“Men from the city certainly move faster than the men-folk around here,” she muttered, shaking her head at the phenomenon. “I had the feeling he was interested in you the minute he walked in the door.”
As puzzled as her mother was certain, Kelsey moved to help unload the bag. “What are you talking about?”
“Sam, of course. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you when he came in.” Her voice low, she handed over the first of the four dozen eggs she’d bought so Kelsey could start cooking. “The man is truly smitten.”
Kelsey blinked at the side of her mother’s silvering head. The woman didn’t just leap to conclusions. She vaulted headlong. Sam had been concerned about what he’d done to her. And, maybe, a little curious because of what she’d written about him. But her mother couldn’t possibly have known that. Sam was also definitely not the sort of man to be “smitten.”
Her voice dropped to a murmur, too. “I seriously doubt it.”
“No need to doubt it, honey. That man hasn’t paid anything more than polite notice to Marian or Lorna,” she pointed out, speaking of the two single sisters who waited tables for her. Since Kelsey had arrived, she had them working only lunch and dinner. Knowing how much overtime they would put in over the weekend and wanting to keep her expenses down, Dora had taken the breakfast shift herself. “Those two have done everything short of slicin’ his meat tryin’ to get his attention. You must have been too busy to notice, but that man was flat out flirtin’ with you yesterday.” One eyebrow arched. “What was it he wanted just now?”
“He came in to help me clean up the floor.”
“See?” As if her assessment had somehow just been confirmed, she gave her a quick little nod. “Now,” she continued, opening the fridge to put away the rest of her purchases, “you get his breakfast and I’ll tend to his coffee. Then, you can tell me about your phone call. I want to hear all about Doug,” she informed her, clearly more interested in Kelsey’s career than in the man whose attentions she’d just completely dismissed. “I want to know what you think about his offer compared to what the Regis-Carlton is offering you. I can’t imagine anything more prestigious than that promotion, but if this Westland fellow is as big as you say, maybe that’s the way you should go.” Letting the refrigerator door swing closed, she headed for her apron. “Whatever you decide, I’m sure you’ll do the right thing. You always do.” She smiled to herself. “That’s what’s always made me so proud of you.”
Kelsey wasn’t sure what to make of the squeezing sensation she felt in her chest just then. It could have been gratitude for her mom’s unfailing belief in her. It might have been a hint of panic. Trying to ignore whatever it was, she simply smiled weakly at the woman who had actually accomplished so much herself, and turned her attention to Sam’s meal.
In many ways, her mom had been her role model ever since her dad had died of a heart attack when she was nine years old. She didn’t remember much about her father. Stew Schaeffer had been a farrier who’d trimmed cow and horse hoofs on farms all over New England, so he’d been gone much of the time. Her mom had been a housewife who’d won blue ribbons with her pies every year at the state and county fairs. Kelsey had been their sole offspring. She had also been her mom’s biggest concern when they’d suddenly been left with no means of support.
It seemed to Kelsey that after her father had passed on, her mom had simply stifled her tears, taken a deep breath and plowed ahead as best she could. She’d had only one marketable skill and a daughter whose life she refused to upend by moving them from their home. So within months, she’d taken the small life insurance check she received and thrown her grief and her energy into converting her only other asset, her house, into the diner.
That diner, and Kelsey, had been her life ever since.
That was one of the reasons Kelsey hadn’t hesitated to return home when her mom had called. Her mom had always been there for her, wanted what was best for her, and done her best to see that she got it. Kelsey had always been grateful for that, too. Unfortunately what her mother wanted for her now didn’t necessarily coincide with what Kelsey wanted for herself.
She hadn’t realized how often that had been the case, however, until that evening when she dug the diary from the bottom of her suitcase.
Kelsey’s travel clock sat on her old white nightstand next to a pink ceramic lamp. The sleek, efficient chrome timepiece looked as hugely out of place in the frilly girlish room as the expensive caramel-colored leather travel bag sitting open on a chair. She wasn’t paying attention to the contrasts, though. Or the time. Propped in her narrow twin bed, covered with the pink blanket and chenille bedspread that matched the rosebud print wallpaper, she slowly flipped through the pages she’d written so long ago.
An entry in May reminded her that she’d been barely halfway through high school when she’d started daydreaming about living at the mill and grinding grain there to bake breads. Even then she’d loved to bake. Her mom, however, had pointed out that no one needed a mill to grind grain since flour was plentiful enough at the store, that even if it weren’t, the mill was a wreck and that Maple Mountain was too small to support a bakery. With that idea thoroughly trounced, Kelsey had never mentioned it again.
She had always been happiest in the kitchen. That was why, daydreams aside, she had assumed all through high school that she would stay in Maple Mountain after she graduated and help her mom by doing all the baking for the diner. Her mom, however, had insisted that she needed to be where she would be exposed to more opportunities than she was likely to find in such a small place and suggested cooking school. She’d also pointed out that she needed to set herself apart with her talents if she were to succeed anywhere away from there, and to do that, she had to learn from the best. Ultimately her mother had convinced her to go to Boston. The move had opened a world of possibilities Kelsey had never imagined, and led to a life far different from what she’d rather reluctantly left behind.
“It’s what’s best for you,” she remembered her mom had said as, slowly turning pages, she came upon an entry she’d made on her birthday.
It had been her sixteenth and she’d written about a sunshine-yellow sweater she’d seen in a JC Penny catalog. She’d wanted it for her birthday because all her friends were wearing the color. Her mom had ordered the sweater and given it her, but in blue because she’d thought the color flattered her more.
Kelsey had poured out her disappointment on the page, but she knew she hadn’t let on to her mom. It had been a gift, after all, and it would have hurt her mom’s feelings to tell her she really didn’t care that the color was better for her. Yellow was what she’d hoped for.
An old feeling of powerlessness came out of nowhere. Her mom had always done so much for her. But what she’d done was always what she considered best, not what Kelsey had wanted for herself.
Stifling the tug of resentment that came with the thought, feeling guilty for feeling less than grateful for the sacrifices her mom had made, she flipped ahead a month in her diary—and winced.
The page staring back at her was filled with Sam’s name in various forms and stages of embellishment. And her own, with his last name. It was the page he’d asked her about.
Not wanting to think about that, either, she made another quick turn.
SAM SMILED AT ME!
The large capital letters fairly leapt off the page.
He came into the diner today, she’d written. He’d gone to St. J for his uncle and ordered a cheeseburger with everything, two orders of fries and apple pie and ice cream. I was so nervous I didn’t remember to tell Mom the fries were a double order and when I brought him his food I remembered and apologized and told him I’d get his other fries right away. He’s SO nice. He smiled and said it was okay because he forgets stuff sometimes, too, and he didn’t need the fries because it was just a snack and he needed to save room for dinner.
From the next date entered, she’d apparently had nothing else specific to write about for nearly a
week. Prompted as much by curiosity as an apparently masochistic need to know what else he’d read, she leafed ahead, catching bits and pieces of how she’d been afraid he’d gone home because no one had seen him for a while, and how excited she’d been when he’d shown up at church with his aunt and uncle.
Much of what she’d written had her groaning at the teenage angst she’d poured onto the yellowed pages. Some had her shaking her head at her innocence as she agonized and fantasized about whether or not he would be at the Fourth of July celebration. The entry for July twelfth, however, had her holding her breath. It was the entry Sam had offered to quote to her.
She’d seen him again. At the feed store this time, helping his uncle load sacks of grain. He’d apparently taken off his shirt because it was so warm and inspired thoughts that were utterly shameless.
He has to be the strongest, most amazing man in the world. His body looks so big and so hard. I wonder if his skin feels rough or soft. I wonder what it would feel like next to mine. I wish I knew. I wish we could be here in the moonlight and that he would kiss me and unbutton my shirt and put his hands on me. I want him to be the first to touch me. I want him to be the first to show me everything…
Kelsey drew a deep breath. She didn’t know if the knowing smile she’d seen in Sam’s eyes when he’d offered to quote that particular passage had been there because she’d called him incredible and amazing, or because she’d been so willing to give up her innocence to him. Or so she’d so boldly claimed. Heaven only knew what she’d have done had he ever really touched her.
She actually hadn’t been skin to skin with a guy until she’d turned twenty and fallen head over challah with a young chef from Milan she’d met in advanced breads and baking. Their relationship had lasted until it came time for him to go home and he’d told her it was time for her to move on without him. Just like that. He hadn’t even given her the chance to decide for herself whether or not she wanted to go with him. He’d made the choice for her, and was gone.
In the years since, moving on—and up—had taken priority in her own life. She’d had a couple of almost-serious relationships along the way, and lots of friendships, but no man had ever inspired anything like the early and undying passion she’d apparently felt for Sam.
Remembering his concern for her that morning and the way he’d looked at her when he’d cradled her head, she couldn’t deny being drawn to him in some ways even now. Ways that weren’t particularly wise and would have disturbed her greatly had she not known she was leaving in a matter of days.
Thoughts of the mysterious and compelling man he had become gave way to feelings of chagrin, nostalgia and a strange hint of melancholy as she started reading about her dreams for restoring the mill and living there with him. After they were married, of course. She’d even planned out the wedding. And named their children.
She didn’t think Sam had read that far back in the diary. Not being certain, all she could do was hope that he hadn’t seen those particular entries. Not that it mattered, she supposed. The man already knew she’d been crazy about him. He knew she’d lusted after his body. Still, she hoped he hadn’t realized how totally she’d once built her dreams around him. It would be nice to have at least a little dignity left where he was concerned.
She was still hoping for that when he showed up for breakfast right on time the next morning.
The diner was full by 7:00 a.m., mostly with neighbors who had come from outlying areas to set up and stock their craft booths for the start of the festival tomorrow, and with tourists getting a head start on the weekend. Busy in the kitchen, Kelsey had barely noticed who’d come and gone. She could have sworn she felt it when Sam walked in, though. Or, maybe, what she felt was the pull of his eyes when she looked up from where she’d just set two filled plates on the ledge. His glance pinned her through the window, making her heart give an odd little jerk as he took his seat by Charlie.
Over the sizzle of hash browns, breakfast meats and four orders of eggs waiting to be turned, she heard the older man greet him. She was more aware, though, of the way Sam’s glance drifted to her mouth, lingering long enough to remind her of how he’d touched his thumb to its corner before his focus settled on his friend.
“Hey, Charlie,” she heard him say. “Where’s Amos?”
“Avoidin’,” came Charlie’s laconic reply. “He don’t care much for crowds.”
Far more conscious than she wanted to be of Sam’s presence, she pulled her attention back to her tasks as her mom turned from the other side of the window. “We won’t be seein’ much of him till Tuesday or so,” her mom informed him. “Hang on a sec, Sam, and I’ll get your coffee. Marian,” she said to the dark-haired woman slipping behind her to retrieve the steaming plates. “Bring out more cinnamon rolls your next trip to the kitchen, will you?”
Marian Bagley’s response was to deepen her dimples at the man who’d just joined them. “Sure, Dora,” she murmured, obviously conscious of him, too.
“I could really get spoiled having Kelsey around.” Looking as if she were enjoying the rush, her mom slipped her hand under the large pink pastry box in the service window and balanced the side of it with her casted arm. “I never have time to make cinnamon rolls except in the winter.”
“So why don’t you keep her here?” Hanna Talbot, whose family ran the Maple Mountain Motor Inn, posed the query from behind Charlie. She’d come for the rolls Dora was donating to the crew setting up tables in the community center. Reaching for the box over Charlie’s head, she aimed her smile into the kitchen. “Would you be interested in stayin’ here, Kelsey? It would be good to have you back.”
Kelsey heard the friendly question. She just didn’t get a chance to answer it, or to tell the thirtysomething woman she’d known all her life that there were times when she thought it would be good to be back, too.
“Can’t see her wantin’ to do that,” her mom concluded flatly. “This very minute she has people waiting for her to decide whether she wants to be the executive pastry chef at the resort where she’s working now, or take the same position in a restaurant being opened out there. The fellow wantin’ her for that wants her for a business partner, too.
“I don’t know if she’s right or not to take the offer at that new restaurant,” she confided, sounding as concerned as she looked. “Like I told her, I think there’d be a lot more prestige stayin’ at the Regis. And her future would certainly be more secure with a company that’s been around for years over somethin’ that’s just openin’ up. On the other hand, going with someone who gets lots of publicity himself might help her get into Bon Appétit like she did last year. Only this time maybe she could be featured in her own article rather than being part of one about up-and-coming pastry chefs.”
Kelsey didn’t know if she groaned out loud at what her mother was saying, or if the sound was merely mental. She knew her mom loved to talk. She also knew that her mom was proud of her. She just didn’t feel that her personal affairs needed to be served up for her customer’s consumption along with their breakfasts.
“Mom?” she calmly called over the chatter and clink of silverware. Setting another steaming plate in the window, she managed a wan smile in the general direction of Hanna, Charlie and Sam. Hanna and Amos smiled back. Sam, his expression inscrutable, simply watched her. “Would you come in here, please?”
With a glance over her shoulder, her mom offered a quick, “Sure, hon. I’ll be there in just a minute.
“Anyway,” she continued to Hanna, speeding up so she could finish what she was saying, “this fellow is so anxious to have her sign on that he’s called her every day since she arrived.”
“Mom?”
Her mother’s voice dropped a notch. “From the way he asks how I am and how she’s doing when I answer the phone, I think he’s interested in her more personally, too. From what I gather from Kelsey, he’d be quite a catch.”
All Kelsey had said about Doug was that he was a well-known and highly successful res
taurateur, and when her mom had asked, that, yes, he was single. Her mother had drawn her other assumptions completely on her own. Truly wishing the oblivious woman with the blond bun wouldn’t be so free with the conclusions she so hastily drew, Kelsey took a deep breath and tried once more. “Mother?”
“In a second…”
“Hey, Dora.” With a smile for the dark-haired waitress who’d just poured him his coffee, Sam nudged his cup. “Can I get some cream?”
Dora had been fully prepared to continue. Now, interrupted, her forehead furrowed. “You always drink your coffee black.”
He shrugged. “This morning I’m drinking it with cream.”
Beside him Charlie gave a sage nod. “I like a change once in a while, too. Good for a person. Keeps him from stagnatin’.”
Since Charlie fought change with the fervor of a religious zealot, his claim sent Dora’s pale eyebrows flying upward. “Why Charlie Moorehouse. How long did it take you to get that hip of yours replaced? And how long did you have that old truck before the fenders rusted off and you had to get another one?”
Charlie muttered something about ten years on the hip and proceeded to inform them all in defense of his truck that there was no good reason to trade in something that could still get him where he needed to go just because it was held together with a little bailing wire.
Having provided the interruption he was looking for, Sam listened to Charlie defend himself as Kelsey disappeared from the service window. It had been as clear to him as the unease in her eyes that she was no more comfortable than he would have been having his personal business so openly discussed. He had the feeling, too, that she wasn’t nearly as enthralled as her mom seemed to be about either one, or both, of the offers her mom had just broadcast.
As Dora handed him a small pitcher of cream and headed into the kitchen, he couldn’t help wonder if the call that had left her looking so preoccupied yesterday had been from the man her mom had sounded so enthused about, and just how involved she was with the guy. It was none of his business, but it gave him something more interesting to think about than Charlie’s muttering about how they just didn’t make bailing wire the way they used to.
Confessions of a Small-Town Girl Page 7
