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The comforting aroma of the pancakes, topped with a generous dollop of butter and drizzled with syrup, fills my senses as I take my first bite. The delicious taste, coupled with the idea of a new beginning, brings a sense of optimism. Once I finish, I flag down Maggie.
"Could I speak to the owner, please?"
Maggie nods, leading me to a back office where a man in his late fifties sits behind a desk, engrossed in paperwork. He looks up as we enter, and a friendly smile crinkles his eyes.
"Hello, how can I help you?" His voice holds a fatherly warmth that is instantly comforting.
"Hello, I'm Destiny," I lie smoothly. "I saw your 'We're Hiring' sign and was wondering if I could apply?"
“Hello, Destiny, I’m George,” he says with a friendly smile. “We are hiring. Do you have a resume?”
His question causes me to hesitate. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring one. I just got into town this morning. I happened to see your sign while I was eating.”
He leans back in his chair, assessing me with curiosity. “Tell me about yourself and your qualifications.”
“Well, I’m uh, twenty-four. I don’t have a college degree, but I’m a quick learner, and I’m always on time.” My voice trails off because that’s all I have to say. I don’t even know what qualifications are needed to work in a restaurant.
George studies me for a moment before responding. "Destiny, huh?” he says. “I’ll be straight with you. This town is small, in the middle of nowhere, and there isn’t much to do. People don't just move to this town because it's nice.”
“I, um…” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Whatever your story is, you don't have to tell me. We're a close-knit community here, and you'll be safe. Just make sure your trouble doesn’t affect anyone else, and we’ll be fine. Welcome aboard."
A sense of relief washes over me at his words. Perhaps this could indeed be a new beginning.
11
CHAPTER 11
Isabella
I sigh and wipe the sweat from my face as I squeeze the mop out before dipping it into the dirty water again and repeating the process. The mop slaps against the floor as I mop up the mess one of the customers made when they threw up on the floor. My stomach heaves as I try not to throw up from the smell and sight alone. I'm one of those people who, if I see someone regurgitating, I'm going to start regurgitating, too.
"I'm so, so sorry, Destiny," the customer stammers, standing uneasily beside me. His face is as white as the diner's starchy tablecloths, a stark contrast to his earlier robust complexion.
I offer him a reassuring smile as I shift the mop in my hand. "It's okay, really. It's part of the job," I tell him, trying to ease his embarrassment. The smell is making my eyes water, but I push on, focused on cleaning up the mess.
The customer hesitates, his gaze flitting between me and the mess on the floor. "I could help clean it up..."
I shake my head vehemently, already guiding him back towards his seat. "No, no. You just sit down and rest. Drink that," I say, pointing to the glass of lemon-lime soda that I'd brought him. "It'll help settle your stomach."
With a shy nod, he accepts the glass, his hands trembling slightly as he takes a careful sip. I watch him for a moment, ensuring he's okay before I return to my task. It's been a couple of months since I fled, and life here has been nice. There are no ridiculous expectations and no elite image to maintain. To them, I'm Destiny Jones, a woman who ran away from an abusive relationship. Not Isabella Storm, a woman running away from a ruthless family because they believe she's a murderer.
Things here are nice and quiet. Well, except for today. Apparently, the meat has gone bad because everyone who's eaten a burger has an upset stomach and is throwing up left and right. Irene, bless her old soul, has no idea how to cook anything, and I went to the kitchen, took one look at the burger meat, and knew instantly that it was bad. I never understood why George hired her in the first place until I realized she's his mother and she's struggling with dementia. Having her here is the best way to keep an eye on her, but she keeps getting into shit and creating a problem.
Maggie's voice echoes from the other side of the diner. "Destiny! George needs you in the kitchen!"
I glance over at her, eyebrows raised in question. "What's up?"
"Irene's cut her hand again," she sighs, a worried frown tugging at her lips. "George has to take her to the hospital. He wants you to help out in the kitchen."
With a nod, I hand the mop to Maggie with a playful grin on my face. "Enjoy," I say, leaving her with the mess. I make my way to the kitchen and wash my hands thoroughly before starting.
Moments later, George joins me in the kitchen and his face is drawn with worry. "Sorry about this, Destiny," he says, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown. "I know this isn't in your job description.”
I wave off his apology while keeping my gaze on the stove. "It's okay, George. We're all family here, right?" I give him a reassuring smile. "Besides, it'll be nice to have a break from mop duty."
George chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "That's the spirit, Destiny," he says before his expression turns serious. "I just...I worry about her.”
