Page 2 of The Hampton Beach Café 3
Frances felt her nose screwing up into a less than flattering expression, but she knew Lucinda wouldn't let it go, so she answered, "Because Malcolm––"
"We don't say his name! He doesn't deserve a name," Lucinda chided.
Groaning, Frances rolled her eyes.
"Fine, that dirty rotten ex-husband of mine apparently legged it off to Texas to take his high school sweetheart to fancy balls."
"Does that woman who told you at least feel bad about it?"
The food locker wouldn't get any tidier, so Frances stepped back and shoved the heavy door closed.
"Don't call her that woman," she said. "She's an old friend of mine and she was mortified to have upset me...but with Hayley being Hayley, she thinks I'm better off knowing. Not to mention she had to be actively convinced by both me on the phone and a friend of hers in real life not to make a scene the next time she saw him. Luckily she's leaving Dallas today, so it won't be a problem anymore."
She moved on to the inventory list. If there was one thing she knew, it was that she needed to stay on top of her ordering––there would be trouble in the kitchen if she ran out of something. Frances never would have guessed that not only was Alex a phenomenal baker, but he was also borderline precious about his kitchen and ingredients.
"Feels like I'm surrounded by 'old friends'," Lucinda muttered under her breath.
Frances wasn't really sure what to do with that. She and Lucinda hadn't been close friends for long in the grand scheme of things––just over five years, when Lucinda moved to LA to get out of the Michigan winters.
"Luce...are you ok?"
A snort of laughter...forced laughter.
"Of course I am! Don't be a goose. I'm just tired, is all. Vincent and I feel outnumbered sometimes, you and your pack of high school chums."
Goose? Chums? What exactly had gotten into Lucinda's vocabulary.
"I hardly think Kennedy counts as anything other than a pain in my a…"
A loud bang from downstairs cut her off mid-sentence. Looking at each other in alarm, the two women lurched into action and jogged downstairs.
The warm yellow glow of the solar powered string lights that she and Alex had wound around some of the knickknacks on the higher bookshelves was the only thing that illuminated the café. Peering around the corner into the gallery portion of the store where Vincent's artworks hung, Frances could only see moonlight streaming in the front windows.
Another loud bang made her jump, a small yelp escaped her but Lucinda strode towards the door that led to the garden.
In a much deeper voice than her usual speaking voice, she almost barked, "Oi, get lost! Whadda you think you're doing, hey? Get out of here!"
Staring in surprise, Frances watched as Lucinda banged a heavy fist on the door itself. Scrambling noises came from outside, and they listened keenly to what sounded like jogging footsteps fading away.
"Should we go and look around?" Frances whispered.
"No," Lucinda said. "We call the cops and they go poking around."
"The cops?" Frances repeated, shocked. "Uh...okay."
She pulled out her phone and dialed the local station number. It was hardly an emergency...
TWO
“Are you alright?" Alex asked as he pushed through the door. Frances barely had time to step out of the way before it swung in towards to let Alex in.
"I'm fi––"
The tight hug he pulled her into squeezed the air out of her lungs and stopped any attempt at a response.
"Next time, call me straight away! I would have come right over! Are you sure you're ok?" he said, releasing her from the hug, but his hands lingered on her arms. "I'm serious, none of this next morning BS, ok?"
Lucinda called out from the kitchen. "I'm also fine. Thanks for asking. Did you want coffee?"
