Love Inspired June 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Patricia Johns

  “We agreed you would be a silent investor, Mama G.”

  “You and the boys agreed.” Defiance gleamed from her dark eyes. “I agreed to nothing.”

  The boys were her two grown sons, who’d taken over running their mother’s food empire. They’d been overjoyed at the prospect of Kara’s business proposition. Anything to get their well-meaning, never-stop-meddling mother out of their corporate hair.

  “You’re supposed to be enjoying the good life.” Kara shook her head. “You don’t have to work so hard anymore.”

  “Worst decision I ever made was retiring. I’m sick to death of this lady of leisure stuff.” Her double chin quivered. “Unless you don’t want me here.”

  She’d never meant to make the older woman feel unwanted.

  Once upon a terrible time, Kara had been a half-starved little girl. Lured by tantalizing smells of roasted meat, she’d crept into then-middle-aged Glorieta’s kitchen. And instead of turning her out, the woman in the African geometric-print chef’s hat had welcomed her. Eventually teaching Kara everything she knew about food and life.

  But more important, Glorieta had loved her. After Kara’s ailing mother died and no one else wanted her, Glorieta had opened not only her heart to Kara, but her home, as well.

  She owed Glorieta everything. Which only increased the pressure she felt—emotionally and fiscally—to make the Mason Jar a success.

  Kara leaned into her strength. “Actually, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have someone oversee the orders while I supervise the dining room. Or vice versa.”

  Glorieta smiled. “I’d be honored to make sure the kitchen runs smoothly.”

  A weight lifted off Kara’s shoulders. “Thank you for coming.”

  “When does the rest of your crew arrive?”

  “Leo, my short-order cook, should be here momentarily. The waitresses, Shayla and Trudy, come at five. We’ll open the door at six.”

  The full-figured woman squared her shoulders. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Glorieta had started with nothing. But through hard work, perseverance and faith, the single mother of two had let nothing stand in her way to becoming a successful restaurateur. And it was from Glorieta she learned the deeply satisfying joy of feeding people.

  Her throat clogged with emotion. “I love you.”

  Glorieta kissed her forehead. “Love you, too.”

  Her eyes watered.

  “But no more of that.” Glorieta became brisk. “Put me to work.”

  At 6:00 a.m., customers lined the block outside. Kara’s stomach did a flip. For the next few hours she didn’t have time to do anything but greet, seat and assist her waitstaff with the orders.

  She’d scheduled the soft opening over the weekend, to work out the kinks before facing the heavier weekday traffic.

  When the former owner had decided to sell the diner, Kara had offered to keep his staff. Only fifty-something, brassy-blonde Trudy had stayed. Which Kara wasn’t sure was a blessing or a curse. But the wiry-thin woman, overly fond of tanning beds, was as much an institution as the Mason Jar itself.

  The upside was Trudy knew everyone in town. And Kara was counting on Trudy to help her get to know the locals. The downside was Trudy wasn’t shy about voicing her objections to changes.

  Kara only hoped the rest of Truelove wasn’t as set in their ways.

  Midmorning, Trudy introduced her to the pastor at the community church.

  Reverend Bryant had a kind, scholarly face. “I hope you’ll join us Sunday morning.”

  Once when she was a child, her family had traveled to the church for Homecoming Sunday. Sometimes she felt like she’d been searching for home ever since.

  She remembered Truelove as a friendly, hospitable community. The kind of place where neighbors cared for one another. The best sort of place to not only operate a business, but also to put down deep roots and call home. And that was what Truelove felt like to her—like coming home.

  Kara handed the pastor a menu. “I’d love that.”

  Thus far, her weekends hadn’t lent themselves to taking Sunday off. But starting tomorrow with the opening behind her, she meant to rectify that.

  Some customers had questions regarding menu changes. But smoothing over the missing items, she drew their attention to similar entrées. After diving into their food, everyone seemed pleased with her recommendations.

  A steady stream of patrons arrived for brunch. Wisecracking Trudy was in her element. Filling water glasses and topping off coffee mugs, she maintained a lighthearted banter with the diners. Kara kept a careful eye on her other waitress, Shayla.

  Something about the girl brought out her maternal instincts. Which was ridiculous, considering Kara was probably only five years older. Yet, despite keeping chatter to a minimum, Shayla proved to be a hard worker. Not everyone needed to be as talkative as Trudy.

  Behind the counter in her chef whites, Glorieta reached for a porcelain mug on the warming rack. “Thought I’d grab a coffee and take a quick break.”

  She touched Glorieta’s sleeve. “You’re not overdoing it, are you?”

  “Absolutely not. I just wanted to enjoy your success. You should do the same.”

  “When the last diner leaves, I will.” Kara took a quick survey of the dining area. “Right now I’m going to check on my customers.”

  Glorieta patted her shoulder. “Good girl. Work the room.”

  Moving away, Kara fluttered her fingers. “Something else I learned from you.”

  Around one o’clock, ErmaJean bustled through the door with her two Double Name companions in tow. Menus in hand, Kara met them at the register.

  ErmaJean’s denim-blue eyes sparkled. “Happy opening day, dear cousin!”

  She and ErmaJean weren’t cousins. At least, not by blood. Her father had grown up in Truelove and had been distantly related to ErmaJean’s deceased husband. However, in the Southern way of family reckoning, that qualified as close kin.

  A few weeks ago their paths had crossed at the post office. Remembering Kara from that Homecoming Sunday years ago, the older woman had embraced Kara like a long-lost relative. She’d taken Kara under her wing and introduced her to the Double Name Club.

  “Welcome to the Mason Jar Café, ladies.”

  As tall and spare as ErmaJean was round, GeorgeAnne Allen pushed her black horn-rimmed glasses higher on the bridge of her long, bony nose. “Don’t see any use in changing a perfectly good name like diner for café.”

  Kara’s smile dimmed a shade. GeorgeAnne’s family owned the local hardware store. The faintly terrifying woman—with her ice-blue eyes and short, iron-gray cap of hair—was the uncontested leader of the matchmaker pack.

  But retired schoolteacher IdaLee Moore, the oldest and most diminutive of the ladies, shushed her fellow matchmaker. “Don’t be contrary, GeorgeAnne.”

  Kara readjusted her smile. “Why don’t we get you ladies settled?”

  Drawing them into the dining room, she ignored Trudy, who was frantically waving her hands. Kara stopped beside an empty booth. “Here we are.”

  GeorgeAnne stiffened. “That’s not where we usually sit.”

  “But this booth has such a lovely view of the square.”

  GeorgeAnne folded her arms across her green denim jacket. “It’s not our table.”

  ErmaJean and IdaLee exchanged anxious looks.

  The matchmakers had a table? She wished someone had told her. She glanced over to Trudy. Okay, maybe Trudy had tried.

  Clutching napkin-wrapped utensils, Trudy scurried from behind the counter and stationed herself beside a table on the far wall underneath the community bulletin board. She arched her heavily plucked eyebrows at Kara.

  Thank you, Trudy. She’d just earned her keep and then some.

  Kara motioned. “Seems we have your regular table ready now.�
�

  GeorgeAnne harrumphed. “I should think so.” And plowed her way across the crowded diner.

  ErmaJean gave Kara a thumbs-up. Leaving them in Trudy’s capable hands, Kara returned to the register. Crisis averted. Barely.

  A seal of approval from Truelove’s Double Name Club could mean the difference between success and struggling to stay afloat.

  She glanced out the window and spotted Maddox on the sidewalk with an older man she guessed must be Pops.

  Both gazed across the square at the fire station. Perhaps they were waiting for Will to join them.

  Suddenly more nervous than when she opened this morning, she headed for the safety zone of the kitchen.

  * * *

  Will had gotten the call before the sun topped the ridge.

  Back at the station hours later and feeling more than a physical weariness, he changed out of his turnout gear into a clean pair of bunker pants and a long-sleeved TFD T-shirt. After taking out his phone, he shot off a text to alert his father he was finally on his way to meet them for a late lunch.

  Crossing the street, he spotted Maddox and Pops waiting for him outside the restaurant. Rushing forward, his son hugged him around the knees.

  The fire fatalities flashed through his mind.

  Swallowing hard, he hugged Maddox tighter than usual. His son made a quick grab for his firefighter hat to keep it from sliding off his head.

  Pops gave Will a concerned look. “Rough call?”

  “A family with two kids. We were too late.”

  Pops winced. “It’s not an easy job. But try to remember what you do matters.”

  Maddox grabbed his hand. “Come on, Daddy. We’re on a mission.”

  “What kind of mission?”

  “A wunch mission. My tummy’s hungwy for mac and cheese. Are you up for dis mission, Chief MacKenzie?”

  “I’m up for it, Probationary Firefighter Maddox.”

  The bell jangled above the door as they stepped into the Mason Jar. The pleasing aroma of freshly baked bread floated past his nostrils.

  “Some-ding smells yummy.” Maddox bounced in his sneakers. “Yummy to my tummy.”

  Heads turned at his son’s not-so-inside voice.

  The diner was jam-packed. In jeans and pink Mason Jar T-shirts, Trudy and a young woman he recognized from the trailer park on the other side of the river hurried from table to table with heavily loaded trays.

  He realized he was scoping out the restaurant for Kara.

  “Wook, Daddy!” Maddox pressed both hands against the glass pastry case. “I want dat one, Pops.” His big, dark eyes widened. “And dat one, too.”

  Pops chuckled.

  Kara came out of the kitchen. “Oh, hi.”

  Was it his imagination or had she blushed?

  She extended her hand to his dad. “I’m Kara Lockwood. You three wouldn’t by any chance be related to each other, would you?”

  Grinning, Pops shook her hand. “Guilty as charged. I’m Rick MacKenzie, Will’s father. Smoke eating runs in our veins.”

  She gathered the menus. “Three for lunch?”

  Will nodded and removed the firefighter hat from his son’s head.

  Maddox held up three fingers. “I’m fwee.”

  She hugged him. “And the most wonderful three-year-old I’ve ever met.”

  Maddox beamed.

  Weaving her way among the tables scattered across the room, she led them to an empty booth across from the matchmakers.

  His dad slid into one side of the booth. On the other side, Will eased in after Maddox. She laid the menus in front of them.

  “One for Pops. One for me.” Maddox ticked off the numbers on his pudgy little fingers. “And one for Daddy.” He held up his hand again. “Fwee like me.”

  “You are so smart. Would you like a booster seat so you can reach your food better?”

  He shook his head. “I’m big. ’Cause I’m guess what?”

  Tapping her finger against her chin, she pretended to think. “You’re big because you are... Twenty-five?”

  He giggled into his hands. “No...”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You said you were forty-five.”

  Maddox erupted into laughter. “I’m fwee, Miss Karwa. Fwee.”

  She gave her forehead a playful smack. “Silly me.”

  He’d never seen his son take to a stranger so quickly.

  Maddox started building a house with the sugar packets. “I want to be a cooker wike Miss Karwa when I grow up.”

  She removed an order pad from the pocket of her white apron. “I thought you wanted to be a firefighter.”

  “I want to be both.” He got on his knees. “When can we cook some more, Miss Karwa?”

  Will scrubbed his face with his hand. “Miss Kara is busy with the Mason Jar. She doesn’t have—”

  “I’d love to cook with Maddox again. Maybe one afternoon after the café closes for the day.”

  A knot tightened in the pit of his stomach.

  He was well aware of the lack of female influence in his son’s life. But more Maddox time with Kara meant more time for him with her, too. He couldn’t go there. Not ever again.

  To take his mind off how attractive she looked in the pale blue blouse paired with jeans, he picked up the menu. “We’ll see,” he grunted.

  Kara’s smile slipped. “Perhaps, Chief MacKenzie, you’d prefer to begin with our house specialty, café au lait?”

  He’d prefer she call him Will. And he’d rather not examine his reasons too closely. “Café o’what?”

  “It means coffee with milk.”

  He leaned forward. “I know what it means, but what happened to plain ole American coffee?”

  “You can make plain ole American coffee at home.”

  He ran his hand over his head. “The fire department was called out to an incident, so I didn’t get to have coffee at home.”

  She made a palms-up gesture. “Consider café au lait at the Mason Jar a call to adventure.”

  He hunched his shoulders. “I’ve had about all the excitement I can take for one day.”

  “But regular coffee is so...so...” She flung out her hand.

  He cocked his head. “So what?”

  She fluttered her lashes. “So boring.”

  He bit back a laugh. “Boring?”

  Kara propped her hand on her hip. “I call ’em like I see ’em.”

  “Sounds like it’s time to answer the call, son.” His father winked at Kara. “I wouldn’t mind trying one of those fancy coffee drinks myself.”

  Traitor.

  She favored his father with a sweet smile.

  Will stroked his jaw. “Are you telling me the Mason Jar no longer offers regular coffee?”

  Her eyes sparked. This was fun. He gave her a crooked grin.

  Pops laid aside the menu. “I’ll have whatever coffee you’re brewing. It smells fantastic.”

  “Café au lait, it is.” Smirking, she scrawled a note across the order pad. “And I’ll get a boring, regular American coffee for Chief MacKenzie.”

  He started to laugh until he noticed that several feet away, the Double Name Club appeared to be taking more than a passing interest in their conversation.

  She made a jot on the order pad. “And for Master Maddox?”

  “You’re so funny, Miss Karwa. I want milk.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Holding his hat to his chest, Maddox wriggled down from the seat and scooted underneath the booth.

  Will made a grab for his son, but he wasn’t quick enough.

  “I go see de kitty cat.”

  She placed her hand on his son’s cheek. “It’s busy in the kitchen, sweetheart. I don’t want you to get hurt. Maybe another time, okay?”

  “You pwomise?
”

  “I promise.”

  Maddox clambered into the booth, and Will slid across the seat to make room. Within minutes she returned with their drinks.

  “Have you made a decision about lunch?”

  Maddox propped his elbows on the table. “I want mac and cheese.”

  Will flipped the menu pages. “I don’t see mac and cheese on here anymore,” he huffed.

  “But why can’t I have mac and cheese?” Maddox tuned up. “You said I could have mac and cheese, Daddy.” The daddy part emerged as a whine.

  Will reddened. “I apologize. He’s not usually so—”

  “A late lunch and too little sleep can make the best of us hangry.” Pops waggled his eyebrows. “And I’m not only talking about the kid.”

  She put a soothing hand on Maddox’s back. “Mac and cheese is still on the menu. But with a different spin.”

  Will furrowed his brow. “Where? I don’t see it.”

  Leaning over his son, she placed her finger on an item halfway down the page. “There.”

  The scent of vanilla wafted off her clothing, and his pulse sped up. “Croque-Monsieur?”

  “Dat’s not mac and cheese.”

  “It’s better.” She squeezed Maddox’s hand. “Southern comfort food with a French twist.” She looked at Will. “The Mason Jar has a new policy that if customers don’t like their food, the meal is on the house.”

  He settled against the cushion. “The owner must have a lot of confidence to make an offer like that.”

  She gave him an odd look. “The owner has a lot of confidence in her food. Croque-Monsieur Mac and Cheese is one of my favorites.” She touched Maddox’s arm. “Will you try it, sweetie pie?”

  Rubbing his eyes, Maddox gave a slow nod. “I trwy for you.”

  She smiled. “You’re going to love it. And what about your dad and granddad?”

  Pops pointed to the daily special chalked onto the blackboard over the cut-out window behind the counter. “What’s this croquet madame thingy?”

  “The Croque-Madame is a ham sandwich covered in cheese and an egg.”

  “Simpler if the menu just said that,” Will muttered.

  Pen poised over the pad, she bared her teeth at him. “And what about you, Chief MacKenzie?”