Page 26 of Peaches

She tilts her head. “Did he kiss you back?”

“I . . . I think so?”

Her brows fall. “Olivia, you should know if someone kissed you back.”

I think back to the moment, remembering the way his tongue invaded my mouth and the feel of his fingers in my hair, pulling until a bite of pain licked along my scalp. “Yeah,” I say, suddenly breathless. “He definitely kissed me back.”

Her grin is cheeky. “Bet there’s a lotmorewhere that came from.”

“Char,” I whine. “I’mnotsleeping with him!”

She shrugs, pulling her laptop back in front of her. Charlotte is one of the only people I know who has a remote job, and she brings her computer nearly everywhere she goes on weekdays. “Yet,” she says back with a knowing glance.

I roll my eyes again and scoot out of the booth, feeling Maeve’s glare burn into the side of my face. Whether it’s because she heard every word or because she’s waiting on her new bowl of chili, I’m not sure.

In the back, I find the fresh bowl waiting at the service area. As I grab it, I notice my mom through the window standing with Mark, laughing about something as her hand presses to his shoulder. She hides her face in the fabric of his sleeve, and he smiles at her like she holds all his secrets. It’s not the first time I’ve caught them in the middle of . . . something. Mark’s worked the kitchen of the café since I was around twelve or thirteen, and I think he’s always had a thing for her. But besides these stolen moments in the kitchen, I’m not sure anything has ever happened between them.

I’m not even sure they’ve seen each other outside of work.

I slink back out to the dining hall, armed with Maeve’s new bowl of chili, and delicately set it on the table in front of her. “Careful,” I warn. “The bowl is hot.”

She eyes me suspiciously under a wrinkled brow. “No cheese this time?”

I shake my head, smiling. “No cheese.”

She nods, picking up her spoon and setting her napkin in her lap. She’s dining alone today, which isn’t unusual for her. I actually think she prefers it over sharing a table with others—better to listen in on the world around her. “You know,” she says just as I’m about to walk away. “Those Bennetts aren’t to be trusted, dear.” Her pale blue eyes meet mine again, studying me.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” I say, humoring her.

Her expression grows serious. “They’re womanizers. All of them.” I watch as she lifts a spoonful of chili to her mouth, taking a bite. She frowns at the bowl. “Needs more salt,” she mutters.

I point to the saltshaker right in front of her. “How do you know so much about the Bennetts anyway? They don’t spend a lot of time with people in town.”

She eyes me again, the corners of her mouth still turned down. It makes her look older. Sadder. “They didn’t always stay away,” she says quietly.

I nod, not quite understanding what that means. For as long as I can remember, they’ve kept away from anything town-related outside of the Mustangs football team, where most of the brothers have played with varying levels of success. I wipe my hands along my apron, eager to end the conversation. “Enjoy the chili, ma’am,” I say with a smile and then make myself scarce.

* * *

Charlotte leavesabout an hour before I get off, citing plans with Ivan. He’s taking her to the drive-in in Foxborough County to see some new action movie. I happen to know that Char hates action movies, so I’m betting their plans are a little morefriskyin nature.

The café is still slower than normal, and Mom has been sitting at a table with Luna, who runs the bakery next door, since she popped over to say hello after closing her own doors for the night. I process through all my normal chores: cleaning the soda machine, wiping menus, rolling napkins, and filling the shakers on all unoccupied tables. Teresa is still out today which means I don’t have the usual help, but I don’t mind. The normalcy and routine of keeping things running here is a comfort I’ve often found safety in.

I know I’ll always belong to this café, just as it will always belong to me and Mom. Someday I’ll run it without her, and the surety of that promise is one of the best gifts she’s ever given me.

We run out of pepper before I finish refilling shakers, so I wind my way toward the office so I can make a note to order more tomorrow. Pushing through the closed door, I sit at the desk and scan its surface for a pad of sticky notes and a pen, finding both under a pile of papers. Mom isn’t the most organized with paperwork—or reallyanything—but despite the chaos of her environment, she runs a tight ship.

I write the note before pulling it off the top of the pad and adhering it to the black screen of the computer monitor, and it’s when I quickly scan over the desk again that I see it: a cream-colored envelope with blue handwriting. A letter addressed to me . . . with a Charleston return address neatly printed in the top-right corner.

My mind tumbles as I stare at it. It’s not my father’s angular scrawl . . . the lettering is more loopy. More feminine. I don’t hesitate as I swipe it off the desk, quickly confirming that it’s still sealed shut—not that I really think Mom would read something like this—and shove it into the wide pocket of my apron as I stand.

Making quick work of closing out the rest of my tables, I don’t even bother to wait for them to leave so I can grab the tips. My mom scoots in next to me at the computer, and I feel the weight of her gaze as she studies me. “You out of here, sweetheart?”

I nod, smiling at her. “Yeah, I’m beat. You need me to open tomorrow morning?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, I got it. I think Teresa will be back in too. Why don’t you take the day off?”

I scrunch my nose. “It’s Saturday . . . it’s too busy for you and Teresa to work alone.”

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