“Always the silver-tongued devil,” she says and laughs. “If only I were forty years younger.”
“Or I were forty years older,” I say.
It's true that I come for the food, but I also come for the memories. I keep that part to myself, though.
CHAPTER FIVE
SYDNEY
“Before we head to the cabin, I figure we'll stop for something to eat,” Peter says.
His eyes twinkle and he smiles as if he's pleased with himself. He probably is. He usually is when he thinks he's done something special. Bringing my hand to his lips, he kisses it lightly.
I look outside at the shops and the square, recognizing instantly where we are. A little shopping district in Redstone, Colorado. It was always one of my favorite places to go as a kid with my family, and later as a teen. Before the car even stops though, I know where Peter is taking me and feel the chill of old memories wash over me.
“My mom told you about this place, didn't she?” I ask.
He holds the door open for me, and I step out of the car.
“She did indeed,” he says. “Said you always loved it.”
I feign a smile to be polite, but on the inside, I'm cringing. Screaming My entire body is tense as we walk toward the familiar cafe, the waves of nostalgia crashing down over me threatening to pull me under. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to quell the churning in my stomach.
Not much has changed about the place. It's still a hole in the wall with one small, brightly lit sign out front. A large window allows you to see inside, and as we walk past, I can smell the coffee coming from the place. I'm in a skirt and blouse, completely underdressed for a wintery escape. Peter throws his coat over my shoulders and that helps a lot, but the cold still stings my face and freezes my lungs in my chest. It's almost hard to breathe. Or maybe, that's just my anxiety.
As we head for the door, so many memories come rushing back, all at once. My heart feels heavy with them. My soul feels even heavier. Peter holds open the door, and I step inside, the warmth of the cafe hitting me, taking me by surprise. It's almost too hot inside, or perhaps my body isn't used to it yet.
Standing in the doorway, I stare into the cafe, amazed at how little things have changed. The tables are still adorned with the red and white checkered cloths I remember from my youth. It even smells the same. French-pressed coffee and Dutch apple pie. Cinnamon and cloves. The sizzling of the fryer as it cooks up something filled with lard, I'm sure. Along with the anxiety, I won't lie, there's a rush of good feelings that come with it to. I glance back at Peter and cock an eyebrow at him.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask. “I doubt they serve food that's Keto-friendly.”
“I'll deal for one night,” he says. “A small sacrifice for the woman I love.”
He winks at me, and we slide into a nearby booth. It's then that a familiar face steps out of the kitchen, running a hand through silvery hair. She smiles over at us, not remembering – or perhaps not recognizing me, since it's been so long. Daisy's smile and personality are so warm and genuine, and her face lights up whenever she speaks to you. Even if she just met you, she makes you feel like an old, valued friend. It's hard not to smile back at her.
As she walks closer to our table, she cocks her head to the side and I can see the first stirrings of recognition. They're faint, but unmistakable in her eyes. Grabbing the menus, she looks at me, then her eyes widen slightly as she glances toward the backside of the restaurant. It's a part of the diner I can't see clearly from where I'm sitting. When I see the hint of concern on her face, my heart starts to thunder in my chest. It can't be...
No, it can't. It's all of the memories this place is stirring up that's making me paranoid. It would be too big of a coincidence, after all these years – it's just not likely. Like, winning the lottery odds, unlikely. Daisy hustles over to us, menus in hand, putting that warm smile on her face once more.
“Pardon me, but are you – ” she asks haltingly.
“Sydney Bellflower? Yes, ma’am,” I say. “It's been a long time. How are you, Miss Daisy?”
For the first time in my life, Daisy is speechless. She stands there staring at me, her jaw very nearly on the floor.
“I can't – wow, Sydney, you look – so different,” she says, but then quickly adds, “But good. Great, even. A good different. So grown up, I hardly recognized you at first.”
“Yeah, it's been way too long,” I respond. “You look good yourself, Miss Daisy. You haven't changed a bit.”
Her smile is small and faint as she looks down at Peter. Her smile falls from her face completely when she sees us holding hands across the table.
“Thank you, dear,” she says, her voice suddenly without the happy ring to it. I can tell that it bothers her to see me with somebody else. Things change though. Especially after so many years, and so much heartache.
Peter, being Peter, cuts right to the chase. “May we have two waters, please?”
Daisy looks at him, a darkness in her look, but she shakes it off and puts on a smile that doesn't come close to reaching her eyes.
“Of course,” she says and drops off two menus for us to look over. “I'll be right back.”
“Well that was rude,” I mutter.
“What?” He looks up from his menu to meet my gaze.
“I haven't seen her in years, and you didn't even give me a chance to introduce you.”
“The waitress, you mean?” he asks, sounding genuinely puzzled.
My face falls. “Never mind.”
It's not worth the trouble. Somehow, he missed out on the entire conversation, likely deep in his own thoughts. He often did that when the subject didn't interest him. Yet, he gets upset at others who do the same thing to him.
Daisy brings back two glasses of ice water, and I order a coffee.
“This late at night?” Peter asks.
“Their coffee is to die for,” I say. “It's French roasted and – ”
“It's coffee,” he laughs, “at a diner. How incredible can it be?”
“Just humor me, okay?”
Peter shrugs and goes back to the menu, flipping it over a few times before setting it down on the table in front of him. I glance around the diner and suddenly realize that we're so out of place here. Glancing at the other tables, there's a cute couple next to us all snuggled up in a booth. A young couple who are obviously in love. They're about the same age as us, but they look at each other with such adoration in their eyes and I feel a physical pain in my chest. It hurts me to see that. It reminds me of what Peter and I lack. What we'll never have, because truthfully, I never got my heart back from the one person I gave it to so long ago in this same diner.
Daisy sets my mug of coffee down and hovers a moment, until Peter side-eyes her.
“I don't think we're ready to order yet,” he says gruffly.
Daisy isn't looking at him, she's looking at me. Her face is tight, and she looks like she wants to tell me something. Maybe I'm imagining it, but seeing her standing there, I'm overcome with such a wave of nostalgia and happiness, that I stand up and wrap my arms around the older woman, hugging her tight. She's about five inches shorter than me, so I try not to put her face in my boobs as we embrace. It's a little awkward, but I make it work.
“I'm so glad to see you again, Daisy,” I say, feeling tears welling in my eyes. “It's been too long.”
“It has, dear,” she says. “Far too long.”
Her voice is as warm as the hands she wraps around my shoulders. She lowers her voice, rising on her tip-toes to whisper into my ear.
“When you get a chance, you might want to head toward the back,” she says. “There's someone here who'd love to see you.”