The Café between Pumpkin and Pie Read online

Pretty farfetched, but she’d give it a try. She searched the area. No mirrors or shiny glass in the vicinity. Skeptical and feeling foolish, she reluctantly honored her grandma’s wishes. She dipped her head, partially closed her eyes, and whispered, “Mirror, mirror on Halloween, will my future spouse be seen?” She repeated it twice. Dubious of the outcome.

  Preoccupied with the chant, she found herself on a collision course with Jake. He’d stopped short on the sidewalk and she walked smack into him. She and her hoopskirt bounced off his hard body. She lost her footing, fell back a step. Clumsy and humiliated. Wide-eyed and panicky. She made a grab for whatever or whoever could steady her.

  That turned out to be Jake himself. Her outstretched fingers scraped down his side and sank inside his jeans. Her thumb hooked a belt loop. The force of her grip drew down the waistband by several inches. Her fingertips grazed the muscular curve of his hip. A commando-bare hip. His body heat stroked between her fingers, crept over her hand, and skittered up her arm. Her breasts tingled. She wished the sidewalk would open up and swallow her whole. Her wish was denied.

  Jake turned with a slowness that further unnerved her. He flexed his butt cheek and his voice was deep-husky when he asked, “What’s up, Peep? Are you scratching my back, picking my pocket, or getting in my pants?”

  She swiftly withdrew her hand. Awkwardness made her apology a stammer. “F-forgive me. I tripped.”

  A man costumed as a Tyrannosaurus had witnessed her pitch forward. “She mumbled and stumbled,” he verified. “There are cracks along the sidewalk. Sorry I couldn’t catch her.” His dinosaur costume was authentic, and the very small arms were pinned against its body. No way could he have saved anyone. He gave a dinosaur bellow and shuffled off.

  Jake put the moment in perspective. “So it was either grab me or face plant?”

  “More or less.”

  He single dimpled. “I’m fine with you grabbing me. Anytime.”

  Harry took that moment to pull on Jake’s arm. “Hurry up.”

  Hannah saw that they were holding up the trick-or-treaters. The boys weren’t happy. People were starting to pass them, cutting in line. “Onward,” she said, keeping her hands to herself.

  They continued on. Their next stop was Bellaluna’s Bakeshop. Sofia, the baker and owner, handed out the best treats in town. Jumbo cupcakes made with chocolate cake, topped with orange icing and tiny marshmallow ghosts. All wrapped in clear cellophane. A tasty indulgence not to be missed.

  “Harry,” Hannah warned when her nephew poked his fingers through the wrap and into the thick, creamy frosting, then went on to lick them clean. “No sweets. You’re cheating.”

  “You mad at me?” the boy asked.

  “Not mad-mad,” said Hannah.

  Harry grinned. “Then it was worth it.”

  Jake took the cupcake from him and placed it safely in the pumpkin bucket. “For later,” he stated.

  They made it four additional blocks without mishap, finally reaching Rose Cottage at the northern end of their loop. Amelia Rose stood on the walkway of her front yard. The bed-and-breakfast was surrounded by a magical forest of enormous pumpkins and twinkling lights. Amelia sparkled as Glinda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz in a pale pink gown with puffy sleeves and an organdy skirt sprinkled with silver glitter stars. A bejeweled circlet crowned her soft gray hair. She welcomed everyone with a wave of her dazzling wand. Two costumed Munchkins circulated through the crowd, handing out Tootsie Roll pops.

  The hard-candy pops were Howie’s downfall. He pulled a face and was ready to argue with Hannah when Jake took away all temptation. He dropped the red lollipop into the boy’s bucket before he could even touch the stick. Howie frowned but didn’t fuss further. He was a trooper as they headed down the opposite side of the street to collect additional treats. Their containers were nearly filled to the brim by the time they reached the courthouse. The mayor and his staff passed out bite-size Snickers.

  “Daddy!” her nephews shouted as they crossed the road to the Corner Café. They ran to their father and hugged him. Officer Grant Atwood had just finished his shift. His formal police uniform fit in with the costumes. Others had paraded as law enforcement earlier in the day. Together, he and his boys quickly entered the café so the kids could show off their candy.

  Inside, the café-style shutters were drawn. The lower halves of the windows were covered in Halloween artwork of ghosts, pumpkins, scarecrows, and black cats, all painted by glass muralist Mila Cramer, owner of First Impressions. Talented Mila produced seasonal paintings for the downtown storefronts and restaurants. Her Halloween creations would soon be transformed into Thanksgiving themes. Always innovative. Amazingly eye-catching. An asset to Moonbright’s curb appeal.

  Above the mural, the upper casement reflected the corner lamplight and intruding night. A Hunter’s Blue Moon was on the rise. Rare and eerie. Few customers remained. The café had closed early so the staff could participate in the Halloween festivities. Private and public parties. Music and dancing in the streets. The boys retreated to a nearby booth. They poured out their buckets on the tabletop and began an immediate exchange of candy. Deciding which pieces they wished to keep and which they wanted to give away.

  Howie nabbed the red Tootsie Roll pops.

  Harry went for Starbursts.

  Hal gathered the Hershey’s Kisses. Adding Jolly Ranchers and Twix. Howie and Harry called him out when he grabbed all the mini-bags of M&M’s. Hal glared but reluctantly shared.

  Grant managed to shake Jake’s hand and give Hannah a big hug while keeping an eye on his sons. “You saved the day,” he told her. “I just called Lauren, and while she’s feeling better, she’s not at one hundred percent. My boys would’ve missed out on the parade and trick-or-treating if not for you.”

  “Jake helped out too,” she said, giving credit where credit was due.

  “Appreciated.” Her brother-in-law next drew a breath and had to ask, “How were they?”

  “It was a long day for everyone,” she admitted. “They did well.” She glanced toward their table and caught Hal jabbing Harry in the arm with a blue Rock Candy Swizzle on a wooden stick. Harry smacked him back with a red Twizzler. Howie fired Skittles at them both. She sighed and added, “They’re on the verge of a candy war. Time to take them home, Grant.”

  He agreed. “We’re gone.” He crossed to scoop the candy off the table and to collect his sons. The boys were all smiles as they left. Each one passed Hannah a bite-size Butterfinger on their way out the door. Jake was rewarded with three packets of Dragon’s Teeth. The candy corn spilled onto his palm from the pack Harry had originally opened. Jake ate them quickly.

  “I saw that,” Hannah accused.

  He held up his hand. “Empty, Peep.”

  “You’re as bad as the boys.”

  “Bad to the bone.”

  Her heart stuttered. Life had hit the reset button. Offering her an opportunity to explain herself. “I don’t think that of you,” she softly said.

  “I wasn’t so sure earlier.”

  “I made a joke and so did you.”

  He scratched his jaw. “I don’t remember my joke.”

  They stood off to the side, in an aisle of empty tables. Several diners trickled out. Looks were cast, but no one outwardly stared. Their conversation was as private as it could be in a public place.

  Shyness shortened her breath. She gave a small indifferent shrug in an attempt to lessen the significance of his earlier comment. “You mentioned rectifying something or other.”

  He puzzled, then remembered. “Rectifying us. Our getting to know each other better.” He paused. “You found that funny?”

  “I thought you were kidding me.”

  “I never joke about spending time with a woman.”

  “Why me?” slipped out.

  He flattened his palm over his heart. “I have a soft spot for Little Bo Peep.”

  “You’re into nursery rhymes?”

  “Into you, if you have time
for me.”

  She worked a lot of hours. “I’ll find time.”

  A heartbeat of silence before her grandmother broke them apart. “Here you are, Hannah.” She stood beside the front counter in her Red Hat Society costume. She’d changed from her kitchen whites into a frilly satin purple dress and feathered red hat. She dangled a ring of keys from her fingers. “I’m meeting Naomi and Margaret at the Thirsty Raven for our traditional Bloody Mummy. Would you mind locking up for me, sweetie?”

  “Happy to. Anytime.”

  Her gram delivered the keys. She leaned close and whispered, “Did you chant?”

  “I chanted.”

  “Excellent. So glad you listened to me.”

  Hannah waved her out the door. “Party hearty with the Red Hatters.” Those women over fifty who regularly socialized and whose friendships stretched a lifetime. “I’ll see you bright and early.”

  She secured the door, then turned back to Jake. “Your plans?” she asked. “Coming or going?”

  “I’m headed upstairs to visit my granddad and Moody. How about you?”

  “The cooks and dishwasher have set the kitchen in order. It’s my job now to clean up the dining room.”

  “All by yourself?”

  She scanned the room. “There’s usually two or three of us to wrap up the supper shift. The other waitresses wanted the night off to celebrate Halloween. There’s lots of activities going on in town. So I volunteered.”

  “You’re more Cinderella than Little Bo Peep.”

  “Hardly. I’ve no evil stepsisters or stepmother.”

  “Don’t you mind missing out on the fun?”

  “The married ladies should be with their families, and the single girls have dates.”

  “What about your date?”

  “I’ve a date with the side work.”

  “Side work?”

  He apparently had never worked in a restaurant. She ticked off the tasks on her fingers. “Wiping down booths, tables and chairs, and menus, filling salt and pepper shakers and condiment baskets. Stocking the drink station with glasses and cups. Setting bus pans under the counter for dirty dishes. Rolling silverware in napkins. Then sweeping and mopping the floor. I’m organized and quick.”

  “All while wearing your costume?”

  “Quick change. I have an apartment on the second floor.”

  That seemed to please him. “We’re neighbors then.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “How’s that?”

  “I’m renting the empty studio while I’m in town.”

  “Oh . . . ,” escaped her. No one had warned her. He would be right next door. Only a wall would separate them. They’d be sharing a bathroom. Undeniably close. She could no longer run around in her pajamas. She’d be forced to wear a robe or be fully dressed. How would she be able to sleep, wondering what he wore to bed? She imagined he slept nude. Naked would look good on him.

  Her expression must have revealed her concern. He removed his sunglasses, guessed, “Problem, Peep?”

  She couldn’t deny him a roof over his head. She drew a breath, said, “I’m fine. You need a place to sleep.”

  “Trust me,” he assured her. “I called around town. There were no hotel rooms available.” He grew serious. “If my presence makes you uncomfortable, I can always sleep beside my motorcycle on the cement floor at Morrison’s Garage. Your call.”

  “My decision, huh?” She kept a straight face when she said, “The floor at the garage will be cold. I’ll get you a pillow and a wool blanket.”

  A ticking of seconds before he laughed aloud. A deep, hearty laugh that stroked her hot. She blushed. “At least you’d allow me some comfort. Although I’d prefer a bed.”

  “There’s a single in the studio apartment.”

  “Small, but not an issue.”

  He was a big guy. A king-size mattress would’ve served him far better. Him and a lover. The thought left her overly warm.

  She cleared her throat, asked, “Have you been up to the second floor?”

  He nodded. “From the outside staircase last time I visited my grandfather. I held on to the entrance key.”

  She touched her forefinger to her lips as if sharing a secret. “There’s also a narrow set of steps located off the storage room. Known only to family and trusted boarders. Used only after hours. The outside key works inside too.” She crooked her finger at him. “Follow me—I’ll show you.”

  He followed her across the dining room. They entered the kitchen through the swinging door. Gray linoleum tiles had withstood years of spills, rolling carts, and hundreds of footsteps. The aromas of Yankee Pot Roast and cooked vegetables still lingered. Pot roast had been a dinner special and was one of Hannah’s favorite meals. The meat would’ve been meltingly tender. The veggies seasoned and baked in the rich broth. She’d missed supper and wished there were leftovers. But her grandmother generously sent any remaining food home with the employees. Most being family. A café perk.

  Hannah admired the shiny stainless-steel kitchen. Whereas the dining room reflected the past, the kitchen functioned on modern upgrades. Her grandmother was practical. Business was brisk and profitable. Equipment breakdowns would close the doors. Repairs would eat profits. Quality commercial brands were used to cook and bake her recipes.

  The only spot of color in the kitchen was a bright butter yellow Hobart mixer. A splurge by Hannah’s gran. Arthritis gripped the older woman’s hands. They often ached from all the stirring, mixing, and kneading. The large countertop mixer eased her pain.

  Hannah felt Jake on her heels as she bypassed the food prep station and convection oven. His knees bumped the hem of her hoopskirt. Swinging it sideways. He helped her pat it down. His palm settled low on her back as they headed toward the storeroom. Her heart jarred at the hot rush of intimacy.

  Unsteady, she thankfully made it to the storage area without mishap. There tiered metal shelving lined the walls. One separate rack was piled with bags of flour, sugar, and rice. Casters rolled it aside, revealing a narrow hidden door. Hannah ran her fingers along the upper frame and recovered a brass skeleton key. “An extra key should you forget yours,” she said. She fit it in the lock. Then turned the knob and the door squeaked open.

  “A secret passage?” Jake was intrigued.

  She explained, “Secret to most. Decades ago when my grandparents first opened the café, housing in town was limited. They found residing upstairs a practical solution. Over time they tired of living and working under the same roof and eventually bought a house on Starry Night Court. Two blocks south, and still an easy commute for Gram. She continues to drive a 1970 Ford Pinto. It clinks, clanks, putt-putts. She refuses to trade it in for a newer model.”

  Jake grinned. “The major is much like your grandmother. He’s hung on to his 1940 wood-paneled station wagon.”

  Hannah smiled back. “The Woody Wagon.”

  “The one and only. It’s a classic. Countless collectors have offered to purchase the Packard. He’s turned down every one. He continues to rent secured space at Morrison’s Private Storage behind the main garage. I’ll check out the wagon while I’m in town. He doesn’t drive much anymore. Even so, I want to be sure it’s winterized.”

  Very thoughtful of him. She liked how he took care of his gramps. She motioned to him, then said, “Time to climb. Be careful. The staircase is narrow with a sharp curve near the top.” She clutched the wooden railing with one hand and her skirt with the other. Then headed up ahead of him.

  Steep steps, and the sway of her skirt couldn’t be contained. Instead of side to side, it flounced front to back, flashing Jake from behind. She cringed.

  He chuckled, deep and admiring. “Sexy thigh-highs. Those blue bows along the seams do it for me.”

  His compliment sent heat up and between her legs. Her composure slipped. The hoopskirt would be the death of her. She would never wear one again. Sheer will pushed her up the remainder of the stairs. Once on the landing, she struggled to turn and face him. The l
ight overhead flickered and dimmed, needing a bulb replaced. Jake’s face was shadowy, but she could make out his expression, equally intense and indulgent.

  She would have immediately taken to her room, but his gaze detained her. All dark heat and sinful appreciation. His face was hard cut. His mouth curved, wicked by design. Tension stretched between them. Nerves overcame her. She felt inept with this man.

  She stepped back, only to have him step forward. Her skin prickled and goose bumps rose. She rubbed her arms. Heaved a breath. Her voice wavered when she asked, “Are you hitting on me?” The question sounded rather juvenile.

  “Do you want me to make a move?”

  “No. . . .”

  “Then I’m not.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Did you really?”

  “I just wanted to be sure.”

  “And now you know,” he said easily. “Don’t worry, Peep; this is as near as I get. Your crinoline’s like a chastity belt.”

  “The hoop comes off shortly.”

  “Stripping down is good. Go get comfortable.”

  She was five minutes away from changing clothes. She pointed down the hallway. “Your room is the second door on the left. There’s a private key above the doorframe.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. I want to spend an hour or so with Gramps and Moody; then I’ll head to Morrison’s Garage and retrieve my helmet and saddlebags from my motorcycle.”

  “You travel light.”

  “I don’t need much. I never stay anywhere overly long.”

  Which meant he could leave Moonbright on a moment’s notice. Or no notice at all. Her stomach sank. She felt a sense of loss, and he hadn’t even left yet.

  She finished with, “I need to get busy. The dining room tables won’t wipe themselves down. The napkins won’t fold around the silverware. The salt and pepper shakers won’t refill each other.”

  He shifted his weight from one hip to the other and casually said, “I may come down to the kitchen before I turn in. I’d like an evening snack. Your grandmother promised me a whoopie pie.”

  “She always keeps her word,” said Hannah. “I’m sure there’s one in the refrigerator with your name on it.”