by Cat Johnson
Violet noticed that each dessert came in a frosted cut-glass bowl. The portions were no bigger than a Parisian scoop, no more than two bites. The spoons were sterling silver and tinier than a teaspoon.
The lighting was soft, and the French Mediterranean blue shutters were drawn against the darkness. Intimacy was served with the sorbet.
The hostess seated them at a linen-covered café table. The chairs were an intricate white wrought iron. A server soon arrived. “I’m Alyssa, your water sommelier,” she said. Violet looked at Brad, who was trying hard not to grin. “I’ll bring your sparkling water and Marissa will take your order. Do you prefer San Pellegrino or Perrier?” she asked.
“Tap,” Brad said from the corner of his mouth.
Violet held back her smile. “Perrier, please.”
“A good choice,” Alyssa complimented. “Perrier has nice fat bubbles.” She went for their drinks.
“A server to taste water,” Vi said, amazed. “This place is elegant.”
Brad took her hand, twined their fingers. Met her gaze across the table. “I like the way you say server,” he said. “Very sexy.”
She flicked her tongue to her upper lip. “Maitre’d, wine steward,” she said in her most sultry voice.
“You’re making me horny.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Naming restaurant staff is hardly sex talk,” she teased him.
“It’s your tone, babe. The words come from deep in your throat, warm, low, and breathy.” He shifted on his chair, then gave her a hungry look that curled her toes. “You turn me on.”
Violet stopped talking when Alyssa returned with their tall, fluted glasses of sparkling water. No ice. The crystal made the water sparkle twice as bright. Vi took a sip.
Shortly thereafter, Marissa arrived. She set a sheet of lavender parchment paper before each of them. The menu curled slightly, and was as thin and delicate as tissue paper. Vi and Brad looked at each other with a skeptical eye. They were both afraid to touch it. Ever so gently, Violet ran her finger along the edge and read the selections.
“We have two specialty flavors on our list this evening,” Marissa pointed out. “Limoncello-mint and Bittersweet Chocolate-cherry.”
Violet decided on the burnt-sugar plum sorbet and Brad selected coconut-caramel. Alyssa was quick to bring their orders. She set the cut-glass bowls on a lacy ecru doily.
“These are too pretty to eat,” Violet said, reluctant to spoil such a lovely arrangement. Her scoop of sorbet was artfully topped with a sprinkle of lavender-colored sugar. Thin slices of plum framed the scoop of sorbet.
She watched as Brad picked up his spoon, a utensil so small he was forced to hold it with his fingertips. He scooped up a small portion, mindful to include flakes of coconut and shredded caramel.
She planned to eat slowly and savor every bite. Her body heated as the sorbet melted in her mouth. She had the urge to kiss Brad, to mix the sweet, sensually smooth flavors of their desserts on her tongue.
She shook herself. Lavender’s was not the place for deep kisses, yet it was always fun to fantasize. She stretched out the two-bite dessert, turning it into four.
She fell in love with Brad all over again when he switched their sorbets, giving her the last bite from his bowl. Pure decadence, and nearly as good as having sex.
She took a slow sip of her Perrier, then said, “I’m feeling very appreciative toward you at this moment.”
“How grateful?”
“Naked grateful.”
He motioned to Alyssa, who brought their bill. Their desserts were an extravagance made sweeter by the man at her side. Violet noticed he left a large tip. He was generous.
“Home?” he asked as they left Lavender’s.
“Bed,” she answered.
“How fast can you walk?”
She noticed the bulge in his pants.
“Faster than you,” she teased, stepping out ahead of him.
“Don’t bet on it, babe.”
She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck for the next three blocks. Followed by the warmth of his hands as he stripped off her clothes the minute they burst through the cottage’s front door and settled her on cool fresh sheets. It was a night of extreme heat and endless orgasms.
The following day, Violet worked the morning shift at the diner and Brad was scheduled to cover the dinner hour. She couldn’t deny she’d been dreading this day, what with the investor coming, but she didn’t share her fears with her aunt. How could she? Molly was in her own world, fluttering here and there and not concentrating on her baking. She burned two cherry pies. A first for her. She didn’t seem to care. Her mind was elsewhere. No doubt on Joe. Or possibly on the investor.
Violet made it through the noon rush, growing more and more anxious. She kept looking at her watch, wishing she could stop time. The businessman would arrive shortly. Minutes ticked toward the inevitable.
Two fifteen, and the man had yet to make an appearance. Customers had thinned out. The only ones who remained were those lingering over a second cup of coffee. Putting on a brave smile, Vi kept their cups filled with hot brew.
Her stomach dropped when the front door swung open moments later and an unwelcome customer strolled in.
“Lydia.” Violet narrowed her gaze on her sister when she entered the diner. She was alone. “Where are your children?” she asked as Lydia took over a counter stool, sitting next to the mailman. Vi didn’t try to hide her concern. She couldn’t trust her sister to do the right thing, even when it came to taking care of her own.
“My kids are with Mark,” she told Violet. “It’s his day off from the garage. He took them fishing at Barefoot Cove.”
“You chose not to go?” Violet asked. Lydia’s boyfriend was nice enough, Vi knew, maybe too nice for her sister. Seemed she took advantage of him, too.
Lydia turned up her nose. “Too much sun, too much quiet, and I refuse to bait a hook. I hate the smell of fish.” She swung her stool right, then left, and said, “I’m ready to order.”
“No dine and dash today, Lydia.” Vi was firm and to the point. Her sister always ordered a big meal, then split before she paid the tab.
Lydia flicked her wrist. “Whatever.”
Violet planned to keep a close eye on her sister. By the gleam in her eye, she was certain Mark had given Lydia her weekly allowance. No wonder she was flippant. What irked Violet more was that she often spent the money within a matter of minutes, then found herself scamming for handouts the rest of the week.
Lydia tapped her fingers on the counter. “I want the daily special: fried chicken dinner, white meat; mashed potatoes; corn; and cole slaw. Possibly a piece of pie, if I don’t bust a gut.”
Violet jotted down her order, then clipped it to a revolving wheel in the cook’s window. Joe grabbed it, then got busy preparing Lydia’s meal.
“Coffee, too, Vi,” Lydia requested.
Violet poured her a cup. Her sister sweetened the Colombian blend with three packets of Sweet’n Low. Vi caught her pocketing several more sugar packets. No surprise there. Lydia’s kids liked sugar on their morning cereal.
By four o’clock, Molly announced she’d received a phone call from the investor. He was running late. Vi exhaled her relief. Perhaps late meant a year from now or maybe never. She could only hope so.
She wished she didn’t have to be around when he arrived. Unfortunately, her shift didn’t end until five. She’d get a good look at the guy with a long résumé in the food industry.
The diner soon began to fill with the late-afternoon coffee crowd. Regular customers claimed their favorite tables; a few older men preferred to sit at the counter. This was their home away from home.
Lydia had finished her meal, but she had yet to move on. Unless she physically tossed her butt out the door, Violet knew her sister wouldn’t leave until she was good and ready. Lydia had drunk an entire pot of coffee and polished off two pieces of lemon meringue pie. She was too full to walk to the door.
&n
bsp; Keeping an eye on her sister, Violet circled the diner and took everyone’s standard order. Her regulars ate the same flavor of pie every single day. She sensed an undercurrent as the table talk centered on the new investor. Word had spread fast. Most of the customers were curious; a few were apprehensive.
Vi served them in record time. She then moved to the edge of the waitress station and leaned against one of the shelves. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, and collected herself. She thought about all the good times she’d had here at Molly Malone’s. Laughing and joking with Molly and Joe, chatting about life’s highs and lows with the customers, and, most of all, working with Brad. And how that might soon change. Fear of the unknown left her feeling low.
“Wow, check out the Mercedes,” Lydia said, her voice pitched high to get everyone’s attention. “Someone’s owning Center Street.”
Violet blinked, straightened, then looked out the window. She watched as the driver parked the black luxury vehicle near the curb.
“Money, money, money,” Lydia chanted.
Violet’s heart dropped so fast she felt dizzy. So the investor had shown up after all. Somehow, she had convinced herself he wouldn’t. Now she couldn’t hide, run from the truth. Whether she liked it or not, life at Molly Malone’s was about to change. Forever.
She grasped the side of the soda machine, steadied herself. Sadness swelled in her throat. She had the urge to escape into the kitchen, to hide in the storeroom, while the investor took inventory of the diner.
She didn’t want to face the man who could turn her world upside down. She desperately wished Brad were there. He’d give her the courage she needed to get through this. Unfortunately, his shift didn’t start for another hour.
Molly swung through the kitchen door. Joe took off his apron and followed close behind her. “I just received a text,” she said, smoothing her palms over her apron. “I believe my appointment is here.”
Violet turned away so her aunt couldn’t see the disappointment written all over her face. She felt guilty even thinking about the man not showing up. Molly deserved this chance at happiness, and she was acting selfish thinking about her own future. And Brad’s, too, she reminded herself.
“The guy’s getting out of his car,” Lydia said, craning her neck. “He’s got dark hair and nice shoulders.”
That he had, Violet agreed, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of him. Street shadows made it difficult to see his face. She watched as he closed his car door and stepped onto the curb.
Time slowed, and Vi felt as if she stood in the still-frame of a movie. Familiarity and confusion crowded her. Her jaw dropped along with everyone else’s in the diner when he moved into the sunlight. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Brad fuckin’ Davis,” said Lydia, unfiltered.
Violet couldn’t say a word, only stared.
He entered Molly Malone’s, looking like himself, only different. He’d gotten a haircut, shaved, and now wore a tailored navy sport coat over a pair of jeans. A burgundy tie hung loosely about the collar of his light blue shirt. He gave her goose bumps.
The silence held as he nodded to Molly and Joe and walked straight to Violet. Gone was the short-order cook and skimboarder. Before her now stood a man with a sharp gaze and professional shrewdness. He was all business.
She was so stunned that she barely registered the fact that he’d pulled her close, that his presence surrounded her with unsettling warmth.
Her cheek pressed his chest, and his heart beat steadily beneath her ear. He gently stroked her hair. The scent of his Fierce cologne mixed with the starch of his dress shirt. His new jeans pressed her khaki skirt. The toes on her tennis shoes kissed the tips on his leather loafers.
“What’s going on, Brad?” she finally managed. “I don’t understand.” She’d never felt so lost.
She felt his smile against her cheek. “I love you, Violet Cates,” he whispered against the background hush of the diner. “You’ve had my heart since your eighteenth birthday. I will always do my best for you. For us. That best starts today.”
She eased back slightly, her breathing uneven. “I’m listening,” she said, keeping her voice equally low.
He dropped a light kiss on her brow. “You’ve always wanted a diner like Molly Malone’s,” he said without missing a beat. “I’m here to offer you the opportunity to take over ownership of the restaurant.”
Her eyes rounded. “So that’s your car out there? You didn’t arrive by bus?”
“I drove into town,” he confessed. “I parked my Mercedes in a private parking garage at Saunders Shores.”
“You’re rich?” It was difficult to believe.
He nodded. “Comfortably well off,” he assured her.
Her knees grew so weak, she could barely stand. She clasped his forearms, needing his support. She had so many questions, but her throat had closed and her mouth was dry.
“Speak up, Brad,” Lydia called from the counter.
“We’ve got a right to know what’s going on. We’re all family here at the diner.”
A murmur of agreement came from the customers.
With his arm still curved about her shoulders, Brad turned slightly, so he faced the locals. Violet leaned against his side and listened along with everyone else as he spoke about his travels. “I left Barefoot William five years ago, a man out to prove himself,” he began, making no excuses. “Violet and I had big dreams. I had to find a way to make our goals a reality.”
Molly and Joe nodded encouragingly for Brad to continue. The mailman took that moment to lift his coffee cup. “I could use a refill, Vi, while I hear Brad’s story.”
“I can listen and eat at the same time,” said a second man at the counter. “A slice of blueberry pie would be nice.”
Violet made a move to serve them, only to stop when Lydia surprised her by hopping off her counter stool and taking charge. She warmed coffee cups along the counter before slipping a piece of blueberry pie from the revolving pie case onto a plate. She added the cost to the man’s bill. Then she returned to her stool.
Vi was as shocked by her sister’s assistance as she was by Brad’s accounting of his time away from Barefoot William. He ran one hand down his chin, and continued. “I stayed in Florida, closer to Violet than she ever realized. My first stop was Tampa—that’s where I sold my car. Success didn’t come overnight, but my earning potential finally took shape. I bought a hot dog cart, then staked a claim on a street corner near Tropicana Stadium. Football, baseball, sports fans love their dogs.”
“I like chili dogs,” said the mailman.
“I made enough money from selling hot dogs to invest in a run-down hamburger joint on the beach in St. Petersburg. I renovated the place and sold it for a nice profit. I continued to flip small businesses, and I made a lot of money. I called Molly after a major shopping mall offered to buy my ramshackle clam shack. The restaurant was old and I had yet to fix it up. The corporation paid big bucks, then went on to level the building so they could expand their parking garage.”
Brad slowly massaged the back of Vi’s neck. She welcomed his touch. “Once the sale closed, I got in touch with Molly,” he added. “I told her that I was coming home. I made a solid offer on the diner, which she accepted.”
Molly had known all along, and kept his secret. “Conspirators,” Vi said on a sigh, feeling loved.
“His offer was all for you, Violet,” Molly put in then. Her smile was soft, her eyes misting. “Brad knew I wouldn’t sell the diner to just anyone. I wanted it to go to you, sweetie. You’ve worked so hard for me. The time has come for you and Brad to take over.”
“You’d be doing me a favor, too,” said Joe, drawing Molly to his side. “I have a decent pension and I want to show Molly the world, but she refused to leave Barefoot William. Brad’s proposition came at the perfect time. It changed our lives. Molly can leave town with a happy heart, knowing the diner is in capable hands.”
Capable hands. Vi looked up at Brad
, marveling over her good fortune. “We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.”
“Together as husband and wife.” He surprised her further by reaching into his sport coat pocket and producing a small, black velvet box. “I came back to town, hoping you still loved me. You didn’t blink an eye, even when I appeared as poor as when I left.”
He gazed deeply into her eyes. “We’ve been married in my heart for a very long time, Violet. Today, I want to make us official.”
Her fingers shook, and she nearly dropped the gift box. Brad cupped his hand beneath hers. It took her several attempts to tip back the top.
During those moments, three surfers stood their boards against the outside window, then bumped shoulders as they came through the door. Lydia was off her stool in less than a second. She crossed to the boys, shaking her head. “Sorry, guys, no shirt, no shoes, no service,” she said firmly, turning them away.
The bare-chested, shoeless surfers shrugged, then left. They headed down the boardwalk toward the vendors selling cheese nachos and corn dogs.
“Let’s see your rock,” Lydia said, crossing back to Violet. “Bet it’s big enough to blind me.”
The spring on the box released, and a pink diamond flashed. The ring sparkled brightly beneath the overhead lights. Emotion swept through Violet, so powerfully, her entire body shook. “The ring from Saunders Shores,” she said, fighting back tears. She gave Brad a watery smile. “You saw me staring a hole through the jewelry store window.”
He kissed her lightly. “The pink is soft but vibrant. It suits you.” He slipped the ring on her finger. It fit her perfectly.
The customers in the diner rose as one. They crowded Brad and Violet with words of congratulations. The men thumped Brad on the back; the women wanted a glimpse of Vi’s engagement ring.
The locals took their leave shortly thereafter. Molly and Joe went back to the kitchen to prepare for the dinner rush. Violet stood in Brad’s embrace. His arm was tight around her waist, his heart entwined with hers. She’d never been so happy in her life.
The clank of dishes drew her gaze to a nearby table. The sight of Lydia busing tables seemed surreal. Her sister looked up, glared back. “What are you looking at?” she asked. “New customers can’t sit at dirty tables.”