“Hello.”
That was usually the only conversation they had, until it was time for her to add up his purchases and give him his total. Despite her penchant for gossip, especially where he and his basement were concerned, he liked Fran. He often heard her conversing with others and she seemed warm and friendly, and she genuinely cared about the people in town.
He wandered the aisles with a handheld basket, grabbing a few perishable items. Like most people in Whitford, he drove into the city once or twice a month to stock up at the big grocery stores, but there were always things like milk and ice cream that didn’t keep well, long-term.
Skipping the ice cream, because eating at the diner had the numbers on his bathroom scale creeping upward, he grabbed two half-gallons of milk and a package of American cheese. He also picked up a loaf of regular white bread, as well as a loaf of the raisin bread somebody in town had been baking for the store to sell. It made thick, delicious toast in the mornings. After a moment’s consideration, he grabbed a second loaf.
As he unloaded the items onto the counter, he realized that, after seven years in Whitford, being something of an outsider was starting to bother him, and that was his own fault. It was time to stop talking at people and start forming relationships. Plus, he was trying to put off going to the town hall, even though it had been two days since he and Tori had come up with a reason to drop in.
“Did you know Caroline Dobson?” he asked.
Fran looked startled for a second, almost dropping his cheese. “Sure. She and Pete lived out... Well, in the house you live in now, actually. He passed away some time ago and she moved south to live with her daughter. What was her name...Brenda! That was it. She went off to college and met a boy. Never moved back. Nice enough people, though I didn’t know them well. Caroline would come in, of course, but she was a bit of an...she was a quiet one. Kept to herself, mostly.”
She was a bit of an odd duck. The fact she hadn’t said the words meant she’d used them about him—not that he blamed her—and she felt bad about it. It wasn’t the first time he’d been compared to his grandmother, though. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, even if it came from a higher generational branch. “I’m Pete and Caroline’s grandson. Brenda is my mother.”
She narrowed her eyes, planting her hands on her hips. “All this time you’ve been here and you didn’t tell anybody?”
“Nobody asked.”
“You’re a quiet one, too, aren’t you?” she said, and he laughed, not missing what she was saying. “I know she sold the house and moved down with Brenda because her health was suffering, but nobody ever mentioned it was her grandson who bought it.”
“Nobody else would buy it and she was trying to hold off on the surgery, so I bought it. My parents moved into my old room and Grams moved into their first-floor master bedroom.”
Fran’s eyes softened and she covered his hand with hers in a surprising gesture. “You make it sound so practical, but you’re a good boy, Max Crawford.”
He made it sound practical because it was practical, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. “Anything for Grams.”
“So you came to Whitford as a boy, then?”
“Not very often and, as you said, we kept to ourselves mostly. But I remember going to the diner for ice cream once. That was a long time ago, and it wasn’t as nice as it is now.”
She shook her head. “All this time, I had no idea you were one of us.”
He opened his mouth to point out he was not only born in Connecticut, but had spent the majority of his life there, but he thought better of it. This was obviously the beginning of a new relationship with the General Store’s owner, and he wasn’t going to ruin it. Being one of them didn’t sound so bad.
The bell over the door rang and he was surprised to see Tori walk in. She was wearing a Trailside Diner T-shirt, but she’d pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair. He could still see a slight ridge across her hair where it had been cinched.
“Max!”
She sounded happy to see him, which thrilled him in a way he couldn’t really define. Maybe it was simply nice to have friends who were glad to see him. “Hi, Tori.”
“Hi, Fran. Do you have any cream of chicken soup?”
“There should be a couple of cans on the shelf. The mushroom’s gone, but I had ordered extra of the chicken.”
Max turned to watch Tori walk down the aisle, his gaze drifting slowly south. She kept herself in shape, that was for sure. It was probably a side effect, in addition to socializing, to working at the diner.
Fran cleared her throat and he whipped around to face her. She had an eyebrow raised and the speculation was clear as day as she looked from him to Tori and back. Busted.