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Now, I was at my desk in the otherwise deserted office, trying to make a dent in the massive backlog of work I had not done in the past week. The office was officially closed for a day of respect and to allow those who worked for and were close to my father to have some time off to mourn. Although some lower-level employees were there, working away, possibly trying to ease up on work for the upcoming week. That or they have no life besides work.
My head throbbed as it turned to midday, and my stomach rumbled. I’d sorted through twelve accounts, completing them, signing them off, and sending them to the legal department to finalize the paperwork. I had also spoken to our London and Hong Kong offices, getting complete updates on our current projects.
As I went to buzz for Charlotte to order me some food, I realized she wasn’t in. I went to her desk to retrieve her index to look for the number for the deli. As I’m flicking through her Rolodex, the phone rings. It feels weird answering her phone, especially as it is more than likely a phone call for me.
“Rhett Chambers speaking,”
“Oh. Hello, Mr. Chambers. It’s Raya Cole. I wasn’t expecting you to be in your office today.”
My mind was scattered, trying to work out where I knew that name and voice from. Then it hit me. Raya owned the cafe we were negotiating. The last time I saw her was when I got the phone call about my father. I remember running out of there, knowing nothing would ever be the same after that moment.
“Yes, well, there’s work that needs to be done. So, Mrs. Cole, how can I help you?”
“I was simply calling to send my condolences and to leave you a message. I am sorry for your loss. I also wanted to see how you were coping with everything.”
“Thank you, I’m fine. I really am.”
“Do you have any plans for lunch?”
“No, I was just about to order a sandwich from the deli. Why?”
“Well, today’s special is chicken pot pie, and I’ve just finished icing my homemade spiced carrot cake. I know a man like you needs a proper meal, not a sandwich.”
I knew what she was doing but I didn’t care. I was starving, and I’d been lucky enough to try her cooking on more than one occasion, and there was no chance I would turn down that invitation. Plus, I could talk to her some more and have some luck trying to persuade her to sell.
“How can I refuse an offer like that? I’ll be over shortly.”
Hanging up the phone, it was as if my stomach had heard every word of that conversation and began rumbling like mad.
Upon arrival, Raya greeted me as if I were family, grabbing my arm and pulling me into a big hug, which, by the look on Russell’s face from outside the window, must have been amusing, as the woman was half my size.
She then led me to the bar stool where she’d served a massive plate full of pie, veg, and creamy buttery mash. The smell of the food was so inviting, there was no chance of me standing on ceremony.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, a beer, please.”
She walked over to the fridge and grabbed me a bottle of homemade peach iced tea. I couldn’t help but laugh at her gesture. I wasn’t sure if she did it because she didn’t approve of mid-day drinking or if she suspected me of having already consumed a lot of alcohol recently.
Either way, I couldn’t fault her.
The food was delicious. As I ate, she told me about an incident on the weekend, with one of her customers proposing to his girlfriend in the cafe. With the help of Raya, he had hired out the whole restaurant and paid for actors and singers to sit in acting like regular patrons, only for them all to suddenly break into song and sing a medley of the girlfriend’s favorite love songs. All of which was followed by the guy getting down on one knee and proposing.
Raya had been animated when reciting the story to me, and how much she enjoyed it. Once again, a part of me experienced a pang of guilt for going after her home and cafe. But I knew business was business. And if she wanted to, she could open a whole bunch of cafes and turn it into a chain of Cole’s around the country.
She made herself a coffee and quickly checked to see if the other customers needed anything.
Standing on the other side of the bar, coffee cup in one hand and wiping the surface counters with another, it was only when I finished my plate and looked up at her that I realized she had been watching me. What was it about people of a particular generation that always discerned it was perfectly fine to sit and stare?
“Thank you for that. It was delicious.”
She took my plate away and returned with a smaller one in her hand, carrying a nice large slice of carrot cake. She also poured me a cup of coffee.
I needed to work out that evening, I could feel myself beginning to soften from all the delicious food.
“I know you said on the phone that you’re fine, but how are you doing?”
Oh, here we go.
