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My father is blushing. He never blushes, and honestly, with how cantankerous he is all the time, I didn’t think it was something he was capable of.
His eyes meet mine, and upon noticing my inquisitive stare, he snaps out of his stupor and scowls. “None of your business,” he bristles, and I roll my eyes. “Now get to work, and just so you know, I need both you and Owen working a double today. I don’t know what the hell happened last night to lose half our staff today, but you two need to step up and make it work.”
I let out a groan. I know exactly why half the staff isn’t here. They were all atThe Welllast night committing blatant acts of drunken stupidity, just like I was. But unlike me, they actually get to take a day off to recover from it.
“Yeah, yeah,” I draw out with a heavy sigh, accepting my dire situation with defeat. This is going to be one long-ass day. Turning my attention back to Owen, I watch as he slips his phone back into his pocket with a look that all but screams, ‘the cat that got the canary,’ and I feel my anger resurface.
“This isn’t over,” I sneer at him, then turn on my heel and storm out through the kitchen doors, the sounds of his mocking laughter fading off as the doors swing shut.
Stupid son of a bitch.
Actually, no. That’s an insult to his amazing mother, who just so happens to be Elena. The poor woman. It’s not her fault she was condemned to spawn the child of Satan.
Taking in a fortifying breath, I grab my pen and order pad, then quickly check my apron pocket for ketchup before turning my attention to the bustling activity of the diner.
Even though my father refurbished it five years ago, the diner still has the original fifties decor from when my grandfather opened its doors all those years ago. The walls are painted in vibrant aqua blue, and the floors are donned in black-and-white-checkered tiles. Red leather booth seating runs along the window at the front, and round tables with red padded chairs are spread throughout the room. Framed posters of advertisements from back in the day hang on the walls. And with the deep ramblings of Elvis’s ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ playing from the jukebox along with the blue retro-style button dresses that my father insists the waitresses wear, the place is like taking a step back in time.
Quickly getting to work, I head out onto the floor and work my way along the row of booths, apologizing profusely to each customer for their long wait while grabbing their orders.
When I reach the booth at the end, I fight the urge to elicit a weary groan at the sight of the five old ladies sitting in the booth and clucking away like a flock of hens.
The Groovy Grannies.
A group of women in their late sixties who have formed a gossip circle under the guise of what’s supposed to be a quilting guild. Not only are they the eyes and ears of this town, but one of their all-time favorite pastimes is to meddle in people’s love lives. And with it being Valentine’s Day today, I have no doubt they have their cupid bows armed and ready to fire at any poor, unexpecting victim currently living a life of singlehood. And unfortunately for me, I just so happen to be one of them, which makes me a prime target.
“Good morning, ladies.” I give them a polite smile, and they all glance in my direction.
“Morning, Mackenzie,” they greet me in chorus as I pull out my notepad and pen, ready to take their orders, hoping like hell I can get this over with fast before they start firing their love arrows at me.
“How are you all doing this morning?”
“Oh, wonderful,” Esme replies, the aged skin around her eyes crinkling behind her glasses as she smiles brightly. “My Ronald gave me the most beautiful bouquet of carnations this morning.”
I bite my bottom lip to stifle a laugh. Well, that answers the question of who came out the victor in‘the war of the carnations’at Elena’s shop this morning. Looks like Ronald won this round.
“Show-off,” Evelyn, Tony Steven’s wife, coughs under her breath, and Esme’s head immediately darts in Evelyn’s direction, eyeing her over the rim of her spectacles.
“You’re just jealous because Tony forgot it was Valentine’s Day,” Esme fires back smugly.
I guess I could tell them that Tony didn’t, in fact, forget. But I have a hunch that he went home with his tail between his legs and decided it was better to deal with his wife’s wrath over his apparent forgetfulness rather than admit a crushing defeat at the hands of his nemesis.
Evelyn scoffs and gives her a dismissive wave of the hand. “After forty years of marriage, we have no need for all that nonsense now.”
“That’s exactly what a jealous person would say,” Esme retorts and Evelyn’s eyes blaze with fury as if attempting to make Esme spontaneously combust into flames with her mind.
The air around them suddenly becomes thick as they stare each other down, the tension so palpable that you can feel the pressure building with the intensity of a volcano on the brink of blasting its fiery flames into the atmosphere. And before I know what’s happening, the pair explode into a full-blown argument, all the while their friends frantically attempt to defuse the situation.
Releasing a heavy sigh, I shuffle on my feet as they continue to bicker back and forth. I’ve often wondered why Evelyn and Esme insist on socializing in the same circles. They argue almost as much as their husbands do. But, as the old saying goes, ‘keep your enemies close,’ which I guess would come in handy should these two ladies decide to kill each other one day.
Tapping my pen on my order pad, I glance around at all the tables still waiting patiently for me to take their order before turning my attention back to them and clearing my throat loudly. “So what can I get you ladies today?” I ask, cutting through their squabbling and instantly snapping their attention back to me.
They all casually grab their menus and then proceed to read through the selections, making me gnash my molars together in impatience. Not only have they already had ample time to decide, but they always order the same damn thing every time they come here.
“I’ll have the bacon waffles, dear,” Evelyn says as she folds the menu closed and places it in front of her while the rest of the ladies chime in with their orders.
Once I’ve jotted everything down on my notepad, I reach over the table and start collecting their menus, feeling the weight of their stares drilling into me with an all too familiar look. It’s a look I’ve been made privy to countless times before. The meddling old biddies are about to start their usual interrogation over my love life. Or lack thereof. And they will only let up once they have formulated some plan to set me up with one of Clark Fall’s most eligible bachelors.
“So, any of our strapping young men sweep you off your feet with a grand gesture today?”
