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CHAPTER TWO
SothiswasBluestarIsland.
Lane Johnson rolled his luggage behind him as he walked through the small town. What place didn’t have cars? A frown pulled at his lips. This island was so antiquated. No wonder his mother moved to the other side of the country and ended up in San Francisco.
Beep!
He stopped and glanced up to see a golf cart headed directly for him. It appeared even though cars weren’t allowed on the island, golf carts were fully approved. And who knew they could go that fast on pavement.
When he noticed they weren’t slowing down, he stepped back onto the sidewalk. People rushed by, wearing colorful Bluestar Island shirts and hats. His back teeth ground together. He would be willing to bet they were tourists. Just a guess. But he felt secure in his assumption.
He glanced across the street. This place was full of small shops and restaurants with names he’d never heard of before. The most surprising thing was that he hadn’t noticed any chain franchises. It seemed like most of the businesses were unique to the island. He wondered how they were able to hold off the big companies from moving in and taking over.
After crossing the street without another run-in with a speeding golf cart, he noticed a sign for The Lighthouse Café. Not exactly the most original name. As he drew nearer, he noticed the building was fashioned like a small light house with an actual working light at the top.Talk about overkill.
He stopped and glanced up at a black wooden sign with the painted image of a red and white lighthouse and the name, The Lighthouse Café, scrolled out in white paint. Someone really cared about the restaurant’s outward appearance. It definitely deserved a closer look.
Besides, he was hot and thirsty from all this walking in the bright sunshine. Maybe the place wouldn’t be too bad. He opened the door and stepped inside. The vestibule had a bulletin board along one wall. Curiosity had him stepping up to take a look at all the postings.
There were for sale notices for golf carts of various years and colors, bicycles from mountain bikes to the electric types, and even a washing machine or two. He shook his head in disbelief. This place was so different from his home in San Diego.
He made his way into the restaurant. The spacious dining room was filled with small wooden tables made of whitewash wood. With it being mid-morning, he was surprised to find so many people seated at the tables and booths. It was past breakfast time and too early for lunch, but people seemed to be lingering over coffee. Didn’t they have to get to work? Or were they all on vacation?
He didn’t do vacations. He believed in hard work. He believed one could never have enough money. He also believed the only person he could count on was himself.
And he’d learned all of that the hard way. Because he knew what it was to be homeless and not know where his next meal would come from. He knew what it was to be young and reliant on parents who repeatedly let him down. Now he took care of himself and made sure the past never repeated itself.
He glanced around The Lighthouse Cafe with its beachy blue walls decorated with ocean murals. This place had a very quaint feel to it. He’d be willing to wager the place hadn’t been redecorated in alongtime.
He continued to the back of the restaurant where there was a long Formica counter with a dozen or so red-cushioned stools. He chose the one farthest from the cash register. It was the seat least likely to garner any unwanted chit-chat.
On the counter a selection of pies was displayed in glass domes. There was apple, cherry, coconut cream, banana cream, and a berry pie. He had to admit that they all looked delicious. Although it was seldom that he allowed himself indulge in sweet treats. Positive appearances made positive first impressions.
He noticed a server approach the kitchen window. The young woman clipped a slip of paper to some sort of wheel and spun it around for the kitchen. A man on the other side grabbed the paper and called out the order.
The server turned around, letting her gaze move around the restaurant, as though summarizing who needed her help, and then her attention landed on him. As she approached him with a friendly smile, he noticed her name tag read,Lucy.
Her straight dark-brown hair was pulled up in a high ponytail. She held a pen and pad of paper. “Hi.” She paused and looked at him like she should know him. “Have you been here before?”
“No.” He noticed her brows briefly lifted in surprise. It wasn’t exactly the truth. He had been there before but not in a very long time—so long ago even he couldn’t remember it.
Lucy pursed her lips and shook her head. “You must remind me of someone. Anyway, welcome to Bluestar Island. I hope you enjoy your visit. What can I get you?”
“Is it too early for a sandwich?” He hadn’t eaten on his cross-country red-eye flight.
She checked the time. “I think we can come up with something. How do you feel about a BLT?”
He hadn’t had a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich in ages. It actually sounded really good. “On whole wheat?”
She nodded and wrote down his order.
He said, “Hold the cheese. And coffee, please.”
Lucy asked a few more questions about how he wanted his sandwich and if he wanted a drink. She wrote it all down on a small pad of paper. When she was done, she slipped the pen and paper back into her black apron, which coordinated with her black jeans and white polo top.
She turned and moved away to add his order to the wheel. Then she reached for one of the coffee pots on a warmer and returned. She flipped over a coffee cup on a saucer that was resting on the edge of his placemat. She filled the cup with steaming coffee.
“Are you visiting someone on the island?” she asked.
