Page 2 of Wintertime Love (Holiday 2)

I’m devastated.

A chain restaurant?

I look around my diner at the few odd people sitting around, drinking coffee or working on their laptops. There are two more diners in the West part of town but this is the only one here in the East. There’s a deli nearby but it’s not as popular as my place.

“Clara?”

I take a shuddering breath before meeting Roger’s gaze and hand back the file. “It’s all right. I understand.”

Regret is visible on his face. “I really am sorry, you know. Me and the missus did think of investing in your new place but even we can’t match up to the amount he’s putting forward.”

My heart warms and I reach over and kiss his cheek, affectionately. “You and Martha are the best.”

I leave him to his drink and walk over to check on Ben, trying to subdue my troubled heart. If there is one thing that a chain restaurant wouldn’t have, it’s the intimacy that my diner offers. Wicca Spring is a small town, its population under five thousand. The town is a popular tourist attraction because of the large lake that has been lovingly dubbed ‘Wicca Lake’ – very original. It’s been rumoured that the ghosts of witches haunt the lake. At night, it is a beautiful spectacle and tourists often visit all year to catch a glimpse of a mournful witch floating on the shimmering service of the calm lake when the sun has set.

A chain restaurant or whatever this man plans to set up can hardly compete with all the dedication and love I put into serving each and every customer that enters my diner. He can’t develop the relationships that I’ve cultivated over these past few years. I sniff, derisively.

As if I’m going to be intimidated by some rich man with deep pockets.

The rest of my afternoon is spent in a dark mood. News has spread and people have been popping in, unable to keep their noses out of my business. However, their nosiness is well intended, and they offer me comfort as much as they can. My intentions to expand across the street hasn’t been a secret.

“We could always spray paint the building with really obscene gestures,” my friend, Lucia suggests, resting her chin in her palm as she sits at the coffee bar, sipping on the last dredges of her hot tea.

The dinner rush has me distracted and I nod, not even pretending to listen to her, “Sure. Yeah. Are you done with that?”

Lucia looks down at her empty cup. “No. I’ve still got plenty left.”

I pick up an apron and toss it at her.

She catches it just before it hits her in the face and groans, “Come on. I’m tired.”

“You’re a receptionist,” I tell her, not buying her act. “Your entire job involves sitting down. Now, get up and help me.” Lucia and I grew up together and I ignore her complaints.

She slips into the apron and grabs a notepad and pen. “You should pay me for this.”

“I just gave you a free meal,” I inform her. “Now get moving.”

“I’m being exploited,” Lucia complains to Timothy Warner, our local news anchor who’s chewing on a mouthful of beef burger.

The good looking man swallows, and then grins. “I was exploited last weekend. Got me two free meals out of it. It’s all about how you negotiate, sweet cheeks.”

Lucia’s eye twitches at the endearment and she whispers, “Just so you know, I’m spitting in your coffee for that.”

Tim pales and says, loudly, “Clara—”

“I heard you.” I glare at my unrepentant friend. “She won’t serve you. And stop calling her that, Tim. Learn to flirt like a normal person.”

“I’ll have you know that I can charm off the socks off any woman,” Tim protests, leering at Lucia.

She just rolls her eyes, and a few jeers are aimed at him as some of the diners overhear.

I head into the kitchen to check up on the status of pending orders. One of the two chefs, who work in the evening, hands me two orders and I carry them to their tables. A short conversation with Doctor Hensen and his date has me laughing. I greet people as I cross them.

The sound of the bell jingling as someone enters has me looking up.

Danny, Ben’s older brother enters. He waves at me as he unwinds his scarf from around his neck and shrugs off his jacket.

“Where’s Sharon?” I ask as he approaches.

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