Page 3 of Grumpy on the Mountain
"You didn't order a lot of things, sweetie, but sometimes what we need and what we ask for are two different creatures entirely." She's already pouring coffee from a pot that looks like it's been brewing liquid comfort for decades. "Go on ahead, sweetheart. You just sit yourself down anywhere you like, and I'll get you sorted."
I choose a table by the window, partly because the view of snow-covered pines is like something out of a fairy tale, and partly because I need to keep an eye on my car in case it spontaneously combusts or gets towed by mountain authorities or something equally catastrophic.
Just as I remember I need the bathroom, Betty appears beside me with a mug the size of a small bowl and a plate containing what might be the most perfect slice of pie I've ever seen.
"Thank you," I say, and I'm horrified to realize my voice is a little shaky. "This is... this is really kind."
The coffee smells like heaven mixed with a warm cuddle, and the pie… God, the pie looks like it was crafted by angels who specialize in comfort food.
A golden-brown lattice crust that crackles just looking at it, woven like a homespun blanket over ruby-red cherry filling that glistens before my eyes. Little crimson jewels of fruit peek through the gaps, promising sweet-tart ecstasy with every bite.
"This is what we do here." Betty settles into the chair across from me like we're old friends. "Now, what brings a city girl to Stone River Mountain in the middle of a snowstorm?"
Before I can answer, the bell jingles again, and two elderly women enter. One is wearing a lavender-colored oversized cardigan and cat-eye glasses that make her look like she couldread your soul, and the other is the picture of sweetness in a pastel sweater, clutching a Tupperware container.
The women stomp snow from their boots like synchronized dancers, huffing and puffing like they've just ran down the mountain cliffs.
"Lord Almighty, it's colder than a witch's—well, you know," says one of them, rubbing her gloved hands together.
"Worst storm since '87, I heard," adds the other.
They scan the café, their eyes landing on Betty and they shuffle across the creaky floorboards.
"There you are, Betty! Look, we saw a car broken down out there," says Cat-Eye Glasses, unwinding a scarf that looks hand-knitted and well-loved. "And we figured whoever owned it might need some—" She stops when she sees me, and her eyes light up. "Well, well, well."
Oh no.
"Etta, Mabel, meet..." Betty looks at me with a slight smirk on her lips.
"Molly," I supply, taking a sip of coffee that tastes like it was brewed by someone who understands that sometimes beverages need to be medicinal. "Molly Jennings."
"Molly!" Mabel—the sweet one—clasps her hands together like I just announced I'm giving away free puppies. "What a lovely name. Are you visiting our little town?"
This is the moment where I should probably craft some polite, vague explanation about taking a brief vacation or exploring the area.
Instead, my mouth opens and truth falls out.
"I'm visiting my sister," I say. "Sienna? She has a little girl, Maisie? I'm supposed to stay with them for a while, but I don't actually know exactly where they live, and my car just died, and I threw my phone out the window somewhere near the highwaybecause my ex-fiancé was a cheating asshole, and I may have made some questionable life choices recently…"
Jesus, Molly. Overshare much?
But instead of looking alarmed by my verbal diarrhea, all three women lean forward like I just started telling the most interesting story they've heard all week.
"...and I needed to go somewhere safe where he wouldn't find me, because the last time I tried to leave, he threatened to—" I stop, realizing I'm telling my life story to three strangers. But something about their kind faces makes me continue. "Anyway, so I thought I'd visit my sister Sienna because I haven't seen her in a long time... well, not since—"
"Sienna Wright?" Etta cuts in, her glasses sliding down her nose. "With the little firecracker Maisie, you say?"
Mabel nods vigorously. "Oh, we know exactly where they live, dear!"
Betty slides the slice of pie toward me and winks. "Looks like you found your welcoming committee."
Etta beams at me like I'm her long lost best friend. "Sweet girl... Sienna. Lives over on Misty Peaks Road in that little blue house with the crooked mailbox."
"The one Beau fixed last month after the snow knocked it sideways," Mabel adds, opening her Tupperware to reveal what appears to be homemade cookies.
"No!" Etta interrupts sharply. She shakes her head in disagreement so fiercely her glasses slide down her nose again. "It wasn't Beau. It was Jamie, remember? Jamie Striker from Mountain Rescue?"
Mabel's sweet face transforms into something surprisingly fierce. "Etta Mae Garrison, I was standing right there when it happened. It was absolutely Beau."
