Page 22 of A Magnolia Move-In
“Yeah, you do.” I pressed my finger down on the clean desktop and smiled. “I think you and I will get along.” I grinned at her. “But I am starving. Magnolia Diner?”
Victoria paused and then nodded. “I’m game.”
I offered to drive, and she took me up on it. We piled into my car, and I took off down the road. It was strange that no matter how long I stayed away, Magnolia felt familiar. I knew the streets like I knew the back of my hand. Sure, some things changed, but I was learning most things stayed the same.
Magnolia was no exception.
I pulled into Magnolia Diner’s parking lot and turned off the engine. We walked across the parking lot in step, neither of us speaking, but it didn’t feel awkward. I was used to people nervously talking to me because they either wanted me to publish their book or to hire them. It got tiring.
Victoria didn’t seem like the kind of person thatwanted to get on my good side. She knew she would get there with hard work and dedication.
I appreciated that.
Hannah, the owner of Magnolia Diner, greeted us when we walked through the door. The diner was a quaint place but iconic here on the island. They served all sorts of food—mostly whatever Benson, the chef, wanted to cook that day. Which was nice. You never got bored.
Hannah handed us our menus after we slid into the booth, and we thanked her.
“Lobster chowder is the special today.” She gave us a wide smile. “And it’s heavenly.”
My stomach responded approvingly. “I’ll have that and a baguette on the side,” I said as I handed the menu back.
She nodded and glanced over to Victoria, who proceeded to order a wedge salad. Hannah smiled, took her menu, and then left us alone.
I drummed the tabletop with my fingers as I glanced around. I could hear casual conversations all around us. Their topics ranged from an old house renovation to the birth of a new niece.
It made me excited, listening to what was being said. There was so much news happening on our small island, and I couldn’t wait to bring it to the residents of Magnolia. That was the beauty of the written word. You could make someone happy or sad with just a click of your keyboard.
It was a big responsibility.
“So, what type of stories should we focus on for thegrand opening?” Victoria asked as she sipped the water that Hannah had brought for us.
“I was thinking a sort of get-to-know-the-residents piece.” I blew on my coffee before taking a sip. “There are so many new move-ins, and the longtime residents don’t know them. I think they would enjoy getting to know who their new neighbors are.”
Victoria didn’t look thrilled, but she didn’t fight me. Instead, she pulled out a notepad and pen from her purse and began to write. “Do you have anyone in particular you want to focus on?”
I glanced around the diner. I saw fishermen, who I was certain would be leaving soon, and residents that I knew growing up. It wasn’t until my gaze settled on a familiar yet unknown face that I parted my lips and said, “Spencer.”
Victoria furrowed her brow. “Spencer?”
I nodded.
She turned to follow my gaze. “The guy who works at the hardware store? He’s not new.”
I glanced back at her. “But do you know him?” I would never admit this to her, but there was a part of me that selfishly wanted to know more about him. After all, I was living with the man. He was mysterious and closed off. That intrigued me.
Victoria glanced back at him for a moment and then turned back to me. “No. I don’t. But I’ve never really tried to get to know him.”
I fiddled with my mug on its saucer. I didn’t want to tell Victoria that I was suggesting him for my own reasons, so Iremained silent. A few seconds later, she shrugged and wrote his name down.
“What about you?” she asked as she glanced up.
I shrugged. “I’m fine with that.”
We spent the rest of the time making a list of people we would want to interview. Maggie’s name was put down, and so was Fiona’s. Then we added Jackson’s sister, Naomi. Our food arrived, so Victoria put her notepad away, and we dived in.
As I ate, my gaze drifted back to Spencer on numerous occasions. He was sitting alone at a table on the other side of the restaurant. His gaze was down, and he was reading a book that was propped open on the table.
I tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it into my chowder. Who was this man? He didn’t seem interested in trying to get to know me. He seemed determined to keep me out of every room but the one I was renting.
