Page 1 of Wintertime Love (Holiday 2)

Chapter 1

“Clara, the soup tastes different today.”

I glance up from the menu I’ve been editing for the past ten minutes at the eight year old boy who’s sitting at the counter, his little legs dangling from the stool.

Ben is making a face at the bowl of soup in front of him that he had insisted on getting.

I walk over, pick up a new spoon and tasted the soup, immediately making a face when the bitterness floods my taste buds. However, being a chef for six years and counting, I quickly detect the over indulgence of salt and I narrow my eyes at him. “Who told you to dump salt into it?”

Ben flushes and fidgets with his little bowtie, mumbling, “But Jerry was doing it.”

Jerry is a long-time patron of Clara’s Hearth, Wicca Spring’s most famous diner/ coffee house. He was my first customer when I invested in this place and he’s been coming ever since. It’s a personal joke between us that the old florist who owns the flower shop right next to my diner, is the sole reason my business is booming.

The corner of my lips twitch and I take away Ben’s bowl, handing it to a server to have it replaced by another one. “You’re lucky I consider you family or you’d be paying for that second bowl. And just because Jerry does something, doesn’t mean you should do the same. The man puts extra salt on everything.”

Ben gives me a sly grin. “You know if you marry my brother, we could actually become family. I hear Danny broke up with Sharon last week.”

Danny is Ben’s older brother. He and I used to be classmates and we have always had an on again off again relationship. You don’t get too many options in this small town, tucked away in a corner of North Dakota.

“I don’t think so, cutie pie.” I watch as the server puts a new bowl of soup before him. “Now, finish your soup and I’ll give you a dessert on the house.”

Ben’s grin widens and he digs in, making me chuckle.

Since it’s around shy of four, the place is quieter. I make my way to the bathroom to fix my make-up. A fresh faced woman with fair skin, blonde hair tied up in a loose bun and light brown eyes looks back at me from the mirror. Usually, my long hair is down loose in long ringlets when I’m not at work. I’ve always had a slim build and an average height. I was lanky in high school and blossomed in college. I reapply my dark red lipstick and redo my bun before walking out.

Ben is slurping down his soup in a messy manner, watching cartoons on my phone, my earphones tucked in his ears.

I don’t bother with him. As long as the little scamp doesn’t run around causing trouble, l won’t say anything.

Everything I’ve learned from cooking school had been after I learned from my two aunts who took me in after my parent’s death twelve years ago. Although it’s been more than a decade and I miss them every day, I have never lacked for love or affection of any kind. Both my aunts, unmarried, had doted on me ever since I walked into their home, a shattered thirteen year old.

My diner is a large L-shaped space and my pride and joy. There’s a long counter as soon as one enters, where customers like to sit and have their meals or a coffee. Right behind it, there’s another counter which is stacked with a chrome expresso and coffee machines. There are different coffee blends that I order from the best suppliers I can find. Toppings, flavors, coffee pots, paper cups and what not. Behind this counter is the massive kitchen that I keep obsessively clean.

The entrance is littered with spaced out bistro tables with mix and matched chairs I’d picked up at the flea market. There are some comfortable leather chairs as well around the coffee tables. The booths are around the corner, nestled against spotless windows. It’s an odd blend of a coffee house and a diner but surprisingly, it works.

The sound of a soft tinkling bell indicates that someone has entered.

Mayor Rogers walks in, his well-rounded figure giving away the fact that he hasn’t been keeping away from the sweets like his wife is trying to get him to do. He shrugs off his jacket, showing his gray suit underneath and takes off his woollen hat, revealing the shiny bald spot on top of his head. “The usual, Clara.” He hangs up his extra layers on the coat hanger beside the doorway, and plops himself down on the closest leather chair, looking weary.

“You all right there, Roger?” I ask in concern, even as I whip up a mug of my special hot chocolate. I carry the mug over to him.

He eyes me with something akin to guilt. “Well, not really,” he mutters. “Thanks for this.”

I sit down across from him. “What’s going on?”

He puts his cup down and watches me, uneasily. “Well, there’s this thing.”

When he falls silent, I blink and say, “Well, don’t eat my ear off.”

He hesitates and then takes out a large envelope from his suit jacket. “You know that property you were bidding on?”

“Yeah, the closed bar across the street. You said it was a sure thing. What about it?”

His mouth flaps open and closed for a few seconds before he says, looking a little scared, “Well, this guy from out of town placed a competing bid.”

I freeze. “He what?”

The mayor shrinks into the chair, looking down right terrified now. “His bid is higher than yours.”

“But you said – How much higher?” I demand.

He nudges the folder towards me.

I pick it up and open it. My eyes move through the legal jargon and I see my bid from three months ago and another bid that is four times what I have offered. My heart sinks and all the fight drains out of me as I slump into my chair, mumbling, “I can’t afford that much.”

“I’m sorry, Clara. I did try to dissuade him,” Roger explains. “But he kept increasing the money so much that I couldn’t say no at one point.”

Disappointment is a bitter taste on my tongue. After years of success with my diner, I had been planning to expand. I intend to convert this place into a proper diner and the new building into a large coffee house. My business plans, finances, everything has been in order for this past month and suddenly, the dream is being snatched from me.

“Who is he?” I ask now, seething, and when I catch Roger flinching, I snap, “Oh. Stop being so overdramatic. I’m not going to bite you!” So, I’m known for being a little hot headed. It’s not like I go around beating people up. I just have a tendency to react first and deal with the consequences later.

Roger takes out a handkerchief and wipes his forehead, looking nervous. “He put in his bid through an agent but it’s for some chain restaurant or deli. I’m not entirely sure. But it’s an international brand and it’ll bring a lot of business to the town.”

If I was upset before, now

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