Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“It’s spitting out sewer water! Is the damn thing pulling from the wrong pipe—” Dad was saying now.
“It is not sewer water, it’s just the cleaning cycle,” Danielle said calmly. “It's water with remnants of espresso.”
“I’ll try to learn the espresso machine after my break,” I promised them. I could already hear a young kid screaming I want it!, over and over again, which let me know I was being too slow on the milkshakes.
To say the Red Fox Diner was “red fox themed” was an understatement.
There were framed pictures of Tennessee red foxes on every flat surface of the place.
The little fox logo was printed on all of our red mugs, and the booths were dark red. The pendant lights were also red. Even the barstools along the front counter were chrome with red leather tops, and the registers themselves were red, too.
I hadn’t liked all of that when I was a teenager, too, dreaming of fancier, sleek cafés in big cities. But this amount of old-school charm was hard to come by, these days. I’d always liked that the diner was on a corner lot, too—the big windows made for good corner street views and people watching the slow bustle outside.
I’d worked at the diner for two years during high school, part of the time with Finn, and I thought I’d never work here again.
But it was the only guaranteed employment I had right now. I was going to look for local art-related job postings every day online, but it was slim pickings around here.
“Oh, Dani, sweetie,” Mom said as she came behind the counter, carrying a stack of plates. “Did you tell Ori about the new morning baker? His name is Thomas and he is so similar to you, Ori.”
Mom walked into the back kitchen, spraying down some dishes.
I leaned over to whisper in Danielle’s ear.
“Let me guess. That’s Mom’s code for saying that the nice, new morning baker named Thomas is gay, isn’t it?” I asked Danielle.
Danielle gave me a wicked smile. “Sure is.”
“Knew it.”
“You’ll love him!” Mom called out from the kitchen.
I turned back to Dani. “Mom may as well have said there’s a nice twink here, and boy, does he really know how to glaze a donut, Ori!” I said under my breath.
Danielle started cracking up.
I finally finished the long row of milkshakes and Mom came out with a fresh tray to take all of them out to the big group booth in the corner.
“We’ve got it now, Dani,” Dad said to her from the espresso machine. “Go home and get Olivia. Babysitter has to leave at four o’clock, right?”
“Four o’clock on the dot,” Danielle said, letting out a sigh. “You think you’ll be okay for the rest of today, Ori?”
“I’ve got it. It’s all coming back to me, like… riding a bike while kids scream at you in the background.”
Danielle nodded. “Exactly. I’m glad to have you back. Kick ass tonight.”
Soon I was deep into another long order of milkshakes, but the rest of my shift at the diner was shockingly easy.
The after-work crowd wasn’t as bad as the afternoon one had been. Some things hadn’t changed since this was my after-school job.
Things got calmer as the hours wore on and the sun went down.
On my break, I even had a little time to sit at one of the tables outside. I pulled out my mini sketchbook and did a quick little watercolor of the street corner, Laurel Ave & Second St.
It was pretty, when I paid enough attention to it. There was the cobblestone, the fountain across the street, and the front entrance of the Hard Spot Saloon. For a small town, this corner was always pretty busy, too, with families and teenagers and people walking dogs.
Around this time of night, back in LA, I’d have been deep in a shift at the art gallery, serving fancy wine and cheese to richer-than-hell art collectors while listening to jazz music. It was cutthroat. I had to drop everything, the moment any wealthy person walked through the door. Most of the time I had worked through my “breaks,” and I certainly never had time to paint watercolors.
My first shift back at Red Fox was surprisingly… not shitty.
Not like my high school memories at all.
I drove the short distance back to Finn’s, leaving my car windows down.
The air was brisk. The smell of grass and fresh flowers was so strong here in the spring, and the humidity in the air tonight made it even sweeter.
At least it didn’t smell like soil and manure. I let my arm rest on the edge of the window as I drove down the neighborhood streets.
I could already tell something was different when I pulled into Finn’s driveway.
There was a little white car in front of the house that probably didn’t belong to one of Finn’s buddies, because there was a pink sparkly border around its license plate. I hadn’t seen Finn all day, and had no idea what his plans were. Yesterday he’d come home late from the saloon, and this morning he’d already been out at the ranch by the time I left for the diner.