Angel Smits - Last Chance At The Someday Café

Her fingers curled around the fabric the same instant a horrendous crash broke the quiet of the peaceful night.

“What the—” After she’d jumped nearly a foot, she yanked open the back door, realizing too late how stupid that was. It could be anything—or anyone—out there in the darkness.

The megawatt spotlight above the door shone bright as daylight, and she blinked to adjust to the glare. One large trash can was on its side. The lid was open, half the contents scattered on the pavement.

Great, just great. Now she had a mess to clean up before she could go home. Hopefully, the new Dumpsters would be delivered soon so this wouldn’t be a common occurrence.

Sounds of something moving near the trash can made her pause. What was it? The idea of being bitten or attacked by an animal did not thrill her. “Okay, whatever you are, come out and shoo.” More rustling inside the trash can.

Whatever it was didn’t seem too scared of her. She moved closer and tried to peer inside. “Hey. Scat!” There was no way she was reaching inside. She looked around for a stick or a broom or something to use to poke at it. Nothing.

“That’s what I get for making everyone clean so thoroughly,” she mumbled. “Okay, whatever you are, go away so I can clean up and go home.” More rustling but nothing came out. Now what?

“Okay, buddy.” She stomped back into the kitchen. Maybe by the time she returned, the stupid thing would be gone. Mop in hand, she shoved open the door again, making as much noise as she could to hopefully scare the thing away. She approached the spilled trash can.

When she stopped, everything was silent. No rustling. No little feet scratching against the plastic can. Nothing but the normal night sounds that came from a distance. She smiled. It was gone.

“Hello?” Another step. “Yoo-hoo, little critter.” Another step. “Are you gone?” Nothing but silence. Slowly, she pushed the end of the broom handle into the dark interior of the trash can.

The animal came out with a screech and something furry and disgustingly wet flew past her bare legs. She screamed. She couldn’t help it. It was done before she could stop it.

Her heart pounded so hard against her ribs, it hurt. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. “Damn it!” was the first thing she managed to say. “Ewww,” was the second. She did not want to know what was now drying on her leg. She’d find out when she got home and showered. Besides, she still had to clean up everything scattered on the new asphalt.

At least once she righted the trash can, she could see what she was doing. She did peer inside carefully, just in case. No beady little eyes looked up at her, thank goodness—just smelly, slimy trash. Finally, she had everything cleaned up and the lid securely in place.

After closing the diner’s back door, she headed to her car. As she walked across the parking lot, she swore she could feel eyes staring at her. Beady little eyes giving her the stink eye. “Sorry, no free meals,” she called into the night, laughing. “I’m tougher than I look, you know. I’ve got three older brothers.”

Climbing into her car, she flipped on the headlights, and the beam found a small furry form at the edge of the lot, near the creek that meandered past the property. A fat raccoon glared at her.

Tara laughed. She was exhausted. And punchy. And dirty. But she’d survived. Tomorrow—she glanced at her watch—today was going to be a piece of cake.

* * *

MORGAN’S STOMACH RUMBLED as he hit the outskirts of Haskins Corners just after dawn. He needed to find a safe place to park, grab some grub and figure out his next move.

It was early. Nothing much was open. But a familiar, ancient diner came to mind.

The parking lot was big enough to park the truck now that he was bobtailing. This time of day there would be plenty of room, even if he’d had the trailer.

Except, this morning the parking lot was more than half-full. He pulled to a halt. What the heck? Dozens of cars filled the upper half of the lot, though there was still room in the lower.

What was going on? He’d never seen this much traffic here, even at breakfast time.

Slowly, he turned the rig into the lot, stopping at the outer edge along the creek side, underneath the trees. The silence of the air when he shut off the engine still amazed him. He climbed out and made his way across the newly paved parking lot. Nice. Smooth. There wasn’t even the hint of a pothole in sight.

And landscaping? Bushes and trees in the median? Daisy was moving up in the world. The now-elderly woman who’d run the joint since the 1970s must have come into some money.

Approaching the front door, however, Morgan paused. This couldn’t be Daisy’s domain any longer. A menu was posted in a fancy metal box on the wall. Different, but if the scents coming out of the kitchen were any indication, good. His stomach rumbled again in response.

Inside he froze. The layout of the place was the same, but run-down had given way to kitsch, and utilitarian to almost pretty. The clunky vinyl booths and Formica tables were gone. In their place sat tables and chairs that looked better suited for a dollhouse than a diner.

He wasn’t especially tall, but his years of bodybuilding workouts had made that type of furniture totally off-limits. He knew better than to sit on any of those chairs. He’d probably end up on his ass with splinters beneath his butt.

Morgan frowned. He was here and he was hungry. The perky little hostess was new, too. Since when did diners have hostesses?

“Just one?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Where exactly would she put him? He resisted the urge to retreat instead of following her. The lace curtains and tablecloths didn’t help with the feeling he had of stepping into a woman’s boudoir.

“I’ll just sit at the counter.” It was still there, still the same, but cleaner. Much cleaner. With a shrug, she dismissed him as easily as he did her.

“What can I get ya?” Another young woman with bright, albeit tired eyes and a name tag that read Wendy stood on the other side of the counter, a carafe of coffee in one hand.

“A whole lot of that.”

She poured a big mugful, then slid it toward him. “I hear ya.” She stifled a yawn. “Here’s our brand-spanking new menu.” She pulled a laminated folder from between the napkin holder and saltshaker. “Take a look at it, and I’ll be right back.” She hustled away, the coffeepot landing smoothly on the burner as he opened the menu.

Omelets? He’d made the mistake once of ordering an omelet from Daisy. He should have known to change the order when she’d said, “A what?” Her omelet had consisted of scrambled eggs with bits of meat mixed in.

Now there was a full page of them. Egg whites? Mushrooms? Holy cow. This was different. His mouth watered.

* * *

BREAKFAST WAS TARA’S favorite meal of the day. The warm, rich, sweet scents of baking, hot grease and coffee were a unique perfume. Nothing better in the world. That was part of why she’d decided to offer the breakfast menu all day long. That, and competing with the big boys—she had to play their games.

The kitchen was full of aromatic food, pots, pans and noise. Tara tried to shut it all out and focus. Robbie was her lead chef for mornings. But while he was the best at what he did, he was also the most easily distracted. And the past few days had been full of distractions.

She’d decided to do a soft opening the week before the official grand opening. This was their first day and the place was over half-full. First impressions were vital and so far so good.

She had to trust Robbie and Wendy and everyone else she’d hired. She had to. It was now or never.

Already a couple dozen people had come in this morning, and she was busy whipping up another batch of biscuits. Mom’s recipe was a favorite, and Tara had to remind herself that she couldn’t eat the profits. But oh, she loved Mom’s biscuits.