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Dare found a parking spot on one of Frederick’s quaint downtown streets and made his way to the corner shop. Dutch’s was a long, narrow place in the first floor of an old brick building. From the long Formica counter with its spinning stools to the big red-and-white booths to the jukebox on the wall, the interior was all old-time diner, though the restaurant had been there so long that it had probably seemed modern at some point.
“Dare Kenyon,” came a booming voice. Dutch Henderson was already settling a mug and pouring a cup of coffee at one of the stools. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
Dare shook the older man’s brown hand. Despite the fact that he tasted everything he made, Dutch was tall and thin, and the only thing that had changed on him in all the years Dare had known him was the color of his hair, from black to gray. “Been a crazy couple weeks, too,” Dare said. “How’s business?”
“Good, good. I’m just trying to keep up,” Dutch said. “Getting my hip replaced next month. Can’t put it off no more.”
“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that. But you’ll be good as new in no time,” Dare said, taking a sip of the strong, hot coffee. Fucking perfect.
“The usual?” Dutch asked. He knew pretty much everyone in town and remembered what they liked to order, too.
“You know it,” Dare said. While he waited for his food, he flipped through some e-mails and was pleasantly surprised to find a message from Marz detailing the vehicle registrations for Rhett Randall and all his men. Today was looking up already. He forwarded the info on to the club with a note to be on the lookout.
Then his gaze snagged on the dessert case. Dare slid off his stool and perused the small selection of sweets, thinking about all the things that Haven had made or talked about making. This was the kind of thing she needed to do with her life. Wherever they set her up, maybe he could look into finding her a place to open up a shop of her own.
“See something you want to try, hon?” one of the waitresses asked.
No was right on the tip of his tongue. “You know what, give me a chocolate chip and a peanut butter cookie,” he said, making his way back to his seat.
“Here you go,” the woman said, settling a plate in front of him.
Dare gave her a nod and picked up the peanut butter. Took a bite. It was decent. Before today, he might’ve thought it was good. Except Haven’s fucking cookies were better. Richer in flavor, moister, and hers had chips, too. Same with the chocolate chip cookie. These were okay, but given how Haven’s treats tasted, these could be better. Her talent made Dare proud of her, it really did.
It also cemented in Dare’s mind that she had to have a chance to do this thing she was so good at. And if he helped her get started at it, maybe she would remember him for something more than the shit she’d overheard him saying the other morning. It shouldn’t matter to him, but it did.
Because Haven mattered to him.
Dutch placed a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and home fries in front of him. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Dutch.” Dare dug into the grub, every bite making him feel a little more human. At some point, that night of no sleep was going to catch up to him, but for now, this would see him through.
“Green Valley opens back up this week, right?” Dutch asked, refilling coffee for a couple of customers farther down the counter.
“That’s right,” Dare said.
“Good. You know we missed it,” Dutch said. The Ravens’ races put money into other parts of Frederick—out-of-towners booked hotel rooms, ate in the restaurants, and did some sightseeing while they were here. The club hired locals to work the races, too—parking, concessions, and janitorial were all farmed out. Put all that together with the Ravens’ mission to protect, and it was easy to see why the club got on well with the town and had the support of the business community most of the time. Dare made it a point for the Raven Riders to get along whenever he possibly could. It was good for business all the way around, particularly given that some of their business was a few shades shy of legal.
“I know,” Dare said. “Hated to close down, but it was unavoidable. Shouldn’t happen again.” The three weeks most of the club had been in Baltimore had made holding the races impossible, and then it had taken them two more to get the schedule up and running again. Dare couldn’t think of a time in all his years when they’d had to close down for so long before. He sure as hell hoped they never had cause for it to happen again.
