“Probably imitation maple,” I muttered, but the door was open and a waft of butter and cinnamon escaped. I marched to my sentence in begrudging obedience. Jack held the door for us, and we stepped over the threshold. While jostling next to another large group in the minuscule hosting area, I took stock, trying not to look too eager in case Mystery Man was watching for us. Oh, for a stroke of good luck and a Mystery Man who was currently changing a flat tire on the side of I-5 and (darn it!) couldn’t meet us after all! I sniffed and tried to look disinterested as I scanned the room.
Buttercream yellow on the walls, a nice counterpoint to the white wood trim around big windows and tall baseboards. Old, pocked tin ceiling painted turquoise. The room was short and narrow with booths down one side and a smattering of two-and four-tops down the center. A counter with spinning barstools ran the length of the restaurant and faced an expansive ledge separating the dining room from the kitchen. I could only see one cook manning the grill, and I wanted to roll my eyes in anticipation of what could come from this kind of chaos. The restaurant was cozy—I allowed that much—but one cook?
“Auntie Charlie, do you have to go poopy?” Zara’s voice rang out as a summons.
I shook my head. “Definitely not. But thanks for checking.” I could feel the color rising in my cheeks, a sensation I had come to dread since I first noticed it in fifth grade.
“Oh, Char, The Splotch lives on,” Manda said, her eyes just as empathetic as they’d been in elementary school. “I still think it’s endearing.”
“And a lot like having a quick bout of scarlet fever every time I’m embarrassed.” My voice sounded harsher than I’d intended.
“Char, you look great,” Jack said, pulling me into a shoulder hug. “And we’re all stoked to have you in Seattle so we can pick you up for breakfast, right, kids?”
Zara did a fist pump and started jumping, which inspired Dane to do the same.
I let Jack smush my face into his flannel shirt and caught Manda’s smiling glance. Jack Henrick had been a camp counselor for a long slew of summers, and while at times I had found his optimism to be a bit like an a cappella Disney medley sung during a funeral, even then, I loved the man. Not only because he made me feel like a treasured younger sister, but also for the way he loved my best friend.
“Don’t worry about the dude,” Jack said into my ear. “This one is not nearly as creepy as the last one. I promise.”
I groaned into his chest.
“Zara and Dane, party of six?” One of the three servers on the floor held a stack of menus and searched the crowd. She had piles of toffee-hued dreadlocks pulled into a ridiculously thick braid that gathered to one side of her head and down the front of her turquoise HOWIE’S DINER T-shirt.
“I’m Zara!” Zara said, too loudly and hopping now on one foot. “We are ready to eat! And don’t worry because Aunt Charlie does not have to go poopy!”
And just as The Splotch was beginning to recede, it reappeared with a vengeance.
The server laughed. Her eyes were large and playful, a mix of grays and greens. “Well, we do have a restroom if she changes her mind.”
Jack followed the server first, all three kids touching at least one of his limbs. Manda and I fell in single file behind them and navigated the tight spots between tables. I read the back of the server’s t-shirt. In red lettering it proclaimed, HOWIE’S DINER. LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO EAT WHEATGRASS.
“Ooh, he’s here. I’m so excited.” Manda’s voice had gone up an octave in pitch. She poked me too hard in the side. “Nine o’clock, beautiful specimen working the griddle.”
I rubbed my sore skin and looked through the peek-a-boo window to the kitchen. The cook caught my eye and lifted his chin in greeting. I felt my insides flip.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said in a low, strangled voice. I scooted into the booth next to Zara and Jack.
Manda must not have heard my anguish because she was practically high-fiving the waitress with glee. “Please give Kai a warm hello from us and tell him to stop by when he has a chance.” Manda pried Polly’s hands off her earrings as she talked. “How nice you get to work with such a lovely view,” she added, eyebrows wiggling.
Our server followed Manda’s gaze and then turned to me with a wicked grin. “He is a looker, isn’t he? I’ll let him know you girls were appreciative of God’s handiwork.”
She and Manda laughed together, while I sputtered my protest. I didn’t remember saying anything about God or His handiwork! I just wanted to eat my steel-cut oats and thick-sliced bacon!
The server set down a galvanized tin bucket full of crayons, and the kids squealed in appreciation. “The good news is that there’s actually a decent guy underneath all that exterior.” She smiled toward the kitchen, her gaze lingering and affectionate. “Makes it even harder to hate him.”
I wondered if I detected more than affection in her eyes, but she turned back to our table and pushed her heavy braid off her shoulder.
“My name is Sunshine, folks, and I’d love to bring you something to drink. Fresh-squeezed orange juice? Costa Rican coffee? Peach-mango tea?”
I squinted at Sunshine’s nose stud. No Tang? Folgers? Lipton? What kind of diner was this, anyway?
When Sunshine had left to retrieve juices for the kids and hot java for the adults, I narrowed my eyes at Manda.