Page 27 of Stolen Dreams

I wiggle my fingers across his neck. “I know they’re hiding somewhere around here.” Giving him a moment of respite, I enter the garage and unlock the car. As I set him on his feet, I give him one last tickle around the neck. “All that time you spend at the pool with Grandma and Papa, I swear you’re turning into a shark.”

He opens his door, tosses his backpack across the bench seat in the back, and climbs in. “’Cause sharks are dope.”

There we go with thedopeagain.

“Yeah, bud, they are.”

The engine barely has time to warm up before we reach my parents’ house. We exchange morning greetings and hugs. Mom tells me to take my time; she and Dad will be at the country club pool with Tucker until lunch.

I kiss the top of Tucker’s head, ruffle his hair, and tell him to have fun at the pool. Then I bend closer to his ear and remind him to ask Grandma for chocolate chips and whipped cream.

He gives a sly thumbs-up then runs off to the kitchen.

“Go to your meeting, sweetheart.” Mom hugs me again. “We’ll entertain our little man.”

I pull her into another hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

Gravel crunches as I back out of their driveway and drive off the family estate. My knuckles blanch as I wring the steering wheel and turn onto Fossil Mountain Highway. My stomach does a small flip when I reach Granite Parkway and steer the car toward the heart of town. As the miles disappear, my left knee bounces faster. Sweat slicks my palms, my grip slipping on the leather.

“It’s just a meeting,” I mutter to myself.

Cranking the air conditioning, I aim the vents at my face and armpits, praying I don’t look like a swampy heathen when I arrive. My thumb taps the volume button on the steering wheel, and I let the rock music steal my attention. I drum my fingers to the beat, belt out the lyrics, and get lost in the song.

By the time I reach Poke the Yolk—a breakfast and brunch restaurant owned by my family and the Kemps—every ounce of calm I gained during the drive goes out the window. I weave through the packed lot and park in a spot near the back. Cutting the engine, I drop my head against the rest, close my eyes, and take a couple deep breaths.

A meeting. Not a date.

Snagging the folder off the passenger seat, I take one last deep breath, then exit the car. Crossing the lot, I enter the packed restaurant and scan the tables and diner counter. I deflate a little when I don’t see her. Glancing at the clock on the wall over the kitchen pass-through window, I note I’m early.

“Looking for someone, sweetheart?”

I startle and turn my attention to the older woman in a Poke the Yolk shirt and apron. The corners of my mouth curve up as I meet her gaze. “Meeting a friend.” More like a stranger, but she doesn’t need to know.

“Give me a minute to clear a table.” She winks.

I scan her name tag quickly. “Thanks, Trudie. Appreciate it.”

From my spot near the door, I survey the crowded restaurant, a hint of pride coursing through my veins. The Calhouns and Kemps may not be founding families, but we sure as hell have made a name for ourselves in Stone Bay.

As far back as records show, the Calhoun family has been a staple in the community. Bakers and stew makers. Produce and meat suppliers. As the way people ate evolved, so did the food we offered. Stored in old wine boxes in my grandparents’ house are stacks of photos of past generations cooking for and serving the residents of Stone Bay. Our love for food has been with us for several generations. It may be more complex and intricate now, but our passion is the same.

While the Kemp family also served food to the community, they are best known for their coffee beans and loose-leaf teas. Their process from plant to cup was unmatched and still is. When the two families decided to join business forces, it was a match made in Stone Bay heaven.

“Follow me, sweetheart.” Trudie grabs two menus and leads me to a table near the window. “Here you are.” She sets the menus on the table. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“Coffee, please.”

“Sure thing. Be right back.”

I peruse the menu to distract myself while I wait for my coffee and Kaya. As I decide on the caprese omelet, the chair across from me is pulled away from the table at the same time Trudie returns with a coffeepot and creamer.

Flipping over the mug in front of me, Trudie fills it almost to the rim. “Morning, sweetheart.” She sets the creamer down and turns toward Kaya. “Coffee?”

A soft smile lifts the corners of Kaya’s eyes. “No, thank you. Hot tea would be wonderful.”

“I’ll give you a moment to look at the menu and be back with your tea.” In a heartbeat, Trudie disappears toward the server alley.

I wipe my palms down my thighs beneath the table, swallow past the nervous ball of energy in my throat, and plaster on what I hope is my best smile. “Good morning. Thanks for agreeing to do this.”

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