Page 38 of Windward Hearts

“I can safely confirm that my ideas were less wild than magically creating fictional creatures,” Winnie said dryly, which made everyone crack into another laugh.

Eleanor shook her head at their antics and took a sip of her wine as they prepared to finally discuss their exciting read for that week. She loved how fun and animated Winnie had become in the past few months. It was a far cry from the shy, icy woman she’d been before, back when Eleanor had thought Winnie was unkind instead of just a bit socially awkward when she felt uncomfortable.

Now, though, her friend practically glowed with happiness… a happiness that Eleanor saw reflected in her brother just as much. She was so lucky that Winnie and Shane had found one another… even if Shane could be a total knucklehead every now and again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Riverstone Kitchen didn’t serve breakfast, which meant that Hope didn’t need to report for her first shift until about eleven in the morning, an hour or so before the lunch shift opened. While she might normally have considered the late start to be welcome, since she wasn’t precisely an early bird, she regretted it the first day that she was due to serve as a waitress at the local eatery.

Because she spent nearly all of the hours between waking and going to work second-guessing her decision.

She knew that it was horribly snobbish even to think it, but she found herself wrestling with the idea that this was a step down for her, professionally speaking. Riverstone Kitchen was almost irresistibly charming, but Sharp’s had been an elite restaurant in a city known for elite eateries. Could a small-town restaurant possibly compare?

She went back and forth on this as she put on her comfortable shoes and neatly tucked in her staff t-shirt. At Sharp’s, they wore crisp white button-down shirts. It had been a huge pain, since even the teeniest, tiniest spill had stood out like headlights, but that had been kind of the point. You knew that everything was perfect when you could see every flaw. Hope had always kept a neat stack of extra shirts in her staff locker.

In fairness, Hope did plan to bring a spare shirt to the shift. No kitchen, no matter how well-run, was immune to spills and spatters.

“Which just goes to show that you are being a snob,” Hope muttered to herself as she drove to the restaurant. It wasn’t the first time that day that she’d scolded herself in such a manner.

When she walked through the staff entrance at the side of the restaurant, she was immediately swept up by Lana, the most senior member of the wait staff. She was perhaps five or so years older than Hope, and had worked at Riverstone Kitchen since it had first opened.

“Jared took a chance on me,” she said with a fond smile as she showed Hope where to store her belongings. “I was a stay-at-home parent before I started working here, but then my three boys grew up enough that they go to school, and I was at odds and ends all the time. It turns out that being a mom to the three little tornadoes that I call my sons makes me great at staff management, but I’m really pleased to have someone who has worked in other restaurants coming on to work. Jared warned me that you’re not here permanently, but I plan to pick your brain while you’re here.”

“Pick away,” Hope encouraged, immediately warming to the woman’s no-nonsense demeanor. Lana might not have worked in restaurants for very long, but she moved with the swift confidence of a lifetime waitress, even when they moved into the bustling corridor that connected the kitchen with the dining room.

Hope quickly found herself swept up in the pattern of restaurant work. She set out cutlery for the first round of diners, then gathered around with the rest of the staff while Lana announced the day’s specials. And then, it was off to the races.

Hope lost herself in the familiar work. She found a smile creeping across her face as she went through the motions that felt practically ingrained in her, after all these years. Her doubts faded away.

She had been a total snob. This work? It was good. It felt good.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Riverstone Kitchen,” she said to an older woman and a girl who appeared to be about ten years old, her words not even catching at the name of the restaurant. She’d almost said Sharp’s the first time she’d served customers, but that had been the only hiccup.

“My name is Hope, and I’ll be your server today. Can I get some drinks started for you?”

The casual chitchat that passed between waiters and customers was a balm to her soul, she was surprised to find. She’d had coworkers in the past who had struggled with keeping up the constant cheer demanded of service workers, but Hope hadn’t ever been bothered by it. She hadn’t quite realized that she had missed it, though.

“Do you have lemonade?” the girl asked. “I always get lemonade when I’m visiting my grandma.”

“You know,” Hope said brightly, “I actually came to Magnolia Shore because I’m visiting my grandma too. And we do have lemonade, of course.”

This was why she loved waiting tables. She had almost forgotten. It was this way of being a small part of people’s happy stories, of their beloved memories. When that little girl grew up, she wouldn’t remember Hope. But she would remember that she always got lemonade with her grandmother. She’d probably think about it whenever she drank lemonade for the rest of her life, just like Hope thought about her Grandpa Harry every time she ate s’mores.

The restaurant got busier and busier as the lunch rush continued. In between moving among tables, taking orders to the kitchens and plates to hungry diners, Hope noticed that some of the servers moved through their sections in odd ways. Once she paid attention, she realized that this was because they weren’t actually moving through their own sections; they were doubling up, presumably by accident, and stopping at one another’s tables.

When Hope cautiously asked Lana about it, the older woman sighed.

“Yeah, this is a common growing pain,” Lana said, tucking a strand of her ash-blond bob behind her ear. “I think Jared mentioned to you that we’ve had a decent amount of staff turnover recently, right?”

Hope hummed in agreement.

“Well,” Lana went on, “with all the shift changes and moving around, nobody really has a ‘regular’ section anymore. They aren’t all working with the same people shift after shift. It’s a jumble. So people get confused about what tables they’re supposed to do today versus yesterday or last week.”

Hope paused, considering, before she recalled Lana’s comment about ‘picking her brain.’

“Can I run out on my break?” she asked. “I have an idea that might help.”

“If you think you can solve this, then absolutely,” Lana answered at once. “I’ve been making myself nuts trying to figure it out.”