Easy, right?
CHAPTER 6
HELEN
When I step into Dolly’s, the first thing that hits me is the scent of coffee, greasy food, and a hint of citrus brightness. It’s perfect and just the kind of smell which makes you feel like you’re coming home. It’s always been this way.
For those of us in Dogwood Ridge, life happens at Dolly’s Place. It always has. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Little celebrations. Those awkward moments people would rather forget. First dates, especially for high schoolers who are sharing a milkshake and fragile hopes.
There are things in town that never change and this place is one of them. The things that have changed are some of the waitresses from time to time. Honey is working now because Stan—yes, Stan who was Dolly’s son and grew up in the diner the same way we all did and runs the place from the kitchen since his mom’s passing—always works with people’s schedules. For Honey, she needs him to work with her college classes. And I’ve heard whispers about someone being sick at home.
Still, the smile Honey flashes me is bright as I point toward one of the seats at the counter and she nods. When I see Stan through the pass window, he winks at me and I can’t help but chuckle and smile at the man.
Not only is he Dolly’s son, but he has a brother. Sheriff Lyons.
Everyone knows how Stan insists Dolly’s is neutral ground. The guys in the motorcycle club are welcome. Sheriff Lyons is welcome. Teenagers with all of their loudness at times are welcome. Then there are the grandmothers bound together by one hobby or another.
No matter who you are, you can walk into Dolly’s Place and enjoy a meal. Without it being an issue and certainly without there being any physical altercations.
I’m craving a club sandwich and fries. I don’t know what salt and seasoning blend they use on the fries here, but it’s delicious and like nothing else. There are many days when I would rather make the trip to Dolly’s instead of cooking at home. Especially because I know the special rotation. If you’re a meatloaf fan, there’s a special night for you to stop in and see Stan.
And he’ll make it worth your while.
I don’t even like meatloaf, but that doesn’t stop me from eating it. Only if Stan is cooking it, of course. Talk about comfort food.
My mouth starts to water at the thought of the man’s mac and cheese. I can’t eat it for lunch when I need to go back to work and can’t spend the rest of the day taking a nap. Now, if a nap was on the horizon? I would go for a side of the cheesy noodle deliciousness.
Before I can get too lost in the disappointment of not being able to indulge in the deliciousness now, Honey is in front of me with a big grin on her face.
“Hi, Helen,” her voice is bright and right on the edge of being too cherry.
The young woman would come off as fake and insincere, but she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. And so genuine. She does so much for others, including her family, but doesn’t ask for anything in return.
But things must be rough.
I’m tempted to ask, but I don’t want to embarrass her. Stan will keep an eye on her. It’s one thing I’m certain of.
“Hi, Honey,” I grin at the woman, “how has school been going?”
Shesighs and leans against the counter like it’s the only thing holding her up. “It’s been fine, the first half of the semester is always better than the second half. Still, it’s a lot of work between work, studying, and getting assignments done.”
I frown slightly and she shakes her head like she knows what I’m thinking. The way she waves her hand is dismissive.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” she assures me. “It’s just a lot of pressure with a lot of time management needs, but it’s under control.”
“Okay,” I tell her, while narrowing my eyes. “I don’t know how, but if I can help you in some way, let me know.”
“You’re so sweet,” she’s practically giddy as she gushes and taps her pen to the pad she’s holding, but without any hint of impatience. “What can I get you today? I know fries, but what sandwich?”
The way she’s peering at me makes me wonder if she’s about to take a chance at guessing which sandwich I’m in the mood for. I bet she’d probably get it right.
“I’m going with the turkey club today,” I tell her.
“I knew it,” she exclaims and does a little happy dance right there on the other side of the Formica countertop.
I can’t help but giggle at her enthusiasm. Then she’s on the move. She puts my order on the turning order thing—which is clearly it’s official name—before putting a diet soda down in front of me. Her movements are efficient and there’s not a single wasted movement, as if each stretch of her muscle must be accounted for and used for what it was intended.
It’s kind of a beautiful dance which I can’t help but appreciate.
