Page 81 of Sundown Somewhere

Shifting my weight, I let out my breath, the one I’m holding on to for no good reason, waiting to see if the judge is going to comment about how he “just liked looking at it on the menu” or something to that effect, like a couple of the others have. I know change is hard, and some of these gentlemen have been eating here since Grandma Dolly opened the place, so I suppose I can’t complain too much about them giving me a little lip about it.

As long as that’s where it ends.

“Has anyone?” Judge counters.

“Not since I’ve been in charge.”

He nods, a sneaky smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Good call then. Your grandmother put it on there because it was my predecessor’s favorite, and with your grandfather over the farm bureau at the time, she figured he might need to call in a few favors every now and then.”

I chuckle, shaking my head, because that’s exactly the way Grandma Dolly would think. The one part of Judge Robinson’s story that doesn’t fully check out though is the motivation being Grandpa Charlie’s job. Sure, being head of the farm bureau in a rural, ag town in middle Georgia meant you needed to be in good with the local authorities. But when you and your wife were your generation’s town teenage troublemakers, who then raised two more, you know how to talk your way out of said trouble.

Apparently steak and eggs was it.

At least I come by my love of mischief honestly…

“Biscuits and gravy?” I ask, keeping my commentary on my family’s history to myself. I don’t need to admit to more than necessary here. That was something else Grandma Dolly taught me. Right before the first time I was called in front of Judge Robinson.

“You know me so well.”

I do. To the point where I question why I ask him for his order. I should just bring it to him when I see him sit down. Much like Mr. Hovland, who is currently walking through the front door.

“One order of biscuits and gravy,” I say, looking at the judge, then turn to the retired pharmacist. “And three eggs sunny side up—extra sunny—coming right up.”

Turning on my heel, I head to the kitchen, getting their orders in to Nico, a little more relaxed than earlier. The new menu was a surprise to everyone this morning, and to say I caught them off guard would be an understatement. Had I thought through this a little more, I probably should have chosen a Tuesday or Thursday—a morning when the ROMEOs are a little lighter in numbers—to make its debut. But other than a few comments from long-timers, mostly out of opposition to change in general, the reception of a new menu has been positive.

A relief if there ever was one.

More than that, it’s a step forward. One where I get to leave all that crap with Jeff behind me. Much like the old menu, full of items and dishes that no one ordered and sat there collecting dust, my time with him is something of the past.

Were there good times? Sure. But there were plenty of not good ones too. And the good ones weren’t worth clinging to for no reason. Not when all other indicators were pointing to it being time for a new direction.

Turning my focus to the kitchen, I let my staff do their thing. That’s why I have them after all. I, on the other hand, have a couple of new recipes I need to try out still. Some new lunch items I want to attempt to force on some unsuspecting volunteers today to see if they might be something we want to showcase next weekend for the Memorial Day parade and picnic.

“Are those cinnamon rolls I smell?”

And that’s my cue.

Without even looking, I know it’s seven forty-five, give or take five minutes, the familiar voice asking the same question at the same time every Friday morning. Something I can set my watch by. A voice that up until earlier this week, I’d never given a second thought to, and if I’d been asked would have said was harmless.

That is, until he apparently decided to exercise power he shouldn’t hold.

Well, two can play this small-town game.

“They are,” I answer almost automatically, plastering on the biggest smile I can.

Seth Jennings smiles back, and for the first time since we were kids—and maybe ever—I really look at him. Average height with sandy-colored hair and brown eyes, he’s the kind of guy that would probably get lost in the crowd if you weren’t looking for him. Hell, maybe even if you were. His faded T-shirt is clean at the moment, but I give it an hour before it’s stained with something, a hazard of the job as town plumber. As are the jeans that are sagging on his hips thanks to the weight of his toolbelt.

Nothing about him strikes me odd, or even nefarious. Seth could be the poster child for your average rural, small-town, blue-collar guy. The most surprising thing about him was when he ran for the open spot on the town council. And I use the word ran here lightly—it was more like he volunteered. No one else tossed their hat in the ring, and he was unopposed on the open ballot for that special election.

What the hell does he have against giving Hux the permission he needs?

“I’ll take a half dozen, please.”

“Not so fast. Park it.”

I harshly point to one of the stools on the other side of the counter, letting him know that I mean business. Eyes wide, the fear of God now flowing through him, Seth does exactly that, ass hitting the stool so hard it screeches as it shifts across the floor.

“I…I didn’t do it?”