“Hey,” Graham says gently, walking around the counter. He grips my forearms and turns me to face him. “It’s okay. Listen to me. You are not responsible for your mother’s death, Thea.” His eyes searchmine. “You survived for a reason, even if it is ‘just baking.’ Personally, I think your cookies are life-changing.”
I let out a laugh, breaking up the seriousness of the moment. I drink in the feel of him being this close to me, the feel of his hands on me. The sensation makes me shiver. I can smell his cologne; it’s woodsy, outdoorsy and I can detect a hint of vanilla in it. It mixes beautifully with the blueberry aroma wafting up from the oven now that the scones are baking. The scents wrap around me, almost suffocating me. It feels like I’m getting drunk on him alone.
“You’ve got something right here,” he whispers as he reaches for my face. The pad of his thumb gently brushes my cheek as he wipes flour off of me.
Our eyes lock on each other and for a moment, I think I know what’s going to happen next. I can sense the monumental shift between us as he starts to move closer, as he cradles my head in his large hands, and as my butterflies take flight.
I should be stopping this, especially after my not-so-great date with Jake, but Graham is making me feel things Jake never could.
We’re interrupted by a flurry of activity in the doorway. We jump, breaking apart as Beth appears with a handful of papers, her morning till counts.
“Good morning,” she says as she narrows her eyes, looking between us. “Am I interrupting something?” she asks, motioning with the papers in her hand.
“No,” Graham and I answer in unison. He clears his throat and walks back around the other counter as I reach for my second bakingtray. I hastily walk over to the oven and open it. A gush of hot blueberry-scented air escapes. I stick the other tray in and close the door as Graham starts wheeling the cart of silverware to the front of the diner.
I feel Beth’s gaze on me and my cheeks start to burn. Whether it’s the embarrassment or the oven air, I’m not sure.
She doesn’t say another word. Her eyes linger on me for a moment before she turns on her heels and is gone, forgetting what she’d come into the kitchen for.
I’m left alone. I’m flushed and to be quite honest, a bit flustered. I blow a strand of hair out of my face from the corner of my mouth and can’t help but wonder what the hell just happened.
Chapter Eight
Hiring Thea was a good business move. It’s been several weeks now and word has spread throughout Driftbay about my surprise new baker. Some folks are treating us more as a bakery than a diner, coming in just for Thea’s treats. It’s strange, really, but I’ll take the business.
Thea seems happier now that she’s settled into a routine. Part-time quickly evolved into full-time and she seems to really enjoy the early mornings in the kitchen. She’s even started concocting her own original recipes, and dare I say it…she might actually be better than me in the baking department.
We did not adequately prepare for the amount of people interested in trying her creations during the first week. Word spread quicklyand now she makes a variety of confections each morning, which keeps her busy for hours.
Ever since I caught her and Graham in their almost-kiss in the kitchen, she’s been jumpy and almost avoiding me. Well, as much as you can avoid someone when you live and work together. We haven’t talked about it, as much as I want to. She deserves some happiness after so much sorrow this year, but I don’t know if she’s ready to jump into a relationship. Graham is a sweet enough kid, especially after her disastrous date with Jake.
Graham is off this morning and Brian is running the kitchen with Thea. Raquel and another waitress are taking orders and bussing tables like the superstars they are. It’s relatively quiet for a Monday morning, something I’ll gladly take after the whirlwind weekend.
I’m at my post behind the counter, taking a moment to observe the diner. I’m proud of what I’ve built in here with these people. They can always handle whatever is thrown at them — be it lines out the door and wrapped around the building, rowdy crowds, or supply chain issues. I’ve got a good group of people around me and I know the diner wouldn’t be what it is without them. I glance approvingly at the wall of awards we’ve won — best breakfast restaurant in Driftbay for thirteen years running.
I’m wiping down menus and restocking napkin dispensers when Charlie walks in, right on schedule.
“Morning,” I say, in a cheerful tone as he sits down on his usual barstool in front of me.
“Good morning,” he says. He avoids my eyes as he picks up a menu from the pile I’ve wiped down. The lack of calling me ‘Beth Ann’ has me concerned.
“In the mood to try something new?” I tease him. Charlie has had the same breakfast order — scrambled eggs and two pieces of bacon — for years now.
He places the menu back down in the pile on the counter. “I have news,” he says, a bit nervously.
“I love news,” I say. I toss the dish towel over my right shoulder, lean against the counter, and give him my full attention. After thirty-five years, I know him well enough to know this must be something good.
“I’m,” he begins, “going on a date.” He chuckles a little as he says the words, relaxing some. “And I feel like a teenager again saying that.”
I struggle to keep a smile plastered on my face. It feels like someone just punched me in the gut, leaving me breathless and gasping for air.
“Oh!” It comes out an octave higher than I intended and I know he’ll notice.
“Beth Ann,” he says, looking concerned.
“No, this is good!” I reach for the dish towel on my shoulder. “This is good,” I repeat. “I mean, we’ve talked about this. We’re both free to see other people, we’re just friends.” I smile. “This is great. Tell me more.”
He narrows his eyes as he looks at me, watching for any slight betrayal of my body language before he continues. “I met her online. She sent me a message, we started talking, and it seems like we just really click.”
