, Jake. Coffee?” she a
sked.

  Home sent an unexpected warmth through his chest. This was his grandfather’s town. Jake had few ties. Still, it was nice to be accepted. “I’ll pass for now,” he told her. “I’ve milk and whoopie pie waiting for me at Hannah’s table.”

  “There’s soon to be a three-way split of your snack if you don’t hurry over there,” the waitress warned him. “The sheep are restless.”

  Definitely hyped, Jake noticed. It was hard to tell the boys apart. At that moment all three bounced and rocked in the booth. They were already wired on whoopie pie, with trick-or-treating yet ahead. He watched as Hannah caught their attention. She raised her hands, then lowered them, a silent request that they settle down. The triplets scrunched their faces but obeyed. For how long was debatable.

  “Get going. Join them,” his gramps encouraged.

  “Thanks for understanding.” He turned to leave.

  “I understand your interest in Bo Peep,” the major said slyly.

  That stopped Jake. His jaw worked. He lowered his voice, said, “Don’t assume, Gramps. I’m merely lending a helping hand with the boys. That’s it.”

  The major nodded. “If you say so.”

  “I’ve said so.”

  “For now.” Moody got in the last word.

  Jake shook his head. Matchmakers, both. His status as a confirmed bachelor served him well. Marriage didn’t fit his lifestyle or future. Still, the older men hinted and nudged him toward Hannah. He sensed without really knowing her that she was caring, kind, and family oriented. He was hard-core. A ride or die kind of guy. He dated, but at thirty-five he was more involved in his work than with any special lady. He operated free and easy. He came and went as he pleased.

  Locals nodded and greeted him as he walked from the counter to the corner booth. “Jake!” the boys whooped his welcome with the enthusiasm of a days-long absence when it had been only minutes. Hannah gave him a small smile. He slid in beside Harry. He’d walked beside the boy in the parade and noticed his blue eyes were a tint darker than his brothers’. But not by much.