Mae's Cafe (Welcome To Chance Book 1)

by Elsa Kurt

  “Shit.” She slumped over the bar, her forehead on her arm. Then she popped up again. “Wait, how did you know about the Auxiliary brunch? And I can’t believe Mrs. Rudiwitz just gave up my home address to a total stranger. She probably has a crush on you.” Mae nodded knowingly.

  William gave her a cautionary eye and turned the corner of his mouth down. He was trying to wordlessly chastise her, but she only found it charming. “In answer to your question, I overheard you and Bruce talking about the brunch. In answer to your supposition, I would say that you are incorrect. Mrs. Rudiwitz is kicking me out, effective tomorrow.”

  “What?” Mae exclaimed. “Kicking you out? What on earth did you do?”

  “Nothing whatsoever, but thank you for your assumptions,” he said with mock indignation. Then he added, “She has all her rooms booked for a family reunion. So, if you happen to know a place where I could stay, I’d appreciate it.”

  Before she could think, she blurted, “You can stay here.” An awkward silence hung in the air. Mae rushed to fill the space. “Seriously. I mean I have lots of room here. You’d be at one end of the house, I’d be at the other. It’s not like we’d be sharing a bedroom. Bathroom. I meant bathroom. I mean, obviously, we wouldn’t be sharing a bedroom. That would be, like, totally—”

  “Thank you, Mae. But I couldn’t inconvenience you like that.”

  “It wouldn’t be an inconvenience. Really. I would—it’ll be nice to know someone else is in the house besides me.”

  Mae looked down, away from William’s steady gaze. He ran the water in the bar sink, wet a dishrag, then wiped down the counter. “All right then, Mae. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, William,” she replied.

  “Hey. Who’s—who’s your friend?” slurred Trina from her lounger. She slowly, wobbly righted herself and squinted at William.

  “Tree, this is William.” To William, she staged whispered, “Get ready for the interrogation.” To her aunt, she called out, “He’s a writer. He’s going to write a story about Chance. Oh, and he’s going to, uh, be staying here while he writes.”

  Trina opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again to speak. A loud, sharp hiccup came out. “’Scuse me. Did you just say he’s going to stay here? At your place?” The chair creaked and groaned as she unsteadily pushed herself off and stood. She extended one arm, like a tightrope walker, and held a hand up to Mae. “I’m good, I’m good. If everything would just stop spinning, I’ll be perfect.”

  William watched this all with mild amusement. “Hello, Katrina. Pleased to meet you. Mae has told me so much about you.”

  “She has, has she? That’s funny. She hasn’t told me anything about you.” Trina shot an accusing glance at Mae, who shrugged her shoulders and put her palms up apologetically.

  William took turns studying the aunt and her niece. He noted that their eyes were the same shade of grey, the same round, almost doe-like shape. However, Katrina’s were heavily made up with now-smudged eyeshadow, kohl liner, and thick, millipede lashes, and Mae’s had only a hint of mascara. Where Mae’s face was angular, with high cheekbones, the aunt’s face was full and round, yet William could see the suggestion of a once thinner woman in the softened contours of her face. This was where the resemblance ended. Katrina’s lips were thin—drawn fuller with crimson liner—and her brows were plucked pencil-tip thin, while Mae allowed thicker and likely unaltered brows. As for her lips, they were dark pink and full, set in a permanent but pretty pout when not smiling.

  “William?” Mae smiled, blushing.

  She’d noticed his too long attention to her lips. He’d missed half of what they’d said. William cleared his throat. “Yes, right. Well, I should be getting back to the inn. It was nice meeting you, Katrina. Mae, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Oh, it was nice meeting you, William.” Trina’s tone was one of saccharine congeniality, but her eyes held a decidedly suspicious sparkle.

  Mae shot her aunt a warning glare and said, “I’ll walk you to the front. Let’s cut through the house, and I can show you your room.”

  From behind them, Katrina made a sound. One like, “Mmhhmm.” William pretended not to hear it, and Mae reached her arm behind her and gave her aunt the middle finger.

  “So, this is the kitchen, dining room, living room…” She waved her hand at each room like a game show model showing off the prizes. “Down that hall is my bedroom,” she blushed again, “and yours will be this way.”

  They walked down the softly lit hall, Mae leading William. At the doorway of the spare room, Mae turned sideways so he could look in. He stepped beside her—sideways, as well—and gave a cursory glance around the elegantly furnished room. The walls were painted seafoam green and met ivory crown molding along the ceiling. On the far wall, a queen bed nestled in an ivory quilted bed frame, its paisley print duvet in the same shades of green and ivory snug over and tucked in all around. The bed was bookended by matching vintage looking end tables, on top of which sat seashell-filled glass lamps. On the wall across from the bed hung a huge square painting of a cream-colored magnolia flower on canvas. The wide-plank wood floor was partially covered by a rectangle ivory rug. In all, William thought it looked exactly the way a coastal town guest bedroom should look. Light and airy, yet cozy and inviting.

  He looked down at Mae, suddenly realizing how close they were standing. The sliver of air and space between them seemed to crackle with electricity. Mae’s lips were slightly parted. The rise and fall of her chest quickened. William cleared his throat and stepped out of the doorframe and back into the hallway, taking the crackling air with him. “It looks perfect, Mae.”

  “Great, then. It’s settled.” There was a waver in her voice. Mae Huxley was anything but settled around William. She made a soft ahem sound then added, “I’ll just grab the spare key for you. You don’t have to wait for me to get home tomorrow. Come anytime.” She walked briskly down the hall. She’d all but invited him to kiss her, and he’d rejected her, mutely. What was she thinking, anyhow? She cursed the martinis.

  Trina was now in the kitchen and making an inordinate amount of noise. Opening cabinet doors and drawers then closing them. Dropping silverware into the sink and rummaging in the pantry. When she saw Mae—with William close behind—she exclaimed, “Ah, I was wondering where you two got off to for so long.”

  “Tree, we were down the hall. For less than five minutes,” Mae said through clenched teeth.

  Trina shrugged. “Whatever. I’m grabbing a little bedtime snack and calling it a night. Goodnight, you two.” She sauntered away—or at least tried to saunter; her gait still resembled someone trying to find their land legs.

  Mae shook her head and opened the junk drawer. Underneath the novelty pens, playing cards, restaurant menus, and hotel notepads sat a spare key hanging from a Wizard of Oz keychain. She held it up by the brightly colored plastic and dangled it in front of William.

  “Here you go.” Her tone now was cool, formal. She wouldn’t look William in the eyes.

  He started to speak. “Mae, I—” Then he thought better of it. Instead, he simply said, “Thank you again. I promise I’ll stay out of your hair. You’ll hardly even know I’m here.”

  “Great,” she said brightly. Too brightly. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow then.”

  Once he was safely out the door, Mae fell against it and admonished herself out loud. “You idiot. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “Oh, hell, I know what you were thinking. You, my lovely little niece, were thinking he’d make a great shtup.” Katrina stood, arms crossed over ample chest, nodding at her from the kitchen entrance.

  Mae startled. “I thought you went to bed.” Katrina smirked. “And oh my God, Katrina. I was not thinking that.” Trina’s eyebrow shot up. Mae giggled. “Okay, fine, I was kind of, maybe thinking…oh, never mind. Anyhow, he’s—he’s old.”

  “Sorry, kid, you’re cursed with the Huxley gene—we all like ’em older. Although, this one, honey? I
don’t know. Just be careful, huh? Peace out, kiddo.”

  “Wait, what does that mean? You can’t just say ‘just be careful’ and then call it a night. Be careful of what?”

  “Honestly, hon? You’re vulnerable. He’s been around the block a time or four. Remember, he’s just passing through. Chance is just a pit stop for a guy like that.”

  “You act like you know him. Maybe he—”

  “Honey, I know men like him, and that’s enough. He’s got ghosts or demons or whatever. He’s also got a wall a mile high. That doesn’t happen overnight, Mae. You need someone accessible, easy. Someone like—”

  “Do not say it,” Mae warned.

  “Bruce. He’s a great guy. Mae. You know damn well he’s in love with you.”

  “But I’m not in love with him, Tree.”

  Katrina heaved a world-weary sigh and said, “I know, kid. Here’s to hopin’, though. Anyhow, I gotta hit the hay. You all right?”

  Mae waved her away. “I’m fine, Tree. Really. Goodnight.”

  Once the bedroom door clicked between them, Mae went back out into the backyard, this time to the far end where her goat pen and chicken coop stood. The girls—all nine of them—were huddled together in a cozy, fluffy mound in their coop. Mae watched them for a few minutes, moved over to the goats. Fred and Ginger, George and Gracie were asleep as well. Mae tipped her head back and gazed up at the inky black sky. The stars were bright but so impossibly remote. Usually, she loved stargazing, but tonight the vastness, the largeness of the space filled her with a feeling of inconsequence. She was no more than a speck, a small, fragile being taking up a tiny space in a giant world. The bleak thoughts came with such suddenness, rushing over her in a tidal wave. It pulled at her like a tsunami, sucking at her feet, her ankles. It was tempting to allow it, to give in to the heavy drag of her grief and loneliness.

  A cold nose nudged her hand. “Hello, Gracie girl. Did I wake you?” whispered Mae. She scratched behind her ear, stroked her knobby, coarse pate, and smiled. Gracie stared at her with those strange, coin slot eyes, her bristly jaw working in quick circles. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m just having a moment, that’s all. I’m allowed to wallow once in a while, aren’t I?” Gracie bleated her disproval then pushed at her hand. Discovering that there was no treat in it, Gracie hopped down, stalked over to the hut where the others slept, and went inside without a backward glance.

  Mae sighed and looked at the time. Nearly one in the morning and she had to be up and out by six. “I guess my five-minute pity party is over.” She checked the locks on the pen and the coop and went inside. In bed, sleep evaded her, and her thoughts drifted to the mystery of William Grant. She recalled the way he’d leaned in close when they spoke, how his eyes searched hers, and then when she’d caught his overly long attention to her lips. It made her heart knock harder against her chest, and a sweet pang shot through her core. Just as quickly, her heart sank, and a renewed embarrassment filled her like scalding tea. Mae had leaned in close, close enough to feel his exhalation on the tip of her nose and hear the scratch of his stubble against his shirt collar. Close enough to smell his cologne and the hint of bourbon on his breath. He could have kissed her—not once, but twice—but he pulled away. She scowled and squeezed her eyes shut, determined to imagine a different, more enjoyable outcome. Mae fell asleep at last to the imaginary sensation of William’s lips on hers and the taste of bourbon in her mouth.

  Chapter 7

  FEATHER ANNE

  Jack and Jillie Jacobson—and no, that’s no joke—were a husband and wife “power couple.” At least that was what they called themselves. Often. Then they high-fived each other and said, “Go Triple J!” stretching out the “go” for an annoyingly long beat. They ran Triple J Travel, where their slogan was “Come Fly Away with Triple J!” They handed Mae a business card every other week.

  “Hey Little Miss Mae, you’re looking a little peaked, girl! When was the last time you took a vacation, hmm?” Jillie’s voice was high and sickly sweet, and she rapid-blinked at Mae with her too-big blue eyes. She smiled, baring her also too-big teeth. Mae couldn’t help but notice that her coral lipstick had smeared onto her front tooth. Then she couldn’t help but stare. Bruce walked behind her and not so subtly elbowed Mae’s shoulder blade.

  “Oh, hey Jill, hi Jack. I’m good, all good. Just a little tired. What can I get for you two today?”

  “Jillie,” said Jillie, rapid-blinking and smiling.

  “Um, what?” Mae blinked back at her.

  “It’s Jillie, never Jill. Easy mistake, don’t you fret, girl!” Her tone remained perky, her pitch still an octave too high, but the laugh that punctuated her correction burst from her like machine gun fire and was without actual humor.

  Before Mae could say a word, Jack sprang forward and declared, “Nope, never ever J-I-L-L for my bride.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, put his surprisingly feminine-looking hand alongside his cheek, and spoke in a sing-song from the corner of his mouth, “It makes her go c-r-a-z-y, if you know what I mean?”

  One look at Jillie’s almost maniacally cheery face made Mae think, Yes. Yes, I can see Jillie Jacobson having a c-r-a-z-y side to her. Easily. Jillie nodded encouragingly. Jack nodded supportively at her. Mae stared at both then said, “Right. Okay, then. The flavored coffee today is banana crème pie, and I have warm brie and apricot torts if you’re looking for something different.”

  Ten minutes later and with their usual amount of indecisiveness, the Jacobsons decided on two black hazelnut coffees, two croissants with egg white, spinach, and gruyere—lightly toasted—and two mango pineapple smoothies to go. It was the same thing they ordered three times a week, and yet they always wanted to hear the specials. They were also almost definitely going to decide that they’d changed their minds and would eat at the café instead of bringing it back to the travel agency. However, they would not make this decision until after Mae had packaged their food and poured their coffees into disposable cups and slid them across the counter.

  “You know what, Mae, honey? It’s such a beautiful morning, I think we’re going to eat here. That all right?” Jillie asked in a way that let you know it wasn’t really a question, but a statement.

  “Of course it is, Jillie.” Mae smiled. The plastic kind.

  “Fan-tootalie-tastic! And could you pour those coffees in the pretty mugs? So much nicer, don’t you think?”

  “Totes,” Mae agreed. Jillie’s permanently surprised eyebrows drew together and she tilted her head the way the Brightsiders’ dogs did when she said, “Who wants a cookie?” to them. “Totes, you know, like, meaning totally?”

  “Oh, right. Hmm, I like that, Miss Mae.” She wagged a polished coral nail at Mae and sang, “I’m going to steal that one from you.”

  Mae abhorred this kind of banter. She wished she could sing back to her, “You’re gonna have to pay me royalties,” or something equally cheesy. Instead, she mumbled something incoherent even to her ears and began unpackaging their food while the two of them blinked at her.

  If the Jacobsons sound obnoxious, it was because they were. But they were good people for the most part. Or they at least tried to be. They housed a foreign exchange student every year, donated to the Future Leaders fund, and headed the Chance Beautification Committee that went around pulling weeds and filling giant planters with flowers throughout the town. They were still within child-bearing years—the tail end of it—so either they didn’t want kids or couldn’t have them. Neither of them had ever said anything remotely personal about themselves.

  Once she’d sent them off to the patio, Mae found Bruce in the back prepping mini quiche pans for the Auxiliary brunch. She leaned against the door frame and watched them through the window. Absently, she asked, “Hey, Bruce? You think it’s strange that the Jacobsons never talk about their home life?”

  “Nope.”

  Mae rolled her eyes. “Of course, you don’t. You never talk.” She threw a dish rag at him and missed.
>
  “You never ask,” he said with a shrug.

  The shrug was casual, the pointed stare not. Mae opened her mouth—not having a clue what to say—but she was interrupted. “Hey, Mae? Your brunch group is coming in,” said Melina Petrova from the other side of the counter.

  Saved by the Auxiliary Club. She didn’t need to look to know Bruce’s scrutiny bored a hole in her back. “I’m coming,” she said too quickly and too loudly. Melina’s jump back confirmed.

  The Auxiliary Club luncheon appeared to be a success. The ladies loved their mimosas even more than they professed to love their mini-quiches and spicy Thai salads. Over dessert and coffees, they discussed upcoming events, hushed gossip, their children, and grandchildren.

  In between setting down quiches and mimosas, Mae spied Jillie Jacobson vigorously rubbing at invisible spots on her knife. The next time she looked, she was picking up a fallen piece of croissant—from the ground—and eating it without a second thought. A germaphobe one minute and Pigpen the next. As for Jack, he’d deconstructed his croissant with a surgeon’s precision and ate it layer by layer. But those weren’t the most notable things about them. All the while, they appeared to be completely ignoring each other. Like two separate icebergs floating in the ocean. He fielded calls; she checked her teeth in her compact. She sipped her coffee and looked out across the street. He pulled a newspaper out and began to read.

  “Mae?”

  Mae jumped. Melina stood beside Gloria van Bergen, head of the Women’s Auxiliary Club. Both stared expectantly at her. “Mrs. van Bergen is ready to pay their bill…”

  “Right, yes, of course. Thanks, Melina. Mrs. van Bergen? Come on over to the counter.”

  “Mae, honey, everything was perfect, just perfect! You must give me your Thai dressing recipe. The Colonel would love it, I’m sure.”

  “How is Colonel van Bergen these days?” He’d had a stroke during last year’s Memorial Day parade and had been confined to a wheelchair since.