“You were the first person on my call list for the day, and I knew you’d be up early because you’re teaching.” She paused.
“Yep,” Cal said. “I’m awake, alive, alert, and ready for action.”
Susie laughed with that low, smoky sound. “I understand you’re living in Fieldstone for the time being, and it just so happens I’m in town, too! Family business, but I have loads of free time, and I wondered if we could get together soon for dinner? A movie?”
The line for service extended to the door now, and another couple left a table loaded with their used dishes. Cal looked around. Who was in charge of clearing the tables?
“Sounds great,” he answered. “Glad you called. Listen, I gotta run right now, but let’s talk soon!”
“Great, great,” Susie said, her voice sliding down the easy hill at Aspen. “Let’s touch base later. Have a good day, Cal.”
“Sure, Susie. Thanks for calling.”
He snapped the phone shut as a slight young man with spiked blonde hair left the counter carrying a tray with a steaming cup and plated bagel. His eyes scanning back and forth, the young man stopped and started to place his order on a table still laden with the remnants of the last customer’s meal, right next to Cal’s table.
“Here, let me help,” Cal said. He was out of his seat in a flash, clearing the table, stuffing used napkins in dirty cups, and gathering the cup handles in one fist. “I’ll wipe it off for you.”
Cal hurried to the counter and deposited the dirty cups there.
Bryony side-eyed him as she waited on the next customer. Her co-worker looked at him with an arched eyebrow.
“May I have a wet cloth to wash off a table?” Cal asked the co-worker. “I’m good at this kind of thing. Bussed many a table at a swanky restaurant when I was young. Those kind of skills stick with you.”
“I’ll do it,” the woman said. She moved the cups to an unseen ledge below the counter and whipped through the opening with a damp rag. Cal returned to his seat and applied hand sanitizer from the bottle in his jacket pocket. Within a few minutes, the woman wiped the table for the young man, cleared four tables, and wiped those clean, too.
Cal gave her a thumbs up as she returned to her station.
Bryony’s co-worker returned from behind the counter with a coffee pot and a fresh wet cloth dangling from her wrist. “Top it off?” she asked.
“Sure.” He went to pick up his cup but bumped it with his fingertips, sloshing a brown puddle onto the tabletop.
“Oops,” he said, reaching for her wet cloth.
She pulled the cloth out of his reach. “I can do it.” She picked up his cup, wiped the table, and refilled his coffee in one graceful motion. “Thanks for the help,” she said.
“Your manager needs to consider additional staff,” Cal said. “You two are doing a great job, but you need help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “I’m Lillian. Are you passing through?”
“I moved here recently. Teaching at the high school. Still getting to know my way around.”
“Oh.” The woman raised her eyebrows, glanced toward Bryony, and then returned her gaze to him. “I missed your name.”
“Cal Forster.” He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Lillian. Like I said, you two are amazing, but I think another pair of hands could increase your sales.”
Lillian smiled. “Are you looking for a part time job?”
“Not me, but I run the work study program at the high school temporarily. If your boss is interested, I could come in and explain the program. It’s a win-win for both the students and the work sites.”
“Interesting,” Lillian said. “Tell you what. Why don’t you come back tonight, say around five o’clock, and you can tell us all about what you can do for us?”
“Sure,” Cal said. “Who should I ask for?”
“Ask for me,” Lillian said. “I own the place.” She winked and carried the coffee pot back behind the counter.
“Cool,” Cal said under his breath. If he could place a student there, he might have the opportunity to spend time around Bryony. And if she wasn’t interested, sounded like Susie might be.
He wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, but having an attractive companion, someone to pal around with, could enhance his connection to the community overall.
Maybe when he left Fieldstone to travel, his goal would be to create friendships wherever he went.
He liked the idea. “Travels with Bailey—The People We Met Along the Way.”
Cal waved to Bryony before he left, but she was busy talking to another customer. He knew the perfect student for BeanHereNow, and this place would be great for that student, too.
PIECE OF PIE
In mid-afternoon, when she learned Cal would return at closing time to talk about the high school work study program, Bryony said she needed to leave early.
“You can’t leave,” Lillian said. “I need you here to clean up while I talk to your Mister Forster.”
She winked when she said his name, and Bryony wanted to protest, but her thoughts and feelings were too jumbled to form a cohesive argument. So, she said the only thing she knew would make Lillian stand down.
“I need to go home and make a pie.”
“It’s about time!” Lillian said. “Bumbleberry?” Had her attention been directed at Bryony, Lillian would have seen the pained expression on her oldest friend’s face. But her eyes were on the cash drawer, and so the confusion, the distress incited by Cal’s attention, remained hidden. “Bring a piece for me tomorrow,” Lillian said before retreating to her office.
Bryony busied herself with extra cleaning tasks and made it through the late afternoon rush with only slight trepidation that Cal would show up early. She left well before closing time, creating an assured clear distance between Cal’s expected arrival and her departure.
Steering her car three blocks east, she pulled into the parking lot of Fred’s, the sole independent grocery in town. Before the big box stores moved in, Fred’s had serviced most of the town. Bryony remembered walking the aisles as a child, holding her mother’s hand. Now, though without a hand to guide her, her feet still knew where to go. The smoldering wreckage of her confidence followed.
Why did Cal Forster’s attention intimidate her so thoroughly?
Into the blue plastic basket on her arm she placed one pound of unsalted butter and one pound of flour. Fresh ingredients were vital. In the produce section she selected a dozen Jonathan apples and one lemon and headed for the spice aisle. Her cinnamon hadn’t been replaced in years. When she had everything she needed to restore balance to her life, she headed for the checkout lane.
Regarding Cal, she was sure she was making something out of nothing. He’d run into her by happenstance that day he was walking his dog, not by design.
And what appeared to be interest in her was merely a reflection of how he treated everybody. He was just one of those people who appeared to like everybody, like that man on the beach in Florida. He never met a stranger. Her mother would have said Cal had the “gift of gab,” something that did not come naturally to Bryony, and something she did not aspire to. She was happy to be learning how to enjoy her time behind the service counter, how to relax as she interacted with lines of customers and maintain a low-key, pleasant approach to meeting their needs. She had no illusion that someday she would be the life of the party.
At home, she unloaded the groceries from her canvas bag, washed her hands, collected the needed bowls, utensils, and measuring cups, and set to work. Cutting the flour and salt with butter and water, she mixed them until she could shape the dough and place it in the refrigerator to chill.
Chuck Henderson’s sub began to fade into the background.
Thirty minutes later, comfy in worn jeans and a faded green T-shirt, Bryony sat at the table and began to peel apples. Some bakers recommend using a vegetable peeler, but Bryony enjoyed the challenge of inserting a razor-sharp paring knife just under the skin. Thin ribbons, red and smooth on one side, pale yellow and juicy on the other, curled around her wrist, leaving the apples naked, vulnerable, innocent.
She peeled them all, knowing all would not fit in the crust, but anticipating small, fresh, unbaked nibbles for the next few days, a tart wake-up in the morning, a sweet finish to a protein-laden lunch.
