The Café between Pumpkin and Pie

by Marina Adair

  She needed to get away from him, for her sanity’s sake. She forced a small smile from deep within. It didn’t last long. The corners of her mouth drooped when she said, “Guess I’m wearier than I thought.”

  “My kiss made you even sleepier?”

  “I’ll sleep like the dead.”

  He frowned. “Not the effect I was going for.”

  “What were you after?”

  “Appealing, maybe arousing. Soft kisses can be a turn-on. You’re a sweetheart, Hannah. I didn’t want to come on too strong. Guess I’ll have to try harder next time. To keep you awake.”

  His next time wouldn’t be with her. The man definitely had impact. He’d evoked emotions. An exciting sensitivity. A single day together and he’d left imprints on her heart. Compelling and significant. Lingering.

  “Night.” Her voice sank just slightly. She could barely lift her legs. The world had gone somber and sluggish around her. The air heavy. She turned to leave. She cast him one final look. He didn’t look happy. He stood bold, inflexible. All squared shoulders and widened stance. His expression was troubled. His jaw worked. He looked about to comment further, to come after her, but she denied him. She removed the key from the back pocket of her jeans and unlocked her apartment door in record time. She entered, closed the door, and leaned back against it. Exhaled heavily.

  This was a Halloween she’d remember and not in a good way.

  She’d never look at Jake the same way. Neither would she gaze into his mirrored aviators ever again.

  * * *

  Jake lay flat on his back, naked and restless. His left hand rested on his abdomen. His right at the crease of his thigh. He sported an erection. Morning sex was the best sex. It relieved all the pressures of the day ahead. But he was minus a partner. He faced a cold shower. Not his first choice, but his only option.

  The bed was comfortable enough. A single, fitted with white cotton sheets. The scent of lavender detergent lingered. Soothing and sleep inspiring. Which hadn’t worked on him. Night had allowed him to close his eyes, but thoughts of Hannah had invaded his peace and stolen his sleep. A first for him.

  He rolled onto his hip, raised himself up on his elbow, and cut his gaze to the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was six thirty. Breakfast with his granddad and Moody wasn’t until eight. He had time to kill. He shook his scrunched pillow, punched it twice, and then eased back down. Meditative. His thoughts drifted back to her disappearing act.

  All had centered on that hint of a kiss. He’d gently tasted her. Her lips were sweet and soft. Slightly sugary from the cake. Afterward she’d stared at him. Not directly into his eyes, but into his shades to be exact. That was the start of the finish. In mere seconds her face turned pale and a stunned sadness clouded her eyes. He’d never seen a woman faint, but Hannah had come close to it. Her body just gave out. He’d tightened his hold about her waist to keep her upright. He would’ve pulled her close had she not pushed back. A tangible distancing. An emotional closure. Untimely and unfounded.

  He’d stood in the upstairs hallway for ten minutes following her departure. Staring at her closed door. Taken aback and hesitant. He didn’t handle uncertainty well. She’d shut him out. He had no idea why. He wanted an explanation, but she was long gone before he could request one. He’d find some time today to talk with her. To feel out the situation. To see if she was still willing to date him.

  On the far side of midnight he’d hashed over Mac Morrison’s offer of part-time work at the garage. He decided to give it a try. His granddad and Moody had their own daily routines. He figured he could have breakfast and lunch with them. Then the men would go about their day. Days often spent gathering at the barbershop, then playing bingo and selected games at the senior center. His gramps was the center’s champion at the mentally stimulating Word Searches, discovering and circling all the hidden words in a grid of letters. Their lives were routine and reliable. Social and safe.

  Jake hoped to take Hannah out to dinner. Maybe even a movie, if she was willing. Slow and steady seemed the way with her. He had every intention of seeing her again. Sharing a kiss that didn’t make her sleepy.

  He rolled out of bed, a man with a plan. He retrieved his black leather travel kit from his saddlebags. He assumed the bathroom was free, because Hannah worked the sunrise shift. Still, he knocked before entering. No response, so he cracked the door. There was no sign of her. Although the scent of her body wash lingered, fruity and floral. He breathed it in. Nice.

  He grinned then and imagined her standing before him now, naked, her skin damp with dewy droplets. Temptation sinned with the flick of his tongue along her moist neck and the tip of her nipple. Foreplay came in toweling a woman dry. Gently patting down soft breasts, a rub over her belly, and a deep slide between her legs. Arousal teased him unmercifully. He sucked air. His sex thickened. Throbbed. An intractable ache.

  He unzipped his kit, set out his toiletries on the counter beside the sink. He snugged his Black Amber bar of soap, shampoo, and shaving gear beside Hannah’s toothbrush holder and deep moisturizing body lotion. He’d never shared a bathroom with a woman. The intimacy was undeniable.

  He collected what he needed, shoved back the shower curtain, and placed the items on Hannah’s corner shower caddy beneath her pear and lily body wash and purple mesh shower sponge. A tangible sense of togetherness stepped with him into the tiled stall. He turned on the water, rotated the handle to cold. Ice-cold. The spray hit his shoulders, chest, and groin. Shock and shiver. A total boner kill.

  He tempered the water, warmer now, and soaped up. Shampooed his hair. Rinsed off. Toweled dry. He dressed and took off for Morrison’s Garage, open six days a week and a half day on Sunday. Vehicles broke down whenever, wherever. A mechanic was as valued and well regarded as the mayor. Weekends often proved as busy as weekdays.

  He entered the office. Mac was at the coffee machine. He greeted Jake with a grin over his shoulder and a Styrofoam cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hand. “Good to see you,” he said.

  Jake accepted the cup, then chuckled when Mac turned his way. The mechanic wore beat-up jeans and a logoed gray T-shirt: I Couldn’t Fix Your Brakes, So I Made the Horn Louder.

  “A great advertisement for your business.”

  “People are always worried when they bring in their vehicles. How much damage? The cost? A little humor takes the edge off. Most honk when they leave the garage.”

  Jake took a sip of his coffee, strong and black. He liked the way Mac did business. Customers hated a jacked-up bill. Mac was known to be fair. If he knew someone was in desperate straits, he took payments on the repairs.

  Jake eyed Mac now. “I wanted to catch you first thing,” he said. “Unless you’ve hired a part-time mechanic overnight, I’m interested.”

  Mac gave him a thumbs-up. “The job is yours.”

  Jake glanced through the side office window and into the three-bay garage. He noticed four vehicles in need of work. “Nice Range Rover,” he complimented.

  “Nothing major there. The owner will be in town for a couple of days. The job can wait until tomorrow. He’s a stickler for maintenance. A routine tune-up and rotation of tires. Easy enough. I like those who take care of their vehicles and don’t run them into the ground.”

  “I think I can handle an oil change.”

  Mac cracked up. “Dude, you’re known for dismantling and reassembling engines.”

  “I prefer to work on motorcycles.”

  “I doubt you’ve lost your touch on cars and SUVs.”

  “I often work alongside my dad on difficult overhauls.”

  “No pressure, but when can you start?” asked Mac.

  “I’m headed to the Corner Café for breakfast with Gramps and Moody,” Jake told him. “I need to bring them up to speed on my part-time job. So how about Monday, around nine?”

  “Sounds good. The Camry needs a new muffler; the Jeep, replacement brake pads. You know how to work the lift. Tools are on the magnetic storage panel
and in the drawers of the rolling work chests. Should you need to order a part, I keep a clipboard with a running list by the phone. Jot it down.”

  Jake approved. He liked organization.

  “You are your own man,” added Mac. “Repairs are nonstop. Come and go as you please. Spend as much time as you can with the major.”

  And with Hannah. She’d quit on him the previous evening. Somewhat disturbing. A reason for her departure would be nice. He glanced at his watch. It was closing in on eight. Time to cut out. He finished off his coffee. Gave Mac a two-finger salute. “Tomorrow, then.”

  He left the garage and walked the short distance back to the café. The air was cool but not chill. The sun stole a look beneath the low-lying clouds. Retreated. Traffic streamed smooth and orderly. The clock tower at the courthouse chimed on the hour. Sounding eight o’clock and creating a sense of place and presence. Tradition and normalcy. All of which Jake valued. He was right on time to meet the older men.

  He entered the Corner Café through the front door and breathed in the mingling scents. Homemade baked bread, cheesy potatoes, biscuits and sausage gravy. Wild blueberry muffins. His stomach growled, low and hungry.

  The café was packed and he took his place at the end of the waiting line. Until he caught his granddad waving to him from a corner booth. He eased out of line, excused himself to those ahead of him, then crossed to the major and Moody. The men must have arrived early. Smart on their part considering the crowd. He would’ve been ahead of schedule had he not stopped at Morrison’s Garage. He was here now and that’s all that mattered.

  He’d nearly reached their booth when he heard a whoop and his name shouted. He turned toward a table nearby. His smile widened. The triplet boys were enjoying breakfast and totally into their food. Napkins were tucked into their shirtfronts. Syrup drowned their plates of pancakes and gooey spills stained the tabletop. Orange juice rings circled beneath their glasses.

  “Dudes.” Jake gave each one a high five and drew away with a sticky palm. He scored a napkin from the holder and wiped off his hand. Then crushed and dropped it onto a growing pile of those already smeared with syrup.

  The boys looked him over. All curious and intent. “You’re still wearing your Halloween costume,” came from Harry.

  Jake realized the boy’s mistake. “Different clothes, similar style,” he informed them.

  He routinely wore jeans, a T-shirt, and his leather jacket when fall arrived. Broken-in biker boots. He’d pulled back his hair beneath a black bandanna. His stubble was another day old, his jawline scruffy. His mirrored aviators hid his gaze.

  Howie pointed to the middle of his chest. “What’s on your shirt?” he asked.

  Jake looked down on the sketch of an abstract motorcycle. He read the logo aloud, “‘Four Wheels Move the Body, Two Wheels Move the Soul.’ ”

  Blank expressions from all three. “In other words,” he explained, “I like cars, four tires, but prefer a motorcycle—”

  “Two tires!” Howie shouted, quite proud of himself.

  “You are so smart,” Jake praised Howie. He remained at the table a moment longer, watching them shovel in their pancakes. “Chew,” he commented. “Your stomach doesn’t have teeth.”

  Which drew a round of laughter. A second’s pause and Jake added, “You guys look nice.” All three wore white button-down shirts and navy slacks.

  “We took a shower,” said Harry. His hair was still damp.

  Howie fingered his shirtfront. “Mom made us wear buttons.”

  Hal stuck out both feet from under the table, kicking Howie in the process. “And shoes that pinch my toes.” He wore brown Oxfords.

  Harry scratched his armpit. “Church clothes make me itch.”

  “You’ll survive Sunday school. It’s only once a week,” came a voice from behind Jake. Female and recognizable. Hannah’s sister, Lauren.

  Jake eyed her over his shoulder. Lauren was the hostess at the Corner Café. She seated customers and passed out menus. Copies, too, of the Moonbright Sun, the morning newspaper. While the waitresses hustled in their khaki uniforms, Lauren had chosen a red sweater dress, fitted soft on her curves. She liked to be noticed and was hard to miss.

  He scanned the diners, hoping to catch sight of Hannah. No sign of her. She must be in the kitchen. “Busy morning,” he offered, making small talk.

  “We serve the best breakfast in town.”

  “Your kids are doing those pancakes justice.”

  “They’re bottomless pits.”

  Jake was ready to move on but didn’t want to appear rude. “I heard you weren’t feeling well yesterday. Better today?” he asked.

  “Improved enough to work,” she returned. She angled to stand by his side. “Thank you for walking in the parade with my boys, then taking them trick-or-treating.”

  “Hannah and I had fun.” He linked his name to her sister. It didn’t set well with Lauren.

  Her expression tightened, showing narrowed eyes and pinched lips. She shifted the menus in her arms, located a copy of the local newspaper from beneath the stack, and slapped it onto his palm. “An article on the parade and a photograph of your good time is on the front page.” Her tone was sharp, unpleasant.

  He folded the paper under his arm. He’d check it out once he’d joined his gramps and Moody. He turned back to the triplets. They were on the edge of fidgety. Squeezing maple syrup onto empty plates. Resulting in a syrup lake. Followed by sticking their tongues deep into their empty glasses of orange juice. Licking the sides for pulp. Boys would be boys, Jake mused.

  Fortunately, Lauren’s husband, Grant, arrived to pick up his sons. Off duty and out of his police uniform, he wore a dark gray suit. He nodded to Jake, then motioned the three toward the restroom. “Wipe your mouths and wash your hands. Let’s get a move on.”

  “I need to move on too,” said Jake. He looked directly at Grant, then briefly at Lauren. “Nice to see you both.” He wove between the tables to reach the major and Moody.

  Jake’s gramps tapped his watch face. “Quarter past eight, boy.”

  “Sorry, I got waylaid.” He slipped off his jacket, hung it on a hook. Then slid into the booth next to his granddad. He set his creased newspaper alongside his napkin-wrapped silverware. He told them about his stop at Morrison’s Garage and his plans to work part-time. The men approved.

  Moody mentioned his arrival. “We saw you talking to Hannah’s nephews.”

  “And Lauren,” added his gramps.

  “It was all about the kids,” Jake relayed.

  “For someone who once swore her love to you, Lauren didn’t look that happy to see you,” noted Moody.

  “I’ve come to terms with our short history and she apparently hasn’t—”

  “Fully gotten over you?” suggested Moody.

  Jake shrugged. “She’s married with triplets. Grant seems a good guy. He’ll make her happy.”

  Moody lowered his voice. “Making her happy will never be easy. She’s a flirt and fickle. I’ve overheard Nan tell her granddaughter to act like a married lady.”

  The major elbowed Jake. “What about your happiness, boy?”

  His pleasure depended on the woman now picking up orders from the pass-through window that connected the kitchen and the dining room. The cooks shelved the meals there beneath heat lights to keep them warm. The waitresses then stacked the dishes on trays.

  Hannah hoisted and shouldered such a tray. Piled with plates, it tipped slightly, but she managed to keep it upright. She turned slowly, safely, and delivered the breakfasts to a four-top near Jake’s booth. The customers affectionately thanked her. One elderly woman patted her arm. Hunger ended their conversations. Their orders of biscuits and gravy went down easy.

  Jake smiled to himself. The expression on his face must have reflected his interest in Hannah, as both Moody and the major cleared their throats and grinned.

  “Hannah will get to us shortly,” Jake’s gramps informed him. “We went ahead and ordered
coffee before you got here.”

  Her turnaround time for the carafe of coffee and three mugs wasn’t as quick as they’d expected. “She’s slammed,” Moody whispered. “The café is busy and Hannah’s running behind.”

  “She’ll catch up,” Gramps said, sounding quite certain. “It’s always that way on Sunday. She runs like crazy before church, then again after the service as well. The crowd doubles in size following the closing ‘Amen.’ People are patient. The other waitresses help her when they have a free second.”

  Those free seconds were far and few between. The major eyed the creased newspaper. “We’ve already read the paper. You should take a look at the front page while we’re waiting,” he nudged. “There’s a picture and article on the parade.”

  Jake shook out the paper and took a look. His gramps had not prepared him for the half-page photo spread. Hannah, he, and the triplets were front and center. Hard to miss.

  The photographer had captured them in black-and-white. He and Hannah walked close together. He piggybacked Hal and held Harry’s hand. She clutched Howie’s. She wore Jake’s leather jacket as protection against the gusty wind. The hem of her skirt possessively wrapped his left knee. Like a hug.

  Despite the multitudes and crowding, their expressions were engaged. She was peering up at him from beneath the rim of her Little Bo Peep bonnet as he glanced down on her. They looked completely into each other. Her face had softened and his own was relaxed too, less harsh without his normal locked jaw. The photo revealed their compatibility. A notable attraction. There was a core oneness about the two of them that hinted at a possible relationship. It was that evident.

  Jake didn’t care what anyone thought of them.

  The Halloween parade had brought them together.

  He wasn’t big on having his picture taken.

  However, this one touched him.

  They looked like a couple.

  Somehow that didn’t bother him in the least.

  “So . . . what do you think of the front page?” Moody prodded.

  Jake folded the paper, ducked a response, “I’ve yet to read the article.”