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“Okay, last thing before those of you not working today can head out and those on schedule can get ready to open. I’m going to make a few changes around here. Changes I hope will be positive.”
Fifteen pairs of eyes blinked at her, waiting for the news.
“Does this have anything to do with the sign not being in the window this morning?” Michelle asked. After speaking, she pressed her lips together and twisted the hem of her shirt around her hands.
Interesting. Was she hoping the answer would be yes or no?
“Yes, but I’ll get to that one in a minute. First is the dress code. The khaki skirts and pants my parents had you wear are gone. The T-shirts will stay for now, maybe we’ll rework the logo or something in the future, but you guys can wear jeans or shorts if you’d like.”
“Oh my God, really?” Danny bounced in his seat. “No offense to your parents, but we all hate wearing the khakis. This town is so casual no one will ever care if we’re wearing denim.”
Nods and whispered assent had Toni grinning.
First managerial decision was a success.
“No offense taken, Danny. I hated them too, when I worked here, and I’m much more laid back, so let’s ditch the Dockers. And to address Michelle’s question, yes. The sign is gone as are any restrictions on who we will serve. It was discriminatory, and I won’t tolerate that kind of thing. So, anyone and everyone may eat here…bikers included.”
“That’s great.” A hard swallow moved through Michelle’s throat and her face blanched, in direct contrast with her agreeable statement.
Very interesting. Hopefully, Michelle didn’t have some kind of issue serving the men of the MC. Toni would hate to lose her. But her decision was final and firm. As long as no trouble was caused, anyone could patronize the diner.
“One last thing. For real this time. I’d like to open myself up to any suggestions you guys have for updates or improvements. You know this place far better than I do, and I’m sure there are some things you’d all like to see change. And I mean anything from décor, to menu ideas, to scheduling. My door and my ears are always open.”
Well that last part was straight out of a Hallmark movie, but her declaration was met with happy faces and nods, so at least they didn’t seem to mind her cheesiness.
After the meeting concluded, the staff got busy prepping the diner to open. Ernesto came over to her before making his way to the kitchen. “Proud of you, chica,” he said, using the nickname he’d called her when she was eight. “You’ve really stepped up to the plate here.”
Toni shrugged. “Not sure if they’d be so proud of me.”
“Eh, I worked with them for over twenty years. Knew how they were and what they did to you. They weren’t the type to wax on about being proud.” He patted her shoulder. “Always thought you’d be good for this place. Like that you’re letting the bikers in. My nephew’s in the MC. They’re good guys. See? You’re already rocking it, chica.”
Warmth flooded her. It was nice to have a connection to the past. A person who was able to see beyond the dumb kid she’d been and to the responsible adult she’d become. “Thanks, Ernesto,” she said, smiling to mask the lump in her throat.
At exactly seven a.m., Toni unlocked the door, and a flood of hungry townspeople piled in and filled almost every empty seat.
Time flew faster than Toni could ever remember. The wait staff were so busy, they were practically jogging between tables and behind the counter to keep up with the demands. Toni appointed herself in charge of coffee; brewing, filling, and refilling both black and a few fancier coffees. The task turned out to be perfect, because she was able to visit each table and chat with customers. People of the community couldn’t have been nicer or more welcoming. Many remembered her from her youth, but quite a few new faces were committed to memory as well. Before long, she felt like she’d never left, either the town or the diner.
Ernesto was never without a spatula in hand; flipping pancakes, scrambling eggs, and shaking his hips to music while he worked. At one point, he pulled Toni aside and asked if he could run some new, trendier menu ideas by her, but they’d grown so busy, neither had any time. She made a mental note to seek him out after closing at one.
About forty-five minutes before close, it happened. Two bikers strolled in. Each wore a Hell’s Handlers cut and a healthy layer of badassery. A woman was with them as well. One who seemed to fit right in with their motif of leather, tattoos, and intimidation.
A hush stole over the crowded diner, but it didn’t last for more than thirty seconds, because an older gentleman seated at the counter took a giant bite of Ernesto’s famous blueberry pancakes and let out an orgasmesque moan. After that, laughter ensued and chatter resumed once again.
