“Okay, fine. You’refine. I know, honey.” She patted my hand. “Anyhoo, fine and steady are good. She needs someone steady, and it’s going to be you.”
“I know, I’m patient. I’m waiting. I’m sticking around just like you said.” I eyed her suspiciously. “You know something, don’t you?”
“I probably know more than you do,” she answered with a smirk. “But I’m not telling tales out of school. You’ll find out everything whenshetells you. Not whenIdo. One thing Mabel and I have learned over the years is to be discreet. Or at least mostly discreet.”
She left with a wink and an extra biscuit wrapped in a napkin. The lunch rush hit a minute later, the kitchen finding its rhythm the way it always did when the bell started dinging, and the noise turned into a song. It grounded me. This would always ground me. The more time I spent here, the more I loved it.
That Grahamcame in at one o’clock sharp.
He chose the middle booth—the one that couldn’t help but resemble a stage under the pendant light—and removed his scarf with a flourish like everyone was expecting him. Tall. Tailored. Waiting for a reaction. A couple of heads turned. It was obvious he wanted them to. I kept working.
“Welcome in,” I called over, using as neutral a tone as I could manage. “We’ll be right with you.”
He gave me a two-finger salute and slid into the booth, back straight, arm draped along the top like it was a photo shoot.
When I stepped over with a menu, he waved it away. “Surprise me with your signature,” he said, like a dare. “If you have one.”
“The brisket melt,” I said, writing it down. “Onion jam, house aioli. Fries okay?”
“That depends.” He tilted his head. “How crisp is your idea ofcrisp?”
I smiled benignly. “The kind that doesn’t ask for notes.”
His mouth tightened in a way only people who knew what kind of man he was would see. “Then yes. And a club soda with lime. I have a meeting soon. I’m kind of in a rush.”
“Coming up.”
I didn’t hurry. I also didn’t dawdle. When the sandwich landed, it was a showstopper, like usual—melted cheese, steam curling up, the crust just shy of dark, a pile of fries like golden confetti. I set it down. He didn’t thank me. He stared at the sandwich like it should be nervous.
He ate half the melt and a few fries, then set the sandwich down very precisely. I was refilling the sweet tea urn when his voice floated over, pleasant as static.
“It’s still a lovely little place.”
“Appreciate it,” I said, still working.
“Charming. Nostalgic. A time capsule.” He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “If I were you, I’d protect that carefully.”
I wiped my hands and walked over. “We intend to.”
He leaned back. “May I offer some friendly advice?”
“No,” I said, and smiled so he’d think I was joking.
He smiled back with a chuckle, like we’d agreed on something. “Eliza looks well.”
There it was—the point of his visit.
“Yeah. She always does.”
“Mm.” He tapped his glass. “She’s a bit sensitive about her past, about how things ended for her in Portland. I’d hate to see her dragged into performative rivalries. Or put on display.”
“Then stop showing up to her place and talking at her.”
He blinked once, slowly, as if recalibrating. “You don’t quite understand how this works here, Nate. Honeybrook Hollow loves a hometown success story. They’ve been waiting for me to come back and give them a restaurant.”
“They’ve had a hometown favorite for going on forty years,” I said, nodding at the room. “They didn’t have to wait.”
A smile, thinner now. “You’re busy. Running a small business is?—”
