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“How ya doin’, Lettie?”
“Didn’t see you at church this morning. Are you feeling okay?”
“Can you check my Pixie’s anal glands this week? She smells something awful.”
That one was Martha. She never could figure out what was appropriate to discuss while others were eating. I nodded, said hello, assured Martha I would call her for an appointment next week for her pug, and when I saw Darcy wave me over at the counter, I excused myself gratefully.
Jonie, the waitress, hollered to me from the back, “Be right there, baby!”
“Hey, Lettie,” Darcy said. “I see you got bombarded by Martha again.”
I laughed, hanging my purse on the back of the chair. “Yeah, looks like we’ve got Pixie’s rear end to look forward to next week.”
“Can’t wait,” Darcy said sarcastically. “Are you planning to see Little Debbie today?”
Little Debbie was the nickname for Millie’s bloodhound. When she was a pup, she got into a stash of snacks at the Inn and ate the whole shelf of Oatmeal Creme Pies, Cosmic Brownies, Fudge Rounds, and Swiss Rolls. She ate so much that Millie rushed her into the clinic, afraid all that chocolate would kill her. Luckily, I was able to diffuse her like a time bomb and explained she likely only had to worry about diarrhea. All was well in the end, but the bloodhound got stuck with a nickname that would never leave her, Little Debbie.
“Yep, want to come with me? I was going to take her in for an x-ray to see how many pups she’s carrying.”
“Yeah, I’ll come. I love Debbie.” Darcy took a drink of her orange juice. “Do they know who knocked her up?”
“Lovely, Darce,” I replied. “But they think it was Henry Pearson’s Labrador Retriever. I guess Little Debbie got away from the Inn around the same time Duke took off from Henry’s house and, well, apparently the two of them may have done some canoodling.”
Darcy laughed and took a bite of her toast. “You know,” she said with her mouth full, “I’ve always thought Millie and Henry would make the cutest couple. Think this could be their meet-cute?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure. I think Henry is pretty adamant that Duke isnotthe father, so I don’t know how well that is going to go over with Millie.”
Darcy gasped. “Oh, can we do a Jerry Springer Aveline Dog edition?”
Jonie interrupted Darcy and her matchmaking. “Lettie, doll, what can I get ya?”
“Coffee, please. Copious amounts of coffee,” I replied as Jonie handed me a mug and poured the dark and steaming liquid into it. “Also, can I get a two by two?”
“How do you want your eggs, lovely?” She set the carafe back down and wiped her hands on her apron.
“Over easy, please. Thank you, Jonie.”
“You got it, babe.” She turned to head into the back but popped around once more. “I heard Tuck is coming back. I do hope he fixes up that house of his. If I have to hear Mr. Fitzgerald complain about it one more time at a town meeting, I might lose my mind.”
The door chimed again, and she greeted the next customer. I swallowed hard, looking over at Darcy, her eyebrows narrowed.
“What?” I asked, taking a sip from the mug and burning my lips. I held it between my fingers. “Ouch.”
She rested her elbow on the counter and her face in her hand. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I just burnt my l—”
“Not that, dummy. Are you okay? You know. With Tuck coming back?”
I turned to face forward, bringing my mug to my mouth and avoiding eye contact. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
“Uh, probably because he was the love of your life and then he—”
“I’m fine, Darce.” I cut her off quickly. “That was twelve years ago. I am completely over all of it. Tuck,” I whispered his name and looked around as though I had just said a curse word in the middle of a church sermon, “is just a person now. A person I used to know.”
SIXTEEN
2017
