Page 4 of Keeping it Local

Ding. Ding.

Lane insisted on having those loud chimes on the door. It drove me nuts because every time I’d sit at the bar sipping my coffee, it was going off constantly. Shaking my head, I took my usual stool next to the register. It let me chat at Lane without bothering his flow with customers.

“Order’s up,” yelled someone from the line.

Lane was busy talking with Mrs. Michaels in the corner, so I asked which booth it went to.

“Table 5.”

I grabbed the plates, some napkins and walked them over to a corner table.

“Here’s your order,” I said. “Enjoy.” Turning back around, I made my way back to my stool in time to see Lane back at the counter.

“You know, you don’t have to do that,” he said. “You don’t work here. You have enough going on.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’d hate to see them give you a bad review for their cold eggs.” I laughed. Lane hated when I delivered food, but it wasn’t a big deal. I just did it when he was in the middle of something.

“Yeah, yeah. What’s on the agenda for the weekend?” He tossed a white towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms, looking at me. He was the one who connected me with the agent who showed me the resort, and I know he was waiting for me to give him the details on the property. I’d tell him, but I didn’t want to jinx it. It was such a small town that word got around really quickly if you weren’t paying attention. The last thing I wanted was for someone to overhear me in the café, then swoop in and cut me out of my own deal.

“Just turnovers today, but I checked out the place a few days ago.” I leaned in, resting my elbows on the counter and lowering my voice.

“And?” Lane asked.

“It’s under contract.” I smiled.

“That’s awesome, man. I’m happy for you.” Even though he didn’t show much emotion, he had a wide grin on his face.

“It’s a shit-ton of work though. I went there yesterday to do a walk-through.”

Lane grunted, nodding.

“Already have something tentatively set up with the credit union, but I’m wondering how much extra money it’s going to take.” I ran my hand down my face, not wanting to think about it.

“You’re working with Chris over there?” he asked.

I nodded.

“She’s good though. She’ll figure it out. I refinanced with them a few years ago to make some upgrades, and it was smooth.”

Lane took over the Seagull Café several years ago from his dad and had slowly turned the old-school diner into a tourist destination. It was the kind of place that had all the sugary coffees and extra brunch items that city people would pay more for, and it was paying off for him. The reviews were through the roof, and on the weekends, there was usually a line out the door. He’d turned into not only a friend for me when I moved here three years ago, but a mentor too. He was just a couple years older than me, but he’d grown up in the family business—something that I’d never seen or learned when I was young. Owning my own business was all new, and he knew how people were up here.

“Thanks. Yeah, hopefully, that’s the case.” I took a sip of my black coffee. “Ryan’s coming up over the fourth.”

Lane arched a brow at me. He knew how it was with my family, how much was left unsaid even if things were stable now.

“I think it’s time. Should be good,” I said.

“How long has it been since he’s been up here?” He rang up a customer as we continued to talk.

“Never, man. Not since we were kids and our grandpa brought us up here for vacations with the fam.”

“That’s good then,” Lane said. “I know it’s been weird for you, but you’ve got to just rip the Band-Aid off.”

“True. And I will. Just makes everything more real.”

“Hate to break it to you, but it’s all real, man. You’re doing it. And you’re doing it well.”

Even as he said it, it didn’t feel like it. I still felt as though I was struggling to stay above water, even if I tried to keep that feeling of failure to myself.