by Jessie Evans
Before she recovered the ability to speak, Ross was tapping the other man on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” Ross said, his voice vibrating with anger, no matter how polite his words. “Would you mind letting the lady through? I’d like to dance with my date before we have to leave.”
Spencer turned, meeting Ross’s eyes with an ugly smirk. The men were both a little over six feet, but where Ross was leanly muscled, evenly proportioned, and all around perfect, Spencer looked like a balloon that had been filled near the bursting point. His muscles were too big to be attractive and she knew enough about the man to guess he maintained his massive size in order to intimidate other people, not because his work involved carrying victims out of burning buildings.
“Hey there, Ugly Ross,” Spencer said. “This pretty little thing is with you? How’d you manage that, son? Lace her food before you served her lunch at the Roadkill Café?”
His words were met with laughter from his friend, but Ross simply smiled. “I’m not open for lunch, Spencer. If you’d learned to read, you’d know that. But I’m sorry if you came by and couldn’t figure out why the doors were locked.”
Spencer laughed, an ugly chuckle that was horribly familiar from the days when he and his friends would take turns seeing who could describe her “Stinky Elodie” stench in the most disgusting way. She’d spent so many lunches with her eyes glued to her food, too upset to eat, no matter how hungry she was, because of those monsters.
Suddenly, standing here in front of him, watching him prove he was still the same nasty bottom feeder, was too much to take.
“I’m ready to go,” Elodie said, meeting Ross’s eyes in a silent plea. “I need to rest before work tonight. Can we go?”
“Of course.” Ross stepped toward her with his hand held out, only for Spencer to check him with his broad shoulder, knocking him back before their fingers could touch.
“So how’s business at the Roadkill Café?” Spencer asked, turning his back on Elodie as he faced Ross.
She fought the urge to punch him in the kidneys and make a run for it. She just had to hold it together a few more minutes and she and Ross would be out of here and they could make sure to avoid Spencer in the future. That should be a heck of a lot easier to do now that they weren’t forced into the same classroom every day.
“Like you give a shit,” Ross said, brow furrowing as he met the other man’s eyes. “Now, get out of my way. Because if you touch me again, we’re going to have a problem.”
Spencer and his friend laughed, but Ross didn’t flinch and finally, after a long moment, Spencer shifted to lean against the bar. “Fine. Play it how you want, Ugly. But you might be surprised what I give a shit about.”
“The only thing that would surprise me is if I woke up tomorrow and you weren’t an asshole,” Ross said, holding out his hand. “Come on, Elodie.”
Elodie slipped past Spencer, her heart in her throat, but doing her best not to show it. She and Ross were several feet away from Spencer and her shoulders were starting to relax away from her ears, when the creep called out her name.
“See you later, Elodie,” he said, the edge in his voice making her jaw clench even before he added in a meaner tone, “You smell real nice now, girl. Let me know if you get tired of Ugly and want a real man to show you a good time.”
Elodie froze, her hand slipping from Ross’s as she turned to face Spencer. “I have a real man,” she said, meeting his eyes and refusing to look away. “But if I suddenly lose all common sense and self-respect and decide I’d like to sleep with the human personification of a wet fart, I’ll let you know.”
She took half a second to enjoy the stunned expression on Spencer’s face before she reclaimed Ross’s hand and started toward the door. On the way out, Tulsi gave her a thumbs-up and Mia smiled at her with warmth that hadn’t been in her eyes before. But as much as Elodie wanted Ross’s friends to like her, all she really cared about was the man himself.
“I’m sorry,” she said as they emerged onto the sidewalk.
“What in the world are you sorry for?” he asked, laughing. “That asshole deserved that and worse. I’d rather sleep with a wet fart than Spencer. Two wet farts. I’d rather have a wet fart ménage.”
“Me too. I’m not sorry for that.” She giggled as she waved a dismissive hand through the air. “I’m just sorry you had to get involved. I should have handled it.”
Ross stopped, turning to face her as he captured both of her hands in his. “I didn’t have to get involved, I wanted to get involved. I’m not just interested in the good times, El. I’m there whenever you need me.”
Elodie smiled, her heart lifting and the last of the black hole in her chest fading away. “Me too. And I’m going to help you make Ross’s Place the busiest restaurant in town. And when Spencer calls for a reservation, our tables will always be filled.”
Ross laughed. “From your lips to the restaurant god’s ears.”
And for the rest of the night, it seemed like the restaurant god was listening. Things were a little slow from five to six o’clock, but by six thirty Ross’s Place was packed and stayed that way until closing at nine p.m. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the food, the service, and the new chocolate lava cake Ross had added to the menu.
After the last of the dishes were washed and put away, Ross and Elodie celebrated with sparkling grape juice, toasting the bright future, neither of them having any idea that their night of success wasn’t the beginning of a good thing, but the calm before the storm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ross
“The Roadkill Café—Bringing Old Friends Together Again”
Judging from the title of the article and the vibrant color pictures of Elodie’s taxidermied possums and raccoons dressed as famous heroines from history and Ross grinning with his friends from the highway department in front of a twelve-point buck, the article seemed like a positive PR piece, something designed to highlight a local business and send new customers its way. And if the front page spread hadn’t dwelled extensively on Ross’s career picking up roadkill and made sure to mention that new waitress Elodie spent her mornings, “up to her elbows in dead animals, and her afternoons slinging hash,” it might have done just that.
Instead, the evening after the article published in the Lonesome Point Gazette, Ross’s Place saw a fifty percent drop in business. The next evening saw another twenty percent decline, and by the time Ross locked up on Sunday night, he’d had his worst dinner service yet, serving only three meals the entire evening. And one of those was a take-out meal Mia had picked up for her and Sawyer to share when he got off work at the ghost town.
“It’s my fault.” Elodie sagged to the ground to sit cross-legged on the spotless tiles just inside the door. There hadn’t been enough customers to leave any scuff marks. “I should never have moved out of Remi’s. Maybe then, I could have talked her out of writing that article.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ross said, sitting down beside her. “It’s Spencer’s fault, for being a vindictive asshole. And Remi’s for letting herself be manipulated by a sociopath.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe she’s dating that creep. I thought she was smarter than that.”
“Me too.” Elodie sighed. “I can’t believe she did this, either. I thought we were friends.”
Ross put his arm around her. “You’re still friends. The article made your work look great and orders are still up at your store, right?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Elodie said, leaning into him. “She shouldn’t have done this to you. She knows you were the entire reason I moved back to this stupid town. If she were a real friend, she wouldn’t have lashed out at someone I care about.”
Ross smiled. If someone had told him a week ago that he’d feel like he was on top of the world, even as he watched his business and life savings wash down the drain, he would have called them crazy. But now that he and Elodie were together, all the other stuff was just icing. She was all he needed to be happy.
“It’s okay,” he said, wanting to comfort her so they could enjoy their last few nights before he was forced to admit defeat and close the doors to Ross’s Place forever. “And it’s really not your fault, I promise. This place is cursed. None of the restaurants that open here last more than a month or two. It was just a matter of time before something went wrong.”
Elodie tipped her head back, a curious expression on her face. “How is it cursed?”
Ross filled her in on the story Clementine had told him, finishing with the details Miss Emily, Mia’s grandmother, had shared with him when she came in for dinner on Thursday. “Apparently Jim and Macy tried to move back a few years later, but her father refused to acknowledge their marriage or their baby as his grandchild. Macy was so hurt by it that Jim ended up selling the Blue Plate for a fraction of what it was worth just so they could afford to get back out of town fast.”
“That’s awful.” Elodie’s blue eyes sparked with a familiar fire. Nothing riled her up faster than a whiff of injustice. It was one of the many things he loved about her.
He still hadn’t found the perfect moment to tell her how he felt, but he would. Soon. He already had a plan in place for the night before Valentine’s Day, the perfect day to start a romantic tradition he hoped would continue for many years to come.
“But I don’t believe in curses.” She crawled into his lap and looped her arms around his neck, making him wish they were already upstairs alone instead of sitting in front of the restaurant’s windows. “And I’m beginning to think you were right.”
“I’m sure I was,” Ross said, leaning in to kiss her sweetly scented neck. “Tell me what I was right about again?”
She tilted her head back with a sigh, giving him easier access to her soft skin. “About claiming the bad stuff, owning it until it doesn’t have power over you anymore. And that gave me an idea how we might be able to turn things around.”
Ross pulled away, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a serious conversation if he kept kissing her. “I’m listening.”
“What if you change the name of the restaurant?” Elodie said, cautiously.
“To what?” Ross asked, still not understanding where she was going with this.
“To the Roadkill Café,” she said, a hopeful expression lighting up her pretty face. “I know it sounds crazy, but I was thinking… I have a lot of contacts in the arts and entertainment world in Austin and Houston. We could redecorate the place with my best new pieces, have a show, and invite the critics for dinner. That will give you lots of free publicity and maybe, by embracing the name, we can defuse the negative effect it seems to have on people.”
“Turn a negative into a positive,” Ross said, nodding. “Or at least show the gossips we don’t give a shit what they have to say.”
“Exactly!” Elodie shifted her legs until she was straddling him on the floor. “And it would be so fun. I have a few pieces I haven’t dressed yet. I could get them all decked out in a chef’s hat and a waitress apron and we could use pictures of them on the new menus. It wouldn’t cost much to print out a new front page for the sleeves.”
“I say we go for it,” Ross said, warming to the idea as quickly as he was warming to the idea of getting Elodie out of her little blue dress. “It’s not like I have anything to lose. If I don’t turn things around soon, I’ll be out of business anyway.”
“You’re not going to go out of business,” Elodie insisted. “I refuse to let that happen. Your dream isn’t going to die on my watch.”
“I don’t want to close down,” Ross said seriously. “But if I do, I’ll be fine. I’ve got other dreams and the best girlfriend a man could ask for.”
Elodie sighed as she dropped her forehead to rest against his. “I adore you, Mr. Dyer.”
“The feeling’s mutual, Miss Prince. Now let’s get upstairs before we put on a show for the night owls of Lonesome Point.” Ross threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her in for a kiss before he rose to his feet with her legs wrapped around his waist and carried her up to their apartment.
It was really starting to feel like theirs—a shared space where the first sparks of their love had been kindled into a flame. But as Ross laid Elodie down on his bed, pulling off her knee high socks as he kissed a trail down the inside of her thigh to each perfect little toe, he knew that if they had to leave this room behind, they would find happiness elsewhere. What they had didn’t live in a specific place, it was carried in the air between them, fueled by their mutual dream of a life filled with love.
And as long as they kept dreaming their dream together, no one would ever be able to drag them down, no matter how hard they might try.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Elodie
Elodie had never pulled a show together so quickly, but a mere five days later, Ross’s Place reopened on the Friday night before Valentine’s Day as The Roadkill Café, complete with a new sign, new décor, and a new menu featuring Ross’s signature mix of southern and south-of-the-border flavors renamed with kitschy titles like Awesome Possum BBQ Short Ribs and Semi-Flattened Flat Iron Steak with sweet potato chili fries. Only about half of the art and restaurant critics who’d been invited had been able to make it on such short notice, but almost all the tables were full, and as Elodie hustled from one table to the next, clearing dinner plates to make way for the dessert course, there was no doubt in her mind that the guests were enjoying the food and the art.
Now she just had to hope the positive reviews, The Roadkill Café would garner in the next few days, would be enough to keep the restaurant afloat. She believed Ross when he said he would be fine either way, but she didn’t want him to lose the restaurant. He was so talented and hardworking and if anyone deserved to have his dream come true, it was Ross Dyer.
And she meant to help him any way she could, even when it came to defusing the alleged curse said to plague the former Blue Plate Café.
As the patrons dug into their dessert and coffee, Elodie brought out the final piece of the evening, the one she’d worked on late into the night in secret, refusing to let even Ross see it until it was unveiled.
“My final piece is called Rewritten History, The Should Have Been of the Blue Plate Café,” she said as she set the heavy shadowbox on the counter. “It’s dedicated to Jim and Macy Owens, the former owners of the Blue Plate.”
She pulled back the sheet covering the box, pleased by the soft sounds of approval that filled the room as she revealed a miniature replica of the café back in the nineteen fifties. Inside, Mr. Jim was a stuffed skunk in overalls and a chef’s hat, Miss Macy was a squirrel with a calico apron, and their baby was a mouse rocking happily in a bassinet in the corner while Jim and Macy waited on a crowd of satisfied customers played by stuffed rats of various sizes and colors. It was simpler than a lot of her other work, without the elaborate props, but she’d put all of her heart into it and was pleased that it seemed to be translating to her audience. She was even more pleased when she turned to see Ross watching her through the food pick-up window with a proud smile on his face.
Pleasing the critics was all well and good, but pleasing the man she’d given her heart to was the best feeling in the world.
As soon as she made sure all the tables had a water and coffee refill, Elodie escaped back to the kitchen. The moment she was through the door, Ross caught her up in his arms, hugging her so tight the air rushed out of her lungs with an oof.
“So I guess you like it?” she asked with a laugh.
“I love it,” he said. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’d imagined.”
“I’m so glad,” she said. “I hope it makes Macy and Jim happy. I faxed pictures of the piece and the new decorations for the café to their daughter in Santa Fe. She said she’d make sure her parents saw them.”
Ross kissed her cheek. “Just when I think you can’t get any sweeter.”
Elodie smiled. “I’m not sweet. I’m selfish. I’m hoping this will help break the curse.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in the curse,” Ross said, setting her back down on her feet.
“I don’t, but I don’t believe black cats bring bad luck either. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to turn around and walk the other way if one crosses my path. Better safe than sorry.”
“Well, I think we should throw caution to the wind and count our chickens before they’re hatched, instead,” Ross said, untying his apron and pulling off the ball cap he wore while he cooked. “As soon as we have everyone out the door, I’m taking you out to celebrate. Go get into something you don’t mind getting dirty.”
“Sounds like fun, but are you sure? We won’t know if the night was a success for a few days,” she said, nibbling on her bottom lip.
“The night was already a success. I had a full restaurant and everyone enjoyed the food. And I got to see your critters in person.” He shook his head gently. “They’re really something special, El. I’m not surprised people pay big bucks for your stuff.”
Elodie shrugged. “Well, I’m glad people seemed to enjoy them, but not everyone’s a fan. A few months ago, I had a critic call me a wart on the nose of surrealism.”
Ross frowned. “I’m guessing that’s a bad thing?”
“Yeah,” Elodie said dryly. “He said the art world would, and I quote, ‘be better off if Elodie Prince crawled back into whatever backwoods hole she came from and took her stuffed animals with her.’ ”
Ross snorted. “What an asshole. But I am glad you came crawling back to the hole you came from.” He paused, smile slipping as he ran a hand through his hat-flattened hair. “But I wanted to let you know, I’ve been thinking, and if you decide you don’t want to stay in Lonesome Point after all, I’d understand.”
Elodie blinked at the unexpected words, not sure how to respond until Ross added in a softer voice—
“But I hope you’ll think about taking me with you. I’d go. I could find a job wherever we end up and I don’t want you to spend another minute being bullied by Spencer or anyone else.”