The Café between Pumpkin and Pie Page 5

  “One I don’t have to share with three hungry sheep.”

  The memory of her nephews eyeing, then devouring half of Jake’s whoopie pie made her smile. “All yours and well deserved.”

  His booted footsteps took him across the durable Maine Coast Rope Rug in black with green flecks. Constructed with recycled lobster float rope, the floor covering was locally produced and found in most homes. This particular rug had survived decades. Hannah’s parents had lived a short time in one of the apartments after they’d first married. She’d crawled and taken her earliest baby steps on the rope rug.

  A collection of photographs on one wall outside his grandfather’s door caught Jake’s attention. “Neat photos,” he said. “The black-and-white of the coastline covered with fog has a supernatural vibe.”

  Hannah found it ghostly. Spooky.

  He tapped a heavy wooden frame with his finger, noted, “There’s strength and survival in the bull moose crossing the watery wetland.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  “Which picture do you like best?” he asked her.

  No hesitation on her part. “The colorful lobster buoys hanging from the faded blue fence.”

  “Wood, handmade, vintage. Durable.” He met her gaze. “The lobster industry is as much a part of Maine as the Corner Café is of Moonbright. Generational and familiar. Stable.”

  His assessment pleased her. He understood her fondness for the photo. There was something about the buoys that represented longevity and legacy. Lobster was a mainstay at the café. Lunch hour lobster rolls and lobster pot pie sold as fast as breakfast hotcakes.

  Jake proceeded to knock on his granddad’s door. The major answered. The older man waved at Hannah. Jake looked back and winked at her. “Later, Peep.” And he closed the door.

  His wink unsettled her. He left her weak-kneed. She turned to enter her own apartment only to walk straight into the wall. Fortunately, her stiff crinoline protected her. She bounced back instead of running face first into the wood. She sighed heavily. She needed to be more careful. Less clumsy. Difficult to do with Jake Kaylor in her life. She needed to get a grip. To set thoughts of him aside and clean the dining room. Scrubbing tables would distract her.

  * * *

  “You missed a spot.” Jake came up behind Hannah as she sponged a tabletop in the dining room. He leaned close, removed his aviators, and pointed to a smear of ketchup at one corner.

  She startled, and her hip bumped the table leg. Soapy water splashed from a small plastic container, pooling on the Formica. She seized one of the clean rags tucked into the waistband of her jeans and quickly soaked up the excess water. She wrung it out over the container.

  Lady was jumpy, he thought. He straightened, notched his shades at the neck of his T-shirt, and apologized, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She didn’t look up, only said, “I thought you’d be longer with the major and Moody.”

  In truth, so had he. “The time we spent together was good. All their games are played with two people, so I sat off to the side and watched. They are night rivals and crazy competitive. They compete in gin, backgammon, chess, checkers, and double solitaire. Gramps set up a dry eraser board with colored markers and they keep score. The loser at the end of the week buys the winner Saturday pie.”

  “On occasion, I’ve taken cookies and milk to them as an evening snack,” said Hannah. “They thank me, but seldom look up. I’ve never taken offense and don’t stay long.”

  Jake had spent an hour with the men. One of the longest of his life, however comfortably seated in an overstuffed armchair, pulled up to the card table. The two had been intent on their cards, and even though they’d included him in their conversation, his attention had been fixed on Hannah. Images of her looped like a mind reel.

  He half listened to the men’s questions, reacting with a nod or short comment. His gramps had asked about trick-or-treating, to which Jake answered, “Nice time.”

  “Big crowd?” from Moody.

  Jake nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “The town always turns out for Halloween,” said the major.

  “Yep.”

  His gramps switched to, “Have you settled in your apartment?”

  “Soon.”

  “The place is minimally furnished,” his granddad informed him. “If you need extra towels or bedding, I’ve got plenty.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  His grandfather shuffled the deck, side-eyed him, and snuck in a personal question when he thought Jake wasn’t fully paying attention. “You planning to date her?”

  “Date who?” he shot back, wise to his gramps’s probe. He never let anyone, not even his family, interrogate him about his private life. He narrowed his gaze on his granddad. A silencing glare.

  The major grinned. “I’ve seen darker looks.”

  Moody snorted. “You don’t intimidate us, boy. If we have questions, we’ll ask them.”

  They could ask, but Jake had no plans to answer. He did have one question of his own, however. “You’ve lived here a long time. Tell me about the Moonbright legend.”

  Moody raised an eyebrow. “How’d you hear about it?”

  “I overheard Nan mention it to Hannah.”

  “Eavesdropping, boy?” asked his gramps.

  “Nan’s whisper carried to me.”

  The major scratched his jaw, said, “Halloween magic. The single ladies have a specific chant—supposed to be spoken before midnight. It’s believed they will then catch a glimpse of their future husband in a mirror or other reflective surface.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Truth, boy,” came from Moody. “It’s happened too often not to be believed. Nan trusts in the lore. Along with numerous women in town. They saw likenesses of their husbands before the men arrived in their lives.”

  Jake couldn’t wrap his head around it. “Still hard to believe.”

  “We know of what we speak,” hinted Moody.

  “Your wives envisioned you both?”

  “Both saw us clear as day,” from the major.

  “Personal experience made us believers,” Moody asserted.

  “I’m still skeptical.”

  “Nan adores her granddaughter,” his gramps informed him. “Hannah doesn’t date much. Nan is hopeful she’ll meet a nice man. Get married. Perhaps a reflection in a mirror will give her a sneak peek of her life partner.”

  That said, the older men went back to playing cards.

  Jake sat still, unconvinced.

  The apartment was small. He stayed until restlessness claimed him, then pushed to his feet. He repositioned the armchair in its original spot. On his way out the door he offered to buy the men breakfast in the morning. At an hour of their choice.

  The major readily accepted. “Sounds good. Hannah will be working. She opens the café at six. Moody and I wander downstairs at eight to avoid the early rush.”

  “Eight works,” said Jake. He set his own hours back home. He rose at six. Jogged three miles when the weather permitted. Then fixed a bowl of organic whole-grain cereal. The family business was housed in a renovated warehouse nearby. He was on the job by seven thirty. He lost himself in his work. Time spun the hands on the clock. He closed down the workshop at dark.

  But that was Bangor and this was Moonbright. He was presently on vacation. He would adjust to the older men’s schedule.

  “Should you beat us downstairs, take a booth in Hannah’s section,” Moody requested. “She’s our favorite waitress.”

  “Such a gentle soul,” injected Jake’s gramps.

  “There’s a possibility she’ll mix up our orders when she gets busy,” Moody cautioned. “Don’t be an ass and give her a hard time.”

  “Food is food. I wouldn’t complain.”

  “You’d grumble if she served you corned beef hash.” His grandfather knew him well. It was Jake’s least favorite dish.

  “Not a problem,” he reasoned. “I’
d switch plates with Moody and eat whatever he had ordered.”

  “That would be corned beef hash.”

  Both men chuckled.

  They enjoyed needling him. Jake let it pass. “We’ll catch up at breakfast then.”

  He was halfway out the door when Moody called after him, “You better tip big, boy.”

  “Got it covered. I’ll be generous.”

  “Really generous,” his gramps emphasized.

  Moody added, “Don’t make us look cheap or we’ll take you to task.”

  “We would, if we had to,” ended the major.

  The men were brave with their words.

  Jake cleared the door. A smile broke across his face in the hallway. The two were very protective of Hannah. That pleased him greatly. Her waitressing skills might not be the strongest, but he’d never purposely hurt her feelings. It wasn’t his style. He was a tolerant guy. Little fazed him. He crossed his fingers against a corned beef hash breakfast. He would be forced to eat it so as not to offend her.

  He decided to take the outside staircase, which landed him in an alley between the café and Keepsake Antiques, which fronted on Pie Street. Then continued to walk the two blocks to Morrison’s Garage, a one-pump gas station with a three-bay auto shop. Mac Morrison was just locking up, and the men conversed for a short time. Their exchange ended with Mac’s mention that his master mechanic had given notice and his last day was Monday. Mac knew that Jake was visiting his gramps, and although he didn’t want to disrupt his vacation, Mac was in a significant bind. He was backed up with minor tune-ups and major repairs and, if Jake had extra time on his hands, Mac could use a temporary mechanic until he was able to hire someone full-time.

  Moonbright didn’t have a new-car dealership. Used and vintage models populated the town. While Jake preferred to work on motorcycles, he remained knowledgeable about cars and trucks. Mac sweetened his proposition by allowing Jake to set his own hours. No pressure. Mac would sweeten the deal with a hefty commission on each invoice. Jake promised to consider the offer and would get back to Mac shortly.

  He’d gone on to grab his helmet and saddlebags and return to the café, taking the outside stairs to his apartment. He’d dropped everything on his bed, then found his way down the secret inside steps to the kitchen. He’d entered the dining room through the swinging doors. That’s where he’d found Hannah, hard at work cleaning tables. Humming to herself. He’d surprised her. She’d been slow to recover.

  Her breathing remained shallow, erratic, even now as she wiped away the ketchup he’d mentioned. She fully dried the table before facing him. They stood close enough to breathe the same air. He looked down as she gazed up. Her expression was questioning while she waited for him to say something, to do something. He had nothing.

  Nothing, that was, until he glanced around and realized she had a long way to go to put the dining room in order. “Let me help you,” he offered. “Tell me what you need done and I’ve got it covered.”

  A corner of her lips twitched. “You could marry the ketchups.”

  That stumped him. “Vows and ‘I dos’?”

  She rolled her eyes, clarified, “Collect the ketchup bottles. Take them to the counter by the sink. Caps off, and wipe down the necks. Then you pour a half-full bottle of ketchup into another half-full bottle so you have one full bottle.”

  He nodded. Easy enough. “I can do that.” He hoped without making too big a mess.

  In spite of his good intentions, messes were made. He mentally kicked himself for staring at Hannah and not concentrating fully on the bottles. He liked watching her move. A lot. The swing of her high ponytail. The fit of her light blue café T-shirt with the steaming coffee cup logo. The easy way she leaned over the tables, along with the stretch of her spine and curve of her butt when she erased today’s specials from the menu chalkboard, then wrote the new ones for tomorrow. He blew out a breath when she printed the breakfast specials: biscuits and gravy, lumberjack pancakes, and corned beef hash.

  He planned to enunciate “lumberjack pancakes” very carefully when he ordered in the morning. He didn’t want his food to get mixed up with Moody’s or his granddad’s should they go for corned beef hash. The older men would find humor in Hannah’s accidentally serving him his least favorite breakfast.

  Sidetracked and totally into her, he’d allowed the ketchup bottles to overflow. Big spills and splatters brought her to him. She didn’t comment or criticize. Instead she grabbed a sponge and bus tub from under the counter and cleaned up after him. She took over his task and, in a matter of minutes, filled the remaining bottles and discarded the empties.

  He felt like a fool. “Sorry,” he said. He’d botched a basic job.

  “It’s minor,” she assured him. “My spills are far worse. Besides, we all have our skill sets. Side work is quick and easy for me, but I could never rebuild a motorcycle engine.”

  “You don’t know that unless you’ve tried,” he refuted. “You might be great at assembling and restoring big bikes.”

  “That’s your niche,” she insisted. “Mine is the café.”

  “You’ve never wanted to do anything else?”

  She shook her head, slowly, thoughtfully. “I love my life. I get to see my family and friends every single day. I eat the best meals in town.” There was an innocence to her words. He admired her sense of self. She obviously felt safe, secure, and comfortable at the café. She knew who she was and where she belonged. Small-town living agreed with her.

  He, however, preferred a bigger city. Bangor worked for him. He enjoyed sharing a shop with his dad. He’d never met anyone smarter in the field of mechanics than his old man. Jake had learned at his father’s knee. Their camaraderie was invaluable to him.

  Truth be told, he could work anywhere he chose. Even in Moonbright, which had never crossed his mind until that moment. He ran one hand down his face. There was something so natural, so familiar, and so relaxed about standing here with Hannah, despite the fact they didn’t know each other well.

  He cleared his throat, asked, “Any other condiments you want me to marry? Mustards? Maple syrups? Give me a chance. I can do better.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing more. I’m good to finish. Go to the kitchen, get your whoopie pie from the refrigerator, sit, and enjoy it. I’ll clean up around you.”

  That wasn’t going to happen. He refused to eat while she worked. It didn’t seem fair. He briefly remained behind the counter while Hannah moved on. She had side work down to a science. There had to be something he could do. That’s when he noticed that the salt and pepper shakers on the counter were low, as were additional shakers on the tables. It didn’t take him long to locate the larger canisters of each spice. He opened the metal spouts, went around the café, and topped off the shakers. He found some of them sticky and wiped them down.

  His task completed, he looked up and found Hannah seated on a counter stool nearby. His small contribution had had a big impact on her. Her eyes were bright, her expression soft. “Thank you,” came with a small smile. “Nice job.”

  “Not a big deal.”

  “A big deal to me.”

  He liked that she felt that way. “What’s next on your list?”

  “I’m almost done. Quick sweep and mop.”

  That was easy enough. “You sweep and I’ll mop.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.”

  She secured a broom and he filled twin wringer buckets, one side with lemon Lysol cleaner and the other with clean water. He grabbed the mop. They started near the front door and worked their way back to the counter area. Hannah swept ahead of him. She had a way with a broom. Her strokes were short and efficient, causing a graceful shift of her shoulders and sensual roll to her hips. Distracting as hell.

  He followed her with the mop. More than once he kicked a bucket, splashing water over the side. He mopped over the spots twice. Luckily for him Hannah didn’t seem to notice. She located a dustpan and swept up
the dirt and dropped napkins.

  They worked well together and their tasks were completed in record time. Although he would’ve liked to drag out her sweeping for a few more minutes.

  She motioned him toward the kitchen. “Let’s get our desserts. The tiles will be dry by the time we return.”

  He pushed the buckets through the swinging door and emptied them. Then came up behind her at the commercial refrigerator. She handed him his whoopie pie on a paper plate. He couldn’t wait to dig in. Hannah took her sweet time peeking beneath the domes on several plastic cake and pie containers before making her selection.

  She sighed. A gentle rise and fall of her chest. “It’s hard to decide. A toss-up between Indian pudding, peach cobbler, and blueberry butter cake.”

  He nudged her toward the cake. “So I can have a bite.”

  She smiled at him, agreed, then cut and plated a large piece. “Forks are in the dining room,” she told him.

  The floors had dried. She retrieved silverware from a flatware tray under the counter. He followed her to the first two-seater booth. She set down her dessert, then scored glasses of milk. They sat across from each other. Companionship and sweet treats. Jake could think of no place he’d rather be.

  He dug in then. He’d eaten almost all his whoopie pie before noticing Hannah lagged behind. She was all about small bites and savoring. He appreciated the sight of a woman enjoying her food. It was sexy as hell. Her eyes would close and he swore a soft moan escaped with each taste. He stared at her until she sensed his eyes on her.

  She blushed, set down her fork, and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She nudged her cake plate toward him. “Feel free to take a bite,” she offered.

  “I’d rather watch you eat.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Tell me, Hannah, which is more important to you, love or food?”

  “I’d keep on eating.”

  He grinned. “I would too.”

  “My grandmother would disagree with us. She believes food sustains, but love makes life worthwhile.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” he asked her.

  She took a sip of milk, grew thoughtful. “Not love exactly, but like. There was Gregory Manor in the fourth grade. I was once on the playground swing set, but couldn’t kick my legs hard enough to gain height. He got off his swing and pushed me so high, I felt like I was flying.”