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Aunt Laura popped up and held out a black and mushy head of lettuce with white hair growing between the dark spots. The odor of rotting, festering vegetables and fruit that sparked a memory of digging through a dump to help Duke fish out an alleged discarded part for his 1967 Mustang they’d restored didn’t give her any warm, fuzzy feelings. Not even the thought of hot, humble teenage Duke Trenton could overwhelm this stomach-churning scent.
She gagged and held her knuckles to her nose.
“Save money, order in bulk, you said.” Aunt Laura tossed a radish over her head, smacking Scarlet in the middle of her forehead.
“Don’t use the fancy and expensive local organic farms,” Aunt Laura said in her sugary, southern, sarcastic tone.
“Did the refrigerator cut off?” Scarlet retrieved the broken head of lettuce and all the dead, decaying leaves and placed them in a crate already a quarter full of veggie carcasses.
“Probably couldn’t handle all that junk in there.” Aunt Laura straightened to her five-foot-two commanding stance. Her tight-lipped expression could make the Grinch feel ashamed.
Scarlet let out a strangled sigh. “Another sign we need to cut our losses—“
“Not selling.” Aunt Laura hobbled over and leaned against the tin food-prep surface. “You might not have pride in our three-generation, family-owned café, but I do.”
“It’s not that.” Scarlet rubbed her forehead and eyed the mess and then pointed to the stack of bills on the desk in the corner. “You’re bleeding money. This place can’t stay open much longer. That’s why I tried to reduce costs. It’s business.”
“Business? This ain’t Atlanta. In Cherry Creek, Tennessee, we don’t settle for subpar quality so people can be seen in the trendy places.”
“It’s not like that.” Scarlet threw up her hands. “I’m not going to argue with you. The damage is done. We’ll have to offer baked goods and coffee today, not lunch. I’ll shut down early, and we’ll get someone out to look at the refrigerator.”
“Got it handled already. No need to shut down.” Aunt Laura hobbled toward the café. “If you wouldn’t have been avoiding Duke, this would’ve never happened.”
“What? No. I canceled the farm fresh veggies and fruits because it was too expensive. Told you, it’s business.” Scarlet grabbed a crate and set it in the middle of the floor, avoiding eye contact. Aunt Laura saw everything, even things someone didn’t want to see about themselves.
She halted her retreat and hobbled like a windup toy to face Scarlet. “Riiight. Well, you want to help me so much. Clean this up while I prep for the breakfast rush.”
She straightened and lifted her chin. “You’re not supposed to—”
“Don’t tell me I need to go rest or I’ll lock you in that refrigerator with your cheap produce. I haven’t closed this place since I took over from my father. I’m not starting now.” Aunt Laura shook her head but leaned against the counter and offered her signature half smile, raised brow, and her when-are-you-going-to-get-it nose flare. “Listen, I appreciate everything you’ve done. Maybe if you moved back, we could work this all out together. We could use your business education with my hometown knowledge.”
Warning bells chimed in Scarlet’s head. “Don’t start. My life’s in Atlanta. I have a job, a boyfriend, remember?”
“The man who hasn’t come to visit you for two months? The same one you haven’t spoken to on one of those video call things?” Her gaze traveled to Scarlet’s coffee-saturated shirt but snapped back up without a word about her clumsiness.
Unlike Henry, she never concentrated on Scarlet’s inadequacies. But Scarlet shook off that thought and told herself that he made her better. He molded her into a potential director of his company. “He’s busy and doesn’t like telephones or texting.” Scarlet shrugged and tossed a tomato into a crate next to the head of lettuce with a splat.
“I thought he was in business?”
“As I said, he’s busy.”
Aunt Laura didn’t understand big city life with big city responsibilities. People weren’t interested in excuses and ailments. Life happened. Get over it and get to work.
The idea filtered into her world, though. Was it strange that they didn’t talk more? Was it even stranger that it didn’t bother her? No, it’s life when you have jobs and commitments, not gossip and girl time.
Aunt Laura pushed from the counter, her eyes twinkling. “What would you do if he wanted you to return now?”
“I can’t leave you.” Scarlet scurried on hands and knees like a blind bull on ice skates and face-planted. Her fingers scraped the rolling orange before it disappeared under the center island.
“What if I can’t ever run this place on my own again?”
Scarlet opened her mouth to argue, but she’d never win a direct assault. “Less talk; clean up. If this odor reaches the café, we’ll lose business. And we can’t afford that.”
“We?” Aunt Laura shoved Scarlet’s phone in front of her eyes. The screen lit with one text.
Come home by Christmas and I’ll agree to marry you, or we’re done.
“Guess I better look into hiring a nurse. With that romantic of a proposal, I’m sure you’ll be in the car by nightfall.”
