I shake my head, stomach growling as the steam from the savory sauce reaches my nose. By the end of my shift, I was ready to leave and put my feet up. The diner is like my second home, but sometimes a girl just wants her actual home.
“Tourist season has officially started. Anything interesting happen on your first day back?” she asks, sticking her head in the stainless-steel fridge.
My mind flashes to the business card in the tip jar, and I bite back a smile. I don’t talk to Mom about this kind of thing, and I’m really not starting now. She’s too nosy. If she gets even a whiff of any kind of gossip, she’ll never stop asking me about it. “Nope.” I shake my head. “It was busy, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Well, the hospital was outrageous. Even with my short shift today, I could barely sit down to rest my feet before another emergency came in. Tourists come into town and lose their minds.” She dishes up the food and hands it to me, plopping a fork on my plate as she nods for me to go sit at the table. “And let me tell you about Sarah and the new doctor!” While we eat, she fills me in on all the hottest happenings from behind the scenes at Fort Bender Hospital. I mostly pay attention, only tuning her out toward the end.
When we finally make it out the door, the first stars are appearing in the dusky sky. Music blasts through the speakers as soon as she turns on the car, and I race to turn down the ’90s R&B blasting through the speakers. She likes her music loud, but with the headache creeping up the back of my neck, I don’t need that shock to the system right now.
“Don’t you touch my music, Kayla. This is my jam!” She shimmies her shoulders from side to side, singing loudly and off-key as she backs down the driveway. Any song that hit the charts before the year 2000 is her “jam,” but I like this one and don’t plan to argue. I giggle, shaking my head at her solo dance party as I dance along with her.
The grocery store parking lot is packed with cars from up anddown the coast, making me brace myself for the crowd we’re about to face inside. I scan the list saved on my phone while we head to the front doors, hoping to get in and out as fast as possible.
“I forget how crowded it gets on Memorial Day,” Mom grumbles, sliding past a cart left in the middle of the cereal aisle. She hates the summer season as much, if not more, than I do. “Can you grab the bread, milk, and eggs? I’ll meet you over there. Divide and conquer might be our best strategy for getting out of here alive,” she says with a grimace.
“On it,” I say, turning in the opposite direction. The checkout lines flow into the aisles, forcing me to sidestep distracted families and confused retirees every couple of seconds. “This is ridiculous,” I mumble under my breath, wishing I would have gotten groceries earlier in the week.
Milk and eggs secured, I maneuver to the bakery. By some small miracle, the bread aisle is vacant. I take a centering breath, enjoying the quiet before locating the bread I like. The farther I walk down the aisle, the emptier the shelves become. It would be just my luck if this basic grocery necessity is sold out for the one week I actually need to pack a lunch.
I lean my head back to grumble at the empty shelf when I spot one solitary loaf at the top, pushed to the very back. Tipping on my toes, I stretch to reach the bag with one hand and fall short. Sliding the milk and eggs on an empty shelf, I hop and attempt to grab the bread again. I’m tall, but not tall enough to reach, and my jumping shakes the entire rack. A crash and a chorus of voices respond in surprise as something falls off the shelf in the next aisle.
“Sorry!” I call with a grimace. Hands on my hips, I stare at the bread loaf in defeat. This isn’t a big deal, but I’m grumpy and tired and itfeelslike a big deal.
“Everything okay?” Mom asks, coming down the aisle with the shopping cart. “You exploded a jar of pickles over there.”
“Perfect.” I grit the front of my teeth to try and grind out some of the frustration I’m feeling. “Everything is great. I’m tired,my feet hurt, and the bread I need for my lunches this week is stuck up there,” I whine. Mom looks between me and the bread briefly before her eyes slip past me and widen. “What’s wrong?”
“Here you go,” a voice says from behind me. I turn and a tall Black man hands me the loaf. “That must be some special bread. You narrowly missed me with those pickles over there.” He gestures to the next aisle with a bright smile stretching across his deep umber face.
“Sorry about the pickles,” I say, offering a forced smile. “And thanks for the bread…” I take a step back toward Mom, whose head is down now, shaking from side to side as she rummages through her purse.
The man looks between us both and smiles again. “Not a problem. Someone’s over there cleaning it up now. Have a good evening.” He turns back the way he came and disappears around the corner.
“You good?” I ask Mom.
“Umm, yeah. I think I left my phone in the car, and I’m on call until eleven tonight. Take my card and check out. I’ll meet you outside.” Her words are rushed, and she’s seemingly out of breath as she swiftly walks toward the doors.
“…Okay. See you in a few hours,” I say to myself in a sarcastic tone, remembering the checkout lines from earlier. I make it through quicker than I thought I would, and before I know it, I’m knocking on the trunk of the car.
When I get in the passenger seat, a new ’90s R&B song plays through the speakers. This one I’ve heard plenty of times before, crooning through the walls at night after she’s had a glass or two of wine. Mom sways side to side, looking up at the moon through the windshield. She hums along this time, and as I reach for the volume knob to turn it down a few notches, she shoots a glare sideways. “Let me guess,” I say. “This is your jam too…”
CHAPTER SIX
CHASE
It’s early when I pull up to Patti’s Place for coffee—hopefulPattywith aYis working again this morning. The calming breath I take while walking through the nearly empty parking lot clears my head as I mentally prepare to see her again. If I want to make an impression, I can’t afford another speechless encounter like the one at lunch yesterday.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Patty calls over her shoulder, keeping her eyes on whatever task she’s working on in the kitchen.
I slip into a seat at the counter and wait, watching her prep another pot of coffee. Her hair is pulled up in the front, flowing down her shoulders in the back. My heart beats a tick faster at the thought of seeing her face again. She turns to greet me, and my breath hitches in my throat.
“What can I…?” She pauses, halting her steps. “Oh, hey,Gatherer.Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Chase,” I say. I think she’s messing with me, but the polite grin on her face betrays nothing.
She nods, trying to hide a smirk. “Oh, I remember.”
“Yeah… I was sent to pick up some coffee. The grocery store was fresh out.”
