by Olivia Miles
Smoke was billowing out the windows now, and broken glass littered the sidewalk. A team of firefighters was jumping off the truck, clutching a long hose. By the time Anna arrived at the Fireside Café, gasping for breath that felt thick and tight in her lungs, there was so much commotion that she couldn’t get a straight answer from anyone. Red lights flashed through the soot that filled the air and caused her to cough. The sheriff was marching forward, barking commands, ordering people to stand back. Firemen stretched their arms wide as they formed a barrier and the mass moved slowly back, gathering Anna into its frantic progression.
She stared at the crowd as she stumbled backward, searching through the blur of her vision for a familiar face, for someone, anyone, to tell her it was all going to be okay, that it was nothing, just a scare.
“Anna, oh God!” Anna whirled around to face her assistant manager, finding some relief in the sight of her friend. Kara’s face was stained with tears.
Panic tightened her chest, forcing her out of her haze. “Is anyone in the building?”
“No. No, I don’t think so,” Kara muttered, shaking her head. She covered her face with both hands as a loud crash split through the town, eliciting a wave of cries from the crowd.
“Probably just a support beam,” a gruff voice called out, and Anna felt her knees begin to buckle. Just a support beam. Just a café. No one was hurt—she was safe, she should focus on that. Yet somehow she couldn’t. All she could do was stand there, clutching Kara’s arm and watching helplessly as everything she had built for herself, everything she depended on, came crashing down around her. Just like everything did in the end.
CHAPTER
2
The Saturday crowd was bustling in Hastings. Every table was filled and the counter was lined with the regulars, mostly bachelors and widowers looking for good company, strong coffee, and Mark’s popular weekend special, the Hastings Scramble, which was about as creative as things got around here, much to Mark’s disappointment.
The wait was seven families deep, huddled together near the front door or lining the benches outside the glass window that gave a full view of Main Street’s shops. Even Jackson Jones, Briar Creek’s mayor, was staring down the man and woman lingering at his favorite table in the corner, clutching coffee mugs, and skimming the newspaper. From across the crowded room, Mark could sense the impatience in his face, but like the mayor or the tired-looking couple with a squirming toddler, no one showed any sign of turning away. If they wanted Saturday brunch, there was only one place in town that delivered, and this was it.
Of course, Mark supposed there was always the Fireside Café, but that was different—a little trendier, a little less kid-friendly. Or so he’d been told by loyal patrons. Mark had never stepped foot in that establishment and he didn’t intend to start now. He and Anna Madison weren’t exactly on speaking terms these days, and her restaurant made him uneasy. Even if his mother owned the building, the entire place was just a longstanding reminder of how cruel life could be.
“Refill?” Mark took the pot of premium roast from the burner and held it up to his cousin Luke, another Saturday staple, though Mark had to wonder how much longer that would last. Since Luke and Grace Madison had rekindled their relationship over Christmas, Luke was spending less time shooting pool and meeting for a beer and more time holed up in his luxury log cabin making up for lost time with his high school sweetheart.
“You know you can kick me out at any time,” Luke said as Mark topped him off.
Mark spared a wry grin and started a fresh brew, relieved that Luke was sticking around a few minutes longer, even though he hated to admit it. After Luke’s wife died two years ago, Luke quietly immersed himself in Mark’s life, joining him for dinners and holidays, and any other excuse not to be alone. Mark knew the feeling and was happy to return the favor Luke had paid him all those years ago, when they were just kids and Mark’s entire world felt like it had been ripped out from under him. But now Luke had Grace and Mark had… He stiffened. He had what he needed. Himself. His dog. His dreams of something better than this joint. Anything beyond that was trouble.
From across the room Mark heard a plate crash to the floor and a baby wail at a decibel level that caused him to wince. His newest waitress scrambled to the counter, red-faced and frazzled, hissing to the cook through the service window, “Another garden omelet with extra hash browns. And, um, hurry, if you can.” She met Mark’s gaze and lowered her lashes before ducking back into the throngs, nearly crashing into Jackson Jones, who was finally being seated after his twenty-minute wait.
“Popular spot today,” Luke commented, stirring his coffee.
Mark grunted something of a response.
Luke set down the spoon and frowned. “I’d think you’d be pleased with all the foot traffic. It’s what you set out to do, after all.”
Hardly. Mark tossed a rag over his shoulder and poured himself a coffee, drinking it black. Frustration tightened his gut, and he pushed back the things he really wanted to say. “Maybe I’ll mix things up around here. Change the menu.”
He was compromising again, selling himself short, and the lack of energy he felt for the idea was evident in his voice. He leaned back against the far counter and stared into his mug, feeling like he was looking into the black hole of his future, and swallowed the last of it.
Hastings was supposed to be a temporary stop, a way to help out his mother and earn a few bucks while he figured things out. It was never supposed to be a long-term plan, yet somehow there didn’t seem to be an end date. He’d been thinking about leaving this town for years. At a certain point, he just had to pack his bags and do it. Start fresh. Stop holding on to things that were never meant to be. Leave the past in the past. Where it belonged.
“What kind of food would you offer?” Luke asked, and Mark felt himself getting downright excited, the way he always did when he started brainstorming his plans.
“I was thinking modern American. A fresh twist on classic comfort foods.” Only he wasn’t thinking of this menu for Hastings. Or for any place in Briar Creek. But Luke didn’t need to know that. Not yet, at least.
From the end of the counter, Arnie Schultz coughed and sputtered, “Modern American? Fresh twist on classic comfort food?” He snorted and bit into a greasy strip of bacon, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You getting all fancy on us, Mark? Too good for the diner?”
Mark inwardly cursed. Yep, he never should have said anything. Not until he had the idea off the ground, anyway. If he ever had it off the ground. Ideas cost money, and then there was this place to think about…
“Forget him,” Luke said, finishing his coffee. He leaned into his elbows on the counter, meeting Arnie’s eye, and jerked his thumb in Mark’s direction. “This guy is a certified chef, you know.”
Arnie nodded and gulped his orange juice. “And he slings the best hash around. That’s the kind of food I like. That’s why I’m here seven mornings a week.”
“It’s just talk, Arnie. Just an idea.” Just a pipe dream. Mark scrubbed at some spilled syrup on the counter, grumbling to himself.
It was the same internal argument he had every time he started letting his mind run with thoughts of a new place. Thinking about what it could be was one thing, setting things into motion was another. The restaurant business was volatile—you could be hot one month and out of business by the next—he’d seen it with his own father to know how quickly things could turn. Hastings was a steady stream of income. A sure thing. Few things in life were.
He rubbed at his forehead, feeling the onset of a headache. The noise from the room often did it to him, which was why he kept a bottle of aspirin in his back pocket. He pulled it out now and shook one into his palm before bringing it to his mouth and swallowing it dry.
A fire truck roared by at full speed, lights blaring, its horn warning cars to clear Briar Creek’s main strip. The group of people waiting outside the diner rose from their benches, and through the glass Mark could see
the frantic movement in their hands, the way their gazes all trailed to something in the distance.
Mark jutted his chin to Luke. “That’s the second one.” He tossed the empty aspirin bottle in the trash and frowned out the window. “Think there’s something going on?”
Standing, Luke pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket and peeled off a twenty. “Only one way to find out.”
Mark handed a menu to the next customer, who eagerly slid into his cousin’s place, and began reciting the daily specials—though he didn’t think there was anything particularly special about them—when Luke’s voice jarred his attention to the front of the room.
“It’s Fireside!” Luke shouted. The squeak of metal chair legs pushing against the well-worn floorboards was the only sound louder than the murmurs and gasps from every customer in the room, who abandoned their eggs and pancakes to run to the window and take in the scene.
A hard knot formed in Mark’s stomach. Anna.
Tossing down his rag, he stepped around the counter, heading for the door. Even through the mass of people pushing their way to the front of the diner, he could see the anguish in Luke’s face and the panic in his eyes. He knew what Luke was thinking, where his mind had gone: Grace.
Luke had already lost his first wife. Mark knew all too well how it felt to fear another loss.
“She’s at the bookstore,” Mark said firmly, stepping quickly into the role he’d occupied since he was ten, the head of the Hastings family, the provider, the rock, but his mind was spinning, his heart hammering in his chest, and even as he said the words, he was thinking not of Grace, but of her sister. “It’s Saturday. Grace is always at Main Street Books on Saturdays.” But Anna never leaves Fireside. It was her passion, her life. A dark thought took hold when he considered it her possible undoing. Nothing good ever came from that place.
Luke nodded once, but the shadow that darkened his blue eyes told Mark he wasn’t convinced. “Kara works at the café on weekends. She covers while Anna’s at the bookstore.”
Relief was quickly replaced with newfound dread for Luke’s sister. Mark pushed open the door. “Come on. No use standing here worrying.”
Outside, the air was cloudy with smoke. They hurried the four blocks south, where barricades had been set up around the corner of Main Street and Second Avenue. Firefighters swarmed outside the Fireside Café, ordering people to stay back. Mark spotted Sam Logan, the town sheriff, huddled with a team of men, and caught a glimpse of a bright pink sweater and a sweep of honey blond hair. Anna.
As she noticed them approach, she broke away from her conversation with Sam and ran toward Luke, her silky hair swinging behind her, her turquoise eyes lit with tears. Mark stopped walking, feeling his jaw set, the knot in his stomach tighten its grip.
It was better for Luke to take care of this. He was practically a member of the Madison family by now. He and Grace had dated for years growing up; Anna was like a kid sister to him.
To Mark, however, she was so much more. Or she had been. Once.
From a few feet away, Mark watched his cousin embrace Anna, then Kara, and heard the panic in Luke’s voice when he managed the single question: “Grace?”
Anna shook her head, managing a trace of a smile. “She’s fine. She wasn’t here.”
“Oh, thank God.”
Catching Anna’s eye, Mark cleared his throat and took a step forward. “Everyone okay?”
Even now, in the midst of this chaos, with her business burning to ash behind her, she had the nerve to press her lips together and lift her chin, giving him a full view of that perfectly upturned nose. Mark balled his hands at his sides, willing himself not to lose his temper. Briar Creek was a small community, damn it, and he had every right to know if one of his friends or, heaven forbid, another family member had been in that café when the fire broke out. He had a right to know if she was okay. Even if they didn’t speak, even if they were both hell-bent on pretending they had never meant anything to each other, she had meant a great deal to him once.
He swept his gaze over her, ignoring the way the air stalled in his lungs as his eyes came to rest on her lips, slightly parted, and her eyes, so clear and blue. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to look at her. A long time since she’d let him. He pulled in a breath, checking himself right there.
“No one was injured,” Anna said coolly. She slid her eyes back to Luke, dismissing him, and Mark grit his teeth against mounting frustration. It had been more than seven years since they’d broken up, and she was still punishing him for it.
Cursing under his breath, he pulled his phone from his pocket, but Sam Logan appeared beside him, his sheriff badge dusted in soot. “Your mom’s on her way. I called her first thing; said she’s a good ninety minutes out, visiting a friend. I hope she has insurance.”
Mark frowned. His mother had been through hell and back twice in her life. Three times if you counted her husband abandoning her and leaving her with two small boys and a stack of bills that could have tiled the roof of their house. She’d started working at the diner, back when it was run by old Gary Sullivan. The stretch of buildings that spanned Second to Third Avenue along Main Street was the only good thing Mark’s father left in his wake, his mother now claimed, but that was only now, once she had tenants to keep it going. It was easy to forget those dark days when his dad’s restaurant space sat empty and the financial loss nearly destroyed her.
Nearly killed her, Mark thought angrily.
“What the hell happened?” he asked, surveying the scene. Grease fires could spread fast, but from the looks of it, the damage was extensive.
Sam shook his head. “We can’t know for sure just yet—probably electrical. The fire started in the kitchen.”
Mark let out a low whistle. “Anything salvaged?”
“Not much,” Sam said grimly, and Mark shook his head in disappointment. He glanced at Anna, who was still being comforted by Luke, with Kara standing tearfully at her side, wiping her eyes with a balled-up tissue. It suddenly hit Mark that Anna wasn’t shedding a tear. Her usual porcelain complexion was a shade whiter than normal, her blue eyes a bit brighter, but instead of falling to her knees or breaking down in hysterics as some in her position might do, she simply stood there, shell-shocked, listening to Luke’s reassuring words.
She was stoic that way. Hardened almost. He’d seen it in her from a distance over the years, admiring it almost, the way she set her mind to building her restaurant and never let a hard day tear her down. From across the crowded church at her father’s funeral last spring, he’d seen her stand at her mother’s side, her jaw set, her eyes somewhere far away.
He couldn’t say he’d be capable of the same himself. Hell, he was still recovering from the loss of his father more than twenty years ago. If you could even call it a loss.
He rolled back on his heels, sucking in a breath as he broke his stare. He and Anna hadn’t spoken more than a few stilted words since his final year at culinary school after he’d put an end to their relationship. Even working blocks from each other on Main Street for nearly six years since hadn’t broken her down. She was determined to shut him out. To punish him. To remind him every damn day of how much he’d hurt her.
From the end of Main Street he saw Grace and Jane sprinting at full speed, followed by a pack of middle-aged women led by none other than his aunt Rosemary, her oversized crimson scarf flapping in the wind. He stifled a grin, sobering himself. The woman sure could run, even in heels. He supposed it was all those years of self-discipline and dancing.
“What in God’s name happened?” she demanded, jerking her head from Luke to Mark as she grabbed Kara, holding her daughter close. Noticing Anna, she extended an arm to bring her into the fold, and Mark’s brow furrowed when he saw the way Anna allowed herself to be held, the way she rested her head on Rosemary’s small shoulder and let his aunt stroke her hair. He was the one she used to turn to—first as a friend, then as something more.
“We�
��re all okay, Mom,” Kara reassured her.
“This is going to devastate Sharon.” Rosemary released Anna and shook her head, looking up at the site of his father’s former restaurant. Tavern on Main. Once again, in a state of disaster. “Does she know yet, Mark?”
“She’s on her way.” Mark hated to think of his mother’s reaction when she saw the site. He shoved his hands in his pockets and squinted at the familiar storefront, which only this morning had been cheerfully dotted with potted red geraniums and sunny marigolds. The large, lead-paned window had been shattered, and shards of glass littered the sidewalk. The little wrought iron tables and chairs Anna kept outside on warmer days had been turned over in the chaos.
Cursed. The place was just cursed. No good ever came from it. Not then. Not now. His mother should have sold the building years ago.
“What am I going to do?” Anna asked to no one in particular.
“You have insurance, don’t you?” Grace asked, her expression lined with worry. Anna nodded, and blinked several times.
“But the bookstore,” Anna hissed, and Grace shot a look of panic to Luke. “I relied on my kitchen to do all the baking for the Annex. We only have a counter and limited equipment there. I can’t exactly bake scones in a toaster oven!”
Everyone was gathered around Anna now, studying her with concern. Mark glanced around at the Madison sisters, Luke, and the staff from the café, and decided it was time to leave. He wasn’t doing any good by standing around, watching the spectacle, and, besides, Anna wouldn’t want him here. She’d made that more than clear over the years, never returning so much as a wave from a distance until he’d finally given up, and her stance hadn’t wavered with time.
Much as he wished it would.
“We’ll just have to think of a short-term solution,” Grace said firmly as Mark started to turn away.