Mae's Cafe (Welcome To Chance Book 1)

by Elsa Kurt

  Brianna stood and sauntered around the playmat to Elise. She pulled a long strand of hair off Elise’s tank top and eyed her slyly. “I think we all know that he spent the most time with Mae Huxley. I also think that you know exactly who he’s staying with, but someone has sworn you to secrecy. Now, who on earth could make Elise Martino willingly keep a secret from her best friends, hmm?” Brianna whispered, “Could it be a former Chance Q.B., maybe?”

  There was a pause, then Charlotte blurted, “Oh, I know! He’s staying with Mae, right? Did I guess it, Elise?” They all looked at her—Brittany and Brianna with annoyance, Elise with relief—and she blushed and shrugged, “Okay, fine, you already figured that out. Whatever, God.”

  Brianna was like a dog with a meaty bone. She wasn’t giving up. “No shit, Sherlock,” she sneered at Charlotte, “now we’re trying to figure out who’s Elise’s informant.”

  “Bet I know, Bri.” Brittany smirked.

  Just then, Brianna’s cell phone rang. She strode over to her Louis Vuitton diaper bag on the bench and checked the caller ID. She rolled her eyes and answered. “You know I’m at playgroup, Ricky. Why are you calling?” A long pause, then, “Oh. He called you? No, it’s fine. I’ll see you later.” She hung up without saying goodbye and briskly turned to the others. “All right, then. Since Elise has somewhere more important to be this morning, let’s do our group picture now.”

  “Oh, but Katie’s not here. It won’t be the same,” droned Charlotte.

  “Well, it’s not our fault she can’t manage her children, Charlotte. No reason we should be deprived of our tradition, right?”

  “Totally right,” agreed Brittany, already setting up the blanket under the maple tree for the children.

  Charlotte sighed and gave Elise a resigned look. Elise shrugged and brought Gianna to the blanket. “Come on, Char, set up the camera and let’s do this,” ordered Brianna impatiently.

  “Yeah, Charlotte. Elise has somewhere else to be,” said Brittany, mimicking Elise.

  “Oh, shut up, Brittany,” sighed Elise.

  “Oh, very nice, Elise. Does that mean you’re missing yoga today?”

  “Oh my God, Brittany. No, I am not going to miss yoga, relax. It’s like five hours from now.”

  “Well, you’re awfully cagey about—”

  “Jesus, enough,” sniped Brianna. “Everyone get ready. Charlotte, do you have that camera set up yet or what?”

  “I’m trying, Brianna. It won’t—”

  “Excuse me, would you like me to take the picture for you?”

  They all turned toward the male voice coming from behind them. William Grant smiled benignly down at them, his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his beige pants. This was their first real, solid look at the man who would be writing about their town. The quick glimpses hadn’t done much to exhibit his many physical qualities, Elise noticed. She also observed the instantaneous transformations of her girlfriends. Brianna smoothed her hair and turned on her brightest smile. Brittany suddenly stood straighter, thrusting her chest out, and put on a coy smile. Charlotte tripped over her diaper bag bringing him the camera.

  “What fortuitous timing you have, Mr.—”

  “Please, call me William. You are,” he paused, “Brianna, yes?”

  “That’s right.” She preened and tossed a smug glance at the other women.

  “Your husband fixed my car for me, I believe. And now, let’s see. You are Charlotte, Brittany, and Elise.” He looked around then said, “But there’s one missing. Kate? No, Katie. How’d I do?”

  William grinned and walked down the grassy slope from the path toward the women and their brood. The women watched him with more than casual interest, taking him in from his salt-and-pepper-haired head to dark brown loafer-clad toe. His clothes—a black Polo shirt and beige pants—gave him a crisp but casual look and Elise thought the phrase that nearly every woman thought when she looked at William Grant. Ruggedly handsome.

  Realizing no one had answered him, Elise called out, “Impressive, Mr—William. You’ve been paying attention, haven’t you?”

  “Ah, yes, well, Mae’s been a wonderful tutor.”

  “I’m sure she has, William,” said Brianna slyly.

  She was chastised by William’s raised eyebrow and silent reproach. Surprisingly, she blushed under his steady gaze. Hmm, thought Elise, Brianna Baker put in her place. That’s a sight to see.

  “Um, so you just push this button here,” explained Charlotte in a voice Elise had never heard her use before, “and it’ll—”

  “Ah, yes, thank you, dear. I’ve had some experience with cameras,” said William with a teasing but kind smile that set Charlotte into a fit of giggles and apologies that were cringeworthy.

  “William was a famous photojournalist before he became an author. Isn’t that right, William?” Elise had done her research, of course. She was willing to bet that she knew more about William Grant than even Mae Huxley did.

  William held Elise’s gaze for a beat—no doubt wondering just how much she knew of his past—then answered coolly. “Someone has been doing their homework. Perhaps a career in writing detective novels is in your future.”

  Brittany snorted, “The only thing Elise could write is the town gossip column.”

  Elise gave the finger. Secretly, she tucked away both ideas. “I make it my business to know what’s going on in my town, so sue me.” She shrugged.

  “On the contrary, Elise. I may have to pick your brain for that vast array of knowledge inside it.”

  Brianna, tired of not being the center of attention, called out, “This is all fascinating, but can we get on with the photo, please? Cassidy is wrinkling my blouse.” She held her daughter at the edge of her lap, elbows out like wings, in an attempt to maintain the smoothness of her silk blouse.

  Elise bit back the snarky comment on the tip of her tongue and marched over to the blanket with Gianna on her hip. After several minutes of hair checks, baby drool wiping, and various adjustments, William announced, “Okay, ladies and babies, we’ll take a few shots here and then see how you like them. Ready?”

  The women posed themselves and their children, and William snapped off half a dozen photographs, turning the camera at different angles for each one. He called out an encouragement with each one. “Very nice.” Then, “Perfection, ladies.” And so on. By the time they were done, they all felt as though they’d been on a modeling shoot.

  As it happened, William was headed in the same direction as Elise, and she offered to walk with him. She bid the girls a hasty goodbye, noting Brianna’s sour pout and heavy glower as she passed by. She wanted to play cat and mouse, and Elise had refused to squeak.

  When they were out of hearing distance, William smiled down at Elise and asked, “So, are you ladies always that intense?”

  Elise laughed at his unexpected straightforwardness and shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much. I’m sure Mae has filled you in on all our stories, though.”

  In truth, she wasn’t sure what or how much Mae knew about her and the others. She was a year behind them and had always been somewhat a loner. In fact, Elise only knew who she was because her dad had been the only gay guy in town. In a place as small as Chance, anything different was big news.

  William cut into her thoughts. “Hmm, just the basics—your names, your spouses, your jobs. Things like that. Now, you’re married to the English fellow, right?”

  Somehow—with just one simple question asked of her—Elise found herself giving William her whole life story. Except for the divorce part, that was. “Sorry, I don’t usually talk this much. Listening is more my thing. Usually.”

  “Even the listeners need to talk sometimes, Elise,” said William gravely enough to cause Elise to give him a more thorough once over.

  His handsomeness had jumped out first, but now, under closer inspection, Elise could see he was a tired man. Not “had a rough night” tired, but more of a world-weary tired. Life tired. The lines were etched deep at the corn
ers of his warm brown eyes; his tan brow wore a score of worry lines. The creases under the stubble around his mouth could as easily been from frowns as from smiles. Yet his face was somehow beautiful.

  Elise shook her head, more at her thoughts than at William’s words. He was right, of course. She needed to confide in someone. Funny that Bruce had been the one she’d unloaded to. First him, now this man, a complete stranger. She was losing it, all right.

  “What about you, William? I know you’re not married. Is there…someone special in your life?”

  Elise immediately felt guilty for being facetious. She’d looked up William Grant on the internet the day he came to town and knew what had happened to Emelia Lassandro. After her, there were no further mentions of a love interest for the renowned but reclusive photographer turned author.

  William studied Elise, ran a hand across the back of his neck, then gave her a brief smile. “I have a feeling you already know the answer to that, don’t you?”

  “I—” Elise was saved by the two sharp blats of a horn. “Oh, that’s Bruce Grady,” she said, relieved. She called out, “Hey, Bruce!” To William, she said, “Well, thanks for walking with me. See you around town, I guess. Or at least at Mae’s…café that is.”

  William wagged a finger at her, knowing full well her innuendo, and said, “See you around, Elise. Lovely chatting with you.”

  Elise pushed her stroller over to Bruce’s truck, now stopped alongside the curb. “Hey, you! Whatcha doing on this side of town? Don’t tell me you’re stalking Mae. Or William, for that matter.”

  “Jesus, not you too? Why do you girls all get…swoony around him? He’s an old dude. With grey hair.”

  Elise punched his arm. “Swoony? Really? Oh my God, Moosie. He can’t help it if he’s a silver fox. I told you already, he’s got nothing on you.”

  Gianna began to fuss in her stroller.

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Here, hand me that little potato.”

  “She’s not a potato. She’s a beautiful princess,” Elise reprimanded as she lifted Gianna from the stroller and handed her through Bruce’s window. “Go see Uncle Moose, Gigi.”

  To Elise’s surprise, Gianna stopped crying immediately. One chubby hand reached up and grabbed Bruce’s nose, making him chuckle and her giggle. “Hey, she likes me,” he said, grinning at Elise.

  “What’s not to like, Moose? My girl knows a good guy when she sees one.” And a good-looking one too. “So, what are you doing over here?”

  “Ricky Baker called. Wants me to check the roof. You know they might be selling?”

  Elise rolled her eyes. “It’s never going to happen. She wants one of the mini-mansions on Egret Way. There’s no way Ricky can afford that. He’s just humoring her until she gets bored with it all and moves on to something else.”

  Elise could’ve been just as easily referring to Brianna and Miles’s fling, but Bruce didn’t need to know any of that. Besides, she had no idea what Ricky actually knew. It was hard to imagine a guy like Ricky turning a blind eye to his wife having an affair, but Ricky loved her—well—blindly.

  “I figured as much, but Rick’s a buddy so, you know…” Bruce let the sentence drop and turned back to Gianna, who now had a lock of his dark hair in her tiny fist and was pulling with all her might. “Look at this, she’s a brute like her mama.” He laughed.

  “All right, Gigi, that’s enough beating up Uncle Moose for today. Come to Mommy.” Gigi was unwilling to release Bruce’s hair, and Elise had to climb up on the running board, lean into the cab, and unfurl her little finger. Bruce had to dip his head forward, almost resting it on Elise’s collarbone, and they both laughed. Realizing how close their faces were, the laughter died off, and there was a moment of weighted silence. Then Gianna released his hair on her own accord and slapped Bruce’s cheek.

  “Gigi,” Elise exclaimed, pulling away and taking Gianna with her, “we don’t hit, baby. Sorry, Bruce.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. She’s just a kid. Well, uh, I guess I’d better roll. See ya, Lissie.”

  Bruce pulled away from the curb looking as confused as Elise felt. She shook it off and said to Gianna, “You, little one, are a troublemaker. You know that?”

  Two houses down, she saw Ethan’s car in their driveway. He was home early. Elise sighed and set the baby back in the stroller and slowly walked home, knowing she had to tell Ethan—sooner than later—that she wanted a divorce. It was time.

  Chapter 12

  NOT MY PROBLEM

  More than a week had passed since William had begun staying in Mae’s guest bedroom. Eyebrows had risen, and comments were whispered, but no one dared direct comment. No one except Brittany Sheffield, who’d called Mae over to their table on a rainy Tuesday morning.

  “So, Mae, the girls and I have been wondering something all week.” She paused theatrically and glanced at her four friends—two of which were shaking their heads in an emphatic “don’t say it” way—and back up at Mae with mock innocence. “Does he wear boxers or briefs?”

  Mae smiled down at Brittany with a matching innocence. “Gee, Brittany, I don’t know. Let’s ask him, hmm?” Mae looked across the dining area at William and called out, “Hey, William? Brittany here wants to know if you wear boxers or briefs?”

  William folded his newspaper in half, set it on the table. He took a sip of his coffee, leaned back, then said, “Does she, now?”

  “Oh no, I was just—” Brittany’s cheeks reddened while Brianna choked on her laughter, and Charlotte, Katie, and Elise dropped their heads into their hands.

  William lifted that already infamous eyebrow of his and stood, tucking his paper under his arm as he did. He walked over to the women, passing behind Mae and resting a warm hand on her bare shoulder as he leaned down to whisper something in Brittany’s ear. Whatever it was, it caused her to blush even deeper.

  He straightened—hand still on Mae’s shoulder—and bid adieu to the women, whose mouths were agape. “Farewell for now, ladies. Enjoy your breakfast and stay dry.” To Mae, in a softer tone, “See you at home, yes?”

  She grinned and nodded. “Grab an umbrella by the door. It’s pouring out there.”

  He did as she suggested, giving a salute as he stepped out. From across the table, Katie sighed, “How is it possible for an old guy to be so hot? He’s, like, old enough to be our fathers.”

  “Oh, eww, Katie. Now you just ruined it,” brayed Charlotte. “What did he say to you, Brittany?”

  Then all leaned in. Mae was curious too, but she would ask William later. “Ladies, do you need anything else?” she asked before Brittany could answer Charlotte’s question.

  They’d already forgotten about her and were focused on Brittany like hungry piranhas. Mae shrugged and walked over to the patio door. There’d be no outside dining today, but at least all the plants were getting some much-needed watering. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and tried not to succumb to the wave of melancholy that always threatened to wash over her when the skies were grey. She wasn’t made for darkness or pessimism; she lived for sunshine and light. Her dad had always told her so. Even after he died, she couldn’t sustain the heavy burden of constant grief for very long. He was everywhere, in everything she saw and did those first months. Red dragonflies—his favorite—took over the flower gardens. Prince was on every station. AMC ran a William Powell marathon then a Ginger Rogers right after. In the library, his favorite book—The Age of Innocence—sat on a table, turned just so, catching Mae’s eye as she passed by. So many other big little things happened during that time that let her know her father was with her.

  “Mae,” Bruce said softly behind her. Still, she startled.

  “Hey, what’s up? I didn’t think you were coming by today.” Mae smiled warmly up at him. He’d been so distant lately—because of William’s presence, she knew—and she’d suddenly realized how much she’d come to depend on him over the years.

  “Hey, kid, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I came in throug
h the back. I wasn’t, uh, going to come in today, but,” he hesitated, “I saw your, uh, friend walking toward the library.”

  Mae blinked at him, waiting. When he started tugging at his ear, she knew there was something more he wanted to say. “And? What, Bruce? I know there’s something else. Just spill it,” she chided him teasingly. “Unless it’s another warning about—”

  “He was walking with Feather Anne,” he blurted.

  “Oh.”

  “Just ‘oh?’ You’re okay with him talking to her? I could go and—”

  “No, no,” she said brusquely, “it’s fine, really. No big deal, right?”

  “Mae, did he ask you if it was okay? I mean, he should’ve at least asked you.”

  For some reason, Mae was embarrassed—no, humiliated—that she’d been unaware. Worse, she felt betrayed. William had made no mention of plans to talk to Feather Anne, not that he told her much of anything at all. He was true to his word the night he returned her phone to her; she hardly even knew he was there. Most days he was gone before she awoke and most nights returned home long after she’d gone to bed. It would take a fool not to know that he was avoiding being alone with her.

  “I said it’s fine, Bruce. Just drop it, okay?”

  Bruce stepped back, stung by her tone. “Sure, yeah. No problem.” He put his hands up, shook his head, and left through the back entrance with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

  “Shit,” Mae exhaled as she watched him go. She almost called out to him, but Elise Martino stood from her table and followed him. It was just as well; she was in no mood to be consolatory. If anything, she was in a combative, surly mood. A glance at the clock over the kitchen doorway told her she had another four hours before she could go home and put an end to her crappy day. Unless she decided to confront William, then her crappy day would likely extend into the evening.

  The day dragged by, and the rain refused to relent. Only a smattering of customers came through the door, snapping shut their umbrellas and giving Mae apologetic grimaces. They lingered long past their meals, hoping for breaks in the rain that never came. Mae listlessly refilled their coffee mugs and water glasses, and they, with equal disinterest, nodded thanks and stared out the window. Brianna and company had finally left after two and a half hours of idle chatter and mindless gossip, most of which Mae suspected had to do with her, judging by the side glances and behind-the-hand whispers. She found that she didn’t much care what they were saying or thinking—it was predictable and cliché, anyhow. Mae’s own thoughts were keeping her on a low, single-minded simmer.