by Beth Byers
“Rosemary Baldwin,” I replied and scratched his puppy’s belly as a sort of adjusted handshake.
“You going to the jazz festival in the park tonight?”
I paused, wondering if he was asking me out, and then risked, “I hadn’t heard about it, but that does sound fun.”
“Maybe you’d like to join me for a picnic?”
I blinked. He was. He was asking me out. I liked the kindness in his eyes and the way he scratched that puppy’s belly and the way the kid was looking at Simon as if he were a hero.
“That sounds lovely,” I answered in a smooth, confident voice that definitely did not belong to me. “I need to get situated, but I should be able to make it.”
“Great,” he said. He glanced me over again, took note of the little red and white basset puppy in my hands and asked, “Need the puppy aisle?”
I grinned and followed unashamedly enjoying the view from behind. He was charming and shopping for my little friend made my 2nd chance seem all the more real, far more so than the car had. Maybe because the car had been my mom’s insistence, and the dog was all me. I found her a pink collar with white daisies on it, a name tag, and a few other things. She had red ears and little red freckles on her nose, and her wrinkly, floppy skin was the softest. Her sweet puppy breath, and a few more kisses, and things were looking up.
On the way out, I dug into my pocket and pulled out $50 for the child. These puppies hadn’t been free to take care of, and I was betting his mom would have eventually bought him that game. I wanted to help at least some because I was thoroughly in love.
Simon noticed but said nothing. He did, however, walk me all the way to my car, opened the back for me, and said, “His mom really did tell him to give those puppies away. Jay’s right. You are a softy.”
I grinned as I confessed, “The boy is a charming scamp. And the puppies cost them money to care for.”
Simon laughed. “And sharp. He was right. You are a softy.”
I shrugged since what else could I say?
His voice deepened in the next moment and I had to pause in sheer appreciation as he said, “I’m glad you’re moving here, Rosemary.”
“Me too.” Suddenly feeling like an idiot, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with my hands and my hips were 4 sizes bigger than they had been a few moments before and somehow my feet were clownishly large.
“Are you going to work from home? Or did you get a job here? You looking?”
I hadn’t told anyone but my mom what my plans were. It took me a moment to gear up my courage and then I admitted, “I’m planning to open a diner or perhaps a coffee shop.”
My little puppy licked me and wriggled in my arms as if she approved. Or maybe she just sensed how stressed it made me admit my dream which sounded so…insane. It was like saying you wanted to make a living by painting portraits—unlikely. Businesses like the one I was talking about failed all the time.
“Are you now? Have you been to Jenny’s?”
I shook my head, hoping this wasn’t some friend who already had an awesome diner and wouldn’t like my plans.
“She’s looking to sell. Has been for a while. You might check her out.”
“Really?” I felt a thrill of hope that I could actually get my dream up and running. Maybe very soon.
Simon nodded and said, “She’s on Main Street right next to the Soda Shoppe. Seems like a good spot for a restaurant to me. Now if you buy that place…” He paused dramatically and said, “I’m going to need to keep finding cinnamon roll pancakes for breakfast.”
“I might be able to do that,” I said, knowing cinnamon roll pancakes would be going on the official menu. What could be better than somewhere that was already established? I was getting super excited at the idea. Maybe I’d be pouring out pancakes and experimenting with the recipes that I was still working on in a week or two. How long did it take to buy a diner if it was the right one for me? I could always slowly update it to the dream. That might even be better if it were a well-loved place. My mind was racing, and my heart was thudding, and I was so excited I wanted to bounce, but I didn’t want to look like a child.
“I’ll have to check it out,” I said, trying to keep cool. “So where’s the festival?”
“In the park next to the beach. Meet you by the Sacajawea statue. 7:00?”
I grinned and nodded and opened the passenger door of my car. I’d bought the puppy a bed, and I placed it on the passenger seat and then put her in her new place. When I stood, he shut the door and walked me around the car to open the driver’s side for me.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Rose,” Simon said.
And then he did that grin again. I suppose it had just been too long since I’d had attention from anyone. Which wasn’t quite true, I just hadn’t been that interested in anyone who’d made overtures before now.
“Likewise,” I told him, hoping that meeting a gentleman before I’d even reached my new hometown was a sign of good things to come and also that he really was a gentleman.
* * * * *
My rental was one in a set of cottages. They surrounded a courtyard on three sides with the final side being the parking lot. The shared yard had a play set, a picnic table, and several benches. Each cottage had the weathered looked of repurposed layered shingles. With bright doors and white shutters and flower boxes, the cottages were especially adorable given how the flower boxes and garden beds were full of flowers and greenery.
I walked through the little place with my puppy under my arm. There was a living area with a small kitchen and eating nook, a bedroom, and a big bathroom. The bedroom wasn’t much bigger than the bed and an armoire, but it was lovely in shades of gray and green. The living room was a couch, a few chairs that faced the ocean, and a flat screen tv. The view was, of course, breathtaking. The Oregon Coast might not be warm or conducive to sunbathing, but it was shockingly beautiful. I had one of the cottages with the backside facing the ocean, and there was a wide picture window off of the living space that showed the crashing gray ocean and gray skies.
The cottage was barely larger than a studio apartment, but it had things no college apartment would have: a large soaking tub, a separate shower, wide cushy chairs, and a fireplace. There was a fenced back deck area with a four-person hot-tub, a tiny patch of grass just big enough for the pup to to do her business, and a small gas grill.
My puppy enjoyed every second running around, barking at anything that moved in between marking her territory. Her floppy ears begged me to caress them, and I paused from unpacking my car long enough to play with the puppy.
It wasn’t until I started folding my clothes to put them away that I realized I didn’t want those old things to contaminate my new life. I didn’t want my call center khakis or the threadbare cardigans I’d worn year-round to hang in the tiny armoire. I pulled out a plaid shirt I’d worn often and pulled it on. Working in the call center had given me a wider bottom and a bigger chest, and the shirt hadn’t fit right for some time, but I’d just worn it anyway. I threw it on over a tank with lipgloss and a slapped dash of eyeshadow over my eyes, not really caring how I looked. Not anymore. Instead of putting my clothes away, I ruthlessly culled them and found myself left with a tiny pile of clothes that I didn’t despise.
Was I being frivolous to decide to get new things? I couldn’t help but wonder what my mom would think. She would, I realized, rub her hands together in sheer, unadulterated joy and then make a comment about how it was long overdue. That clinched it. Plus, I rationalized wickedly, shopping would be a great way to check out the town. Ensure that this was where I wanted to live. We’d done enough research to know that Silver Falls was a booming town for tourism rather like Cannon Beach or Leavenworth. It pulled in visitors with the sheer quaintness. Double checking what we’d researched while I shopped would be useful especially if I swung by Jenny’s Diner and tried it out as a customer instead of a potential buyer.
I dug through the cabinets in the cottage until I found g
arbage bags and ruthlessly shoved in my rejects and then dragged all of those things back to my Forrester.
“Well puppy…”
She yipped at me.
“Want to go shopping?”
She jumped up, putting her paws on my shin, tongue lolling, and I scooped her up and let her lick my chin.
“Did you want a name?”
Her reply was a wriggling bottom until she was able to put her paws over my shoulder and nuzzle my neck.
I took inspiration from her collar, “How about Daisy?”
She nuzzled her nose into my neck and I took that as acceptance. Silver Falls was small enough that we walked from the cottage to the downtown area. As we did, I took deep breaths of salty sea air and had to acknowledge how very much I was enjoying being free from corporate life. I felt a bit as if someone had taken shackles from my ankles, and a part of me was terrified I was about to be caught and hooked back up.
We paused while Daisy did her business for approximately the 70th time and as we did, I tucked my hair behind my ear, letting my head fall back and my eyelids go red in the sunlight. I took in a deep breath and wondered yet again, was this really happening?
A door slammed nearby shocking me out of my daydream. I rubbed my eyes and glanced around, but I couldn’t see where it had come from. Perhaps it was just the wind given the way it was whipping through town. It had shut the door, but a moment later I heard, “Are you kidding me? You think I don’t know what this is about? You think I don’t what kind of person you are?”
I didn’t want to glance around, but the girl—her voice was distinctly feminine—was yelling. And it was small-town life right? Snooping is what people did…I glanced towards the shouts and saw a curvaceous girl with a dark ponytail and a green dress uniform get into a small hatchback and peel away from the curb. I couldn’t see much more and she was coming far too fast, so I scooped Daisy up and stepped quickly back. I could see tears on her tan face. The distress was so distinct that I had to say a quick prayer that there wouldn’t be an accident given she was far too emotional to be driving.
“Poor kid,” I told Daisy. I thought about how fast the girl had been driving and added, “Poor, stupid kid.”
Author’s Note
I just need to take a few minutes to thank my wonderful editor, C. Jane Reid for working me into her schedule and for her fabulous job on this book. I would like to also thank my good friends, Pamela Welsh, Auburn Seal, and my BFF—my mumma—for letting me bounce plot ideas off of them.
There really aren’t words enough to say how patient my kids are with me when I’m in book crunch zone. They’re fabulous, and I’m lucky to be their Mom. Noah, Olivia, Isabella, Benjamin—you are everything in the world to me and why I work hard.
Copyright © 2018 by Amanda A. Allen, Beth Byers.
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