“That is mine,” chimes in thedick.
I slowly turn my head toward him only to be met with an annoyingly quirked eyebrow likeheis the one finding the situation annoying.
“Can I help you?” I ask in the calmest voice possible, even though I want to grab him by his neck and smack his face into the counter. Multiple times.
“Mmm, yeah.” He nods at my plate. “That is mine.”
Keeping my steady voice, I point at the plate and ask, “This one?”
“Yes.” His voice turns challenging, and it sounds ridiculous. Where is he going with this? “I’m a regular here, so my order is priority.”
“Dick,” Nora starts, but I stop her with a raised hand, silently begging her not to interfere. I hate people like him in general, been dealing with them since my early twenties, and knowing that he hurt Nora—and keeps hurting her by the looks of it—makes me wish he’d start something right here and right now, so I can rearrange his face along with his fucking quirked brow.
“Now, Dick.” I accentuate his name. “You want this delicious meatloaf? This steaming plate of goodness that got delivered to me instead of you?”
His eyes flicker down to the plate for a second before returning to my face with newfound confidence. “Yes. That plate is mine.”
“Okay,” I reply nonchalantly, making his eyes shine with the idea that he’s won. Then I dip two fingers into the steaming meatloaf, nearly burning myself, pull them out, and send them straight into my mouth. “Mmm, delicious.” Pushing the plate a few inches in his direction, I lean toward him. “Then come and take it. Dick.” I say it in the steadiest voice possible, keeping my sole attention on his face.
The prick sizes me up with a quick glance before shifting his gaze to the plate, probably trying to figure out if it’s worthgetting his ass beat over. Dick is as big as I am, but I doubt his mass has come from living through years of trying to survive or from carrying wood logs or building houses with bare hands. He’d end up on the floor with a bleeding nose and maybe a broken bone or two. Let’s see if Dick is smart enough to know it.
With a loud sigh, he pushes the coffee mug away so fast, it topples over the opposite edge of the counter and falls to the ground, shattering loudly in the heavy silence that follows.
“I’m not going to eat in a place where trash is served.” With that, he pushes away from the stool and walks away.
Not sure which he meant by ‘trash’—me or the food—but Dick is far too small to care about his opinion. So I grab the fork, pull the plate to me, and start eating.
Two bites in, I realize that people still aren’t talking. Then suddenly the commotion returns to the busy diner. The other waitress, Karina, starts cleaning the mess, but not before she gives me a very obvious wink. Nora goes to help, but the girl shoos her away.
“Go, deal with that. I think I just got pregnant and need to recover. Go take care of your own eggs,” she adds with a cackle, making Nora roll her eyes so far back in her head I fear she might have permanent damage.
By‘that’ I suspect she means me, and I have no idea what she means by getting pregnant. Is that some sort of code? And why on earth is everyone talking about Nora’s eggs?
My witch’s movements are careful and slow when she approaches the side I’m occupying. She leans toward me a bit, resting her elbows on the counter.
“Your dinner,” she points at my plate, “is on me.”
“Why?” I ask with a mouth full of food.
“Because seeing Dick swallow his tongue was priceless.”
“That was Dick swallowing his tongue?” I ask with a raised brow, because the douchebag sure had a lot to say even departing the premises.
Karina snorts from somewhere under the counter, clearly getting a quick kick from Nora because she lets out a squeak and punches her back. Their brawl looks like a playful interaction between siblings, and I know they are not. From what I’ve heard, Nora has only one sister, Cheryl. The local cop. I can see how this friendly atmosphere between staff would attract the locals. It sure draws me in.
It’sthe atmospherethat called me in today, nothing else.
“Thank you, but I prefer to pay.”
“Consider it a welcome gift. To the neighborhood.” With a playful wink, she goes to grab a coffee pot and starts moving around the diner, refilling coffees.
Everywhere she goes, she’s greeted with a friendly face, and for every single person she has a smile and something to say. I can’t exactly hear what she says to each person, but their faces brighten up every time she starts talking.
I inhale the food without even realizing how fast I’m eating—it’s that good. I see now why Dick wanted to fight me for it. Too bad for him he’d never win, especially now, when I know the taste of this food. And when the witch has served it to me. I’m on my last bite when a piece of Boston cream pie is placed in front of me. Shameful to admit that even after such a giant portion, I still have room for this not-so-small piece of pie.
“Thanks,” I mumble to Nora, pulling the pie closer.
“The best in Maine,” she says, then adds in a conspiratorial voice, “Don’t tell Marina from Little Hope.”
