Page 162 of Always Meant for You
“People are noticing,” Logan says.
A gray-haired couple moves slowly, choosing tomatoes. A young woman places two carrots into her basket. The boy from earlier points to the strawberries. His mother lifts a carton and nestles it into their cart.
She glances over her shoulder. “Can my son eat a strawberry while we shop?”
She’s looking at me.
“Yeah . . . yes. Please, enjoy them,” I stammer, emotion thick in my throat. I don’t even know if that’s allowed in the pantry, but nobody contradicts me.
“Isn’t this great, Cal?” Mabel whispers.
It’s like speaking to that mother unlocked something inside me. “It is,” I say, my voice rough but steady. “It really is.” The tightness in my shoulders loosens.
If Eat Elverna keeps showing up, maybe that boy never ends up standing at a freezer door, praying a nickel would fall from the sky.
“We’d like to make this a weekly donation,” Mabel says, as if reading my mind. “The whole community wants to be part of supporting this food pantry.”
Preston presses a hand to his chest, tears welling in his deep brown eyes. “That would mean the world to us and to everyone we serve.”
Logan checks his watch. “Let’s head to the café. We want you to see it. We’ve got time to chat over a cup of coffee.”
As we turn, the little boy glances back at me, lips stained red, berry stem in hand.
He waves. “Thanks, mister. I love strawberries.”
“Me too,” I say, smiling a real smile for the first time in hours.
We exit the building, and I walk beside Mabel.
“Hey,” she says tenderly, brushing her little finger against mine. The same thing I did to her before our first farmers’ market.
I gaze down at her, so damned in love with this woman. “Hey.”
“You’re smiling.”
“That kid,” I say, unable to give her more. But she gets it.
She presses her hand to her heart. “I’ll keep that memory right here.”
A warmth spreads through me. I will too.
“The café runs on the same model as the food pantry,” Preston explains, glancing back at us as we walk across the street. “People pay what they can or nothing at all. The waitstaff rotates in from our fine-dining locations. It doesn’t matter who you are. Everyone gets the same service at our establishments.”
He opens the door to the café and holds it for us. The scent of coffee, toasted bread, and orange zest hangs in the air. Soft light filters through linen curtains. The walls are painted a deep blue. Tables are solid wood, clean and well-kept, each set with glasses of water. Every detail says: You’re welcome here. Stay as long as you like.
“Grab a seat.” Logan gestures to a table by the window. “We’ll check in with the staff and get some coffee.”
I sit, letting the space hold me for a second.
Mabel settles on the chair next to me. She takes a sip of water and sighs. “This is a dream come true. Preston and Logan genuinely care about giving back.”
I look out the window.
“Cal?” She touches my arm.
“Yes, they’re solid. They know what they’re doing.”
She peers past the curtains. “What’s going on, Cal? Why are you so fixated on those row houses?”
