They glanced up at a group of children running with kite strings clutched in their hands. Not looking where they were going, they scattered sand on Star’s bare legs, on Ash’s pant legs. Brushing the sand away, they both laughed. Star touched his hand. She didn’t mean to, it was a natural friendly gesture, friends responding to the sand kicked up by the children. His laugh tailed off. Ash didn’t move, didn’t touch her pale hand on his olive skin. The tension between them was magnetic.
Standing up, she smiled at him. He immediately rose to his feet. His eyes were warm again looking into her eyes. Her breathing took another hitch. I wonder if he feels the same connection. He didn’t sit close to me on the bench, could have, but didn’t. We didn’t touch except when I brushed at the sand. “Thanks again, Ash, for the coffee. I have to get on with my errands.”
“Me too. I have a story to finish for Saturday’s paper. Maybe we can meet for coffee again.”
“I’d like that.”
She shouldn’t have done it, but she did. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Bye.”
She could feel his warm eyes following her as she walked her bike back up the path to the street.
Chapter 6
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SPICE UP THE DINER’S MENU, that’s what she had to do. Create excitement.
“Bite size meatballs—sausage or beef—call them meatball tarts or tartlets. Offer them on the breakfast, lunch, and dinner menu.”
Wanda and Charlie didn’t know what to make of Star’s idea. Traffic was down. Charlie threw his hands in the air. “Go ahead … run with it.”
Star exchanged a grin with Tyler and set to work experimenting with a spicy chili sauce for the more adventuresome diner. Wiping her hands on a paper towel, shoulders slumping, she was flummoxed over the growing list of items missing from the cabinets.
And, she needed a car.
With a growing list on two sheets of her pink pad of paper, she approached Wanda, convincing her that most of the utensils, pans, and a mixer could be found at Wal-Mart, or Big Lots. If she was going to be the diner’s cook, then she required some real chef equipment. With Wanda’s nudging, Charlie agreed Star could buy a few things, but he thought several items on the list were frivolous—the others he would pay for, and yes, she could borrow the diner’s van.
Tyler, standing behind her when she spoke with Charlie, immediately chimed in that he wanted to go along—to help carry everything, to be a spotter for the list of items on the pink pad, to make the excursion more expeditious.
Wanda quickly agreed to switching shifts with Tyler, but called out urging him not to be gone too long as he backed the van out of the reserved parking spot behind the diner.
At their first stop, Wal-Mart, Ty commandeered a shopping cart from the greeter and proceeded to whiz down the aisles following in Star’s wake, but when she paused to read a descriptive label, he pulled out his pad from under his shirt, sketching furiously. Star peeked at his work and laughed at the cartoons of an impish blond cook. If she was ever going to publish a cookbook she knew who to ask for a raft of illustrations.
The one item she really wanted she hadn’t been able to find. So she called Pier 1 on her cell phone, ending an animated conversation with a fist pump and a smile at Ty. “Come on, we have one more stop. If the pot rack at Pier 1 isn’t exactly what I want then I’ll order it online.”
Sliding onto the front seat next to Ty, she began scratching off the items she had found, circled ones she didn’t find, and firmed up her to-do list for tomorrow.
“Ty, I’m going to present a new menu to Charlie and Wanda. Can I use some of your cartoons?”
“Thought you’d never ask. Sounds fun.” Watching her, his heart became squirrelly in his chest. She was so damn cute and she finally asked him for help. It was fun to draw her and the more he drew the more he felt adrenalin coursing through his body, or was it something else. She filled his last thoughts at night when he turned off the light by his bed, and darn it he also woke up thinking about her. Use his cartoons? He’d do anything for her.
“Maybe we could put up a few in the diner. You could sign them… like a renowned cartoonist,” She said, head bent adding another item to the list. “Wouldn’t that be something if Mr. Disney walked in?” she said glancing up, her blue eyes wide, brows arched.
“Yeah, especially since it would be his ghost. He would freak everyone out.”
They laughed as Ty turned onto International Speedway heading to Pier 1. Luckily, they had one pot rack left. Star was so excited she hugged Tyler. He thought for sure his knees would buckle as he hugged her back, wondering if she was this excited about a pot rack, what would she do with something really big.
Back in the parking spot at the rear of the diner, they hustled, making several trips, carting the items she purchased, essential she told Charlie with a wink, to create a working kitchen, albeit tiny.
Ty screwed bolts into the ceiling, clipping on the chains to hold the pot rack. Charlie stood at the grill to be sure the rack was high enough so it wouldn’t strike his head, but low enough so Star could reach the pots and whatever else she was going to hang off it. She didn’t buy any grill utensils. What spatulas, forks, and tongs Charlie had would do. But the spices, a few molds, and plastic bins of all sizes were new. The bins were critical to keep the limited space organized.
Relieving Charlie, Star chatted with the owners as she placed the various items in arms reach no matter how she turned, then immediately set to work with her new menu items: bite size meatball and sausage tartlets with a special sauce.
She explained how they would be served as she stirred the pureed mixture. One pot with a thick tomato sauce divided in half into a second pot. In the second she added red-pepper flakes, and a dash of chili powder. With a spoon she held up a taste to Wanda’s lips, then Charlie’s lips watching for their reaction. Their eyes popped, followed by a broad smile. She was onto something. Unwrapping ten pounds of fresh hamburger she’d selected at Wal-Mart, she added several spices, formed the meat into thumb-size balls. Lining the balls on a sheet pan, a quick shake of pepper, garlic salt, and a drizzle of olive oil, she slid the mini-balls into the oven.
For the first batch of tartlets, she bought prepared small filo pastry shells. Checking the oven—baking, then crisping up the surface of the meat—she turned to the sauce.
An idea hit her.
A cranberry glaze with a few drops of hot sauce to give a surprise zip of heat on the tongue.
Wanda stood on the outside of the order window, forearms resting on the high counter, waiting. The aroma of the meatball tartlets circled the diner.
Tyler created a sign: Today’s lunch special: Meatball mini-tarts. Curving down the left side was a cartoon of Star, serving up a plate of three meatball tarts with cranberry sauce. The perky cook with blond curls was grinning from ear to ear, her white chef coat dotted with cranberries.
Star swapped baking sheets, sliding the mini filo-dough tarts into the oven for a three-minute warm-up. Working quickly, she constructed the mini tarts—a mini meatball into the mini tart with a dollop of sauce. Sampling the three sauces, brows scrunched in concentration, she let the flavors slide over her pallet.
The taste wasn’t quite right. Missing something. It was time for another opinion.
She plated three servings, two tarts on each plate. Then quickly put samples of the sauces into two ramekin dishes—thick tomato with pepper flakes and chili powder, and whole-berry cranberry glaze with hot sauce.
Star served Charlie, Wanda, and Ty sitting in booth number one, waiting patiently to perform a taste test.
Not saying a word, they spooned a small amount of each sauce on the tarts. Picking up the knife and fork, the tasters carefully cut off small bites. The visiting gourmet reporters closed their eyes.
Charlie’s eyes popped wide first, grabbing a glass of ice water. “Good, but I hit a clump of pepper flakes. Not quite ready for prime time.”
Wanda was next. Looking fro
m her husband to Star. “I love it. And the addition of meat mini-tarts on the new menu will spark conversation. I mean, whoever heard of meatball tartlets with cranberries?” she asked with a little grin.
Ty had quickly polished off his serving. “I think they’re great. How about another sauce with a sesame-ginger flavor or would that be too B-B-Quey?”
“I’ll give it a try. Thank you all. It’s back to my laboratory.” Star smiled at Ty who picked up the clean plates with only a small smear of sauce left on each.
Chapter 7
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BUSHED, READY TO CALL IT A DAY, Ash sauntered in and sat on his counter stool waiting for Star to finish cleaning up the grill.
Scowling, Tyler turned his back to Ash. It seemed Ash was always walking Star home.
Ty didn’t have a chance. He thought maybe he could catch her in the morning, walk her to work. But no, Ash was already waiting on the sidewalk with an extra foam cup of hot chocolate. Seemed Star now preferred the taste of chocolate first thing to start her day, letting his diner coffee carry her through the rest of the shift.
Ty looked at the three cartoons on the wall he had drawn of Star cooking up her special meatball mini-tarts. She had mounted them in black frames with red matting, showing off the black and white pen drawings. Turning, he watched Star leave … smiling up at Ash … laughing at something he said.
Ash held the diner’s door open for her as she stepped out into the balmy night air. The heat of the day had cooled considerably, but It was still in the eighties and still humid. All Star knew was that the air felt good on her smooth skin, each pore coming alive. Walking down the handicap ramp to the sidewalk, they were close, so close she could feel the warmth of him. Her arm brushed against his arm. She didn’t move away.
At the stoplight, he picked up her hand as they crossed the street. Electricity shot through her body—to her heart, stomach, and beyond.
Without looking at her, sauntering along, Ash brought her hand to his lips, to his cheek, continued walking, still holding her hand, arms swaying in rhythm between them. “How was your day?” he asked.
Star looked up, his warm eyes seeking hers. “I had a good day. Actually, quite good. Bought some spices ... now don’t laugh.”
He smiled. “I won’t laugh. What kind of spices?”
“Chili powder, red pepper flakes, and some nutmeg. I ran out of nutmeg. It’s a new item—pancakes with just a pinch of nutmeg.”
“I see. I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted nutmeg pancakes.”
“How was your day, Ash?” She loved to say his name. “Any assignments? New stories? Interviews?” The words came out in spurts. She was embarrassed. He must think she’s a star-struck school girl, not a woman who wanted more time with him—more, more, more time.
“Ah, stories. A couple. I have to write them up tonight. Submit them in the morning.”
“When will they be in the paper? I’d like to read them. Will you have a by-line?”
His laugh was soft, more of a chuckle. “Not yet. But someday I will … have a byline.”
Even though they were walking, even though he was only holding her hand, Star felt the mere holding of her hand was like he was making love to her. There was so much she wanted to know about him but right now just being close, walking, under the biggest moon she’d ever seen, and the warm air caressing them, she could hardly breathe. Breathing might interrupt the feeling, the electricity sparking between them. Surely he felt it. Of course, he did. He kissed the top of her hand, held it to his cheek. She felt the bristles of his beard. His thumb slowly moved over her skin.
They turned down the street to her building. To her front door.
She turned, faced him, their eyes looking deep into each other’s core. Ash put his hands on her cheeks, his fingers moving for a second on the silky skin of her face. He lowered his lips to hers, his lips brushing softly across her full, plump lips. “I’m glad you had a good day, Star. You work hard. You deserve it. You deserve every day to be good. I’ll be on the corner in the morning.”
Star unlocked her door fumbling with her key. She turned, he was standing on the sidewalk watching, watching to be sure she was safely inside.
“Goodnight,” she whispered.
Ash tipped his head slightly, as she closed the door. With his hands at his side, he ambled up the sidewalk into the starry night.
Chapter 8
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A PORTLY WOMAN, bouffant silver hair with a decided pink tint, strutted in the front door of the diner. Large, red cabbage roses scattered here and there over her vivid purple dress, danced merrily with each step. She was followed closely by a vivid, curly red-haired woman, and a handsome Hispanic man.
The redhead giggled, fished a coin out of her purse and fed the Wurlitzer as the others moved on to a booth. She pushed C3 and with a couple of clicks Scottie McCreery filled the dinner with his country hit, “Feeling it.” The man escorted the pink-haired senior lady to a booth, knowing his wife, after selecting a song, would dance her way to him. Playing his cards right, he’d also receive a peck on his cheek.
Grinning to welcome his new guests, cartoons performing handsprings through his head, Tyler walked up to the threesome as they settled in the booth.
“Good morning. New to Charlie’s I bet. Can I get you some coffee or—”
“Yes, young man,” the pink-haired lady said peering over her wire-rimmed spectacles. “Coffee for my niece and her husband, and I think I’ll go for a hot chocolate this morning. Whipped cream on top and do you have any of those delightful chocolate sprinkles?” The lady, her hot pink lips bowed, brows raised, waited for Tyler’s answer.
“Yes, ma’am, you bet we do.” The grin remained on his face, a lovely woman with pink hair frolicking through his mind.
“Jane, Liz, Manny. I don’t believe it.” Star, vigorously scrubbing her hands on her white cook’s apron dotted with bacon grease, appeared at Tyler’s side. Her eyes bright, she bent over giving the pink-haired lady a hug as Liz popped up, arms outstretched, red curls sparking, ready to receive the next hug. Manny also stood, even though he was constrained to move out of the booth as he was next to the window, and stuck out his hand pumping Star’s enthusiastically.
“Tyler, please meet three wonderful people. Jane Haliday—”
“That would be me, Tyler.” Jane bobbed her head, a smile spreading under her apple cheeks. “This is all just so delightful.”
“… and Elizabeth Stitchway and Manny Salinas.”
“Make that Elizabeth Stitchway Salinas,” the red-haired woman sang out. “Manny and I were married last year.”
“Oh, congratulations.” Star wrapped Liz in a second tight squeeze.
“Wait,” Tyler said, waving two palms in the air. “Are you the Stitchway and Salinas I saw in a newspaper article … you two forming a Private Detective Agency?” Tyler, not believing his good luck, stared slack-jawed at Manny as a whole new set of cartoons pinged his brain. He was torn between grabbing his sketchpad and talking to his next two characters—maybe even a whole new comic strip.
“That’s right, Tyler, Stitch and I—”
“Excuse me, Stitch?”
“Short for Stitchway, Tyler, and—”
“Wait, wait.” Star threaded her hand through Tyler’s arm. “Everybody, I’d like you to meet Tyler Jackman. See those cartoons.” Star pointed across the aisle to the three cartoons of her cooking up the first batch of meatball mini-tarts.
“Oh, how clever. But isn’t that you, Star?” Jane asked giving Tyler the once over.
“The diner’s cook walked out and I stepped in. Not quite a pastry chef, but at least I’m cooking—short-order cook … for at least the summer.”
“But what about the pastry chef? You had a job.”
“Jane, it’s a terrible story.” Star felt a stab of failure at the question … Jane is thinking she’d wasted money on financing my culinary school classes.
“Okay, you’re having way t
oo much fun over here. Relatives, Star?” Charlie asked.
“Oh, better than relatives,” she responded. “Charlie, please meet my personal benefactor, Jane Haliday, and my special friends Liz and Manny.”
“Welcome to our diner. Benefactor?”
“It’s a wonderful story. I’ll fill you in later.”
“Let me tell you the story right now, Charlie. This honest woman found something of mine, a priceless possession, which she returned to me. Not many would have been so honest.” Jane reached up, patted Star’s arm.
Tyler remained rooted to the black and white checkered floor, adding another two frames to the comic strip.
Charlie glanced around. “It’s a little slow, Star. Why don’t you sit with your friends? We can handle their order … can’t we Tyler?”
“You bet, Charlie. I’m off to get two cups of coffee and a hot chocolate with sprinkles … our most tasty chocolate sprinkles.”
“Thanks, Charlie,” Star said untying her apron and sliding into the booth next to Jane.
Tyler rocked up on his toes, beaming at Star. For once he could serve her. He handed his guests a menu and then scurried off for the coffees and hot chocolate.
“What a nice young man. And, Star, I think he has an eye for you.”
“Oh, Jane, I don’t think so. But, we are good friends.”
“If you say so, dear.”
Star nodded to Jane in agreement. “Charlie makes great omelets, and pancakes, and … everything.”
Tyler arrived with a tray, placing two coffees in front of his private detectives. With a slight bow to Jane he set her hot chocolate on the table along with a grin, and then a bow to Star who giggled at his antics serving her coffee.
“Now, favorite people of Star’s, what would you like for breakfast?”
Jane laughed at the lanky lad, his pencil poised over his order pad expectantly. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t come up with a name.
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