Page 16 of A Breeze Over Rosewood Beach
He didn’t want to eat a pizza or soup for breakfast, however, and the thought of just eating toast made him feel hungrier than ever. He glanced at the refrigerator with a sigh. There was that blasted little waffle magnet again, grinning at him and reminding him that he could get an excellent breakfast in town if he drove back to Ocean Breeze Café.
He pressed his lips together, feeling torn. On the one hand, he was extremely eager to try the salmon benedicts that he’dseen on their menu, but on the other hand, he didn’t like the idea of going back to the cute little café. He’d been rude to Sally, that owner with the colorful taste in hair pieces, and he felt badly about the snippy things he’d said about her decorations. They weren’t so bad, really. She was probably right that tourists liked that kind of thing. She probably got a lot of families with kids eating there. Kids would love a statue of a dog wearing a sailor outfit, even if he thought it was ridiculous.
He looked back at the magnet and let out an even bigger, longer sigh. He went to the closet and got out his coat and winter boots.
A few minutes later, he was in his car, driving along the snowy roads toward the center of town. He couldn’t help noticing the way the sunlight cast a golden sheen on the snow that was wonderful to look at. The sky was a robin’s egg blue, and without a single cloud. The pine and birch trees that bordered the road were rustling slightly in the winter wind, which made him feel particularly warm and cozy in his car.
Although he didn’t realize it, his spirits had lifted by the time he pulled into a parking spot outside Ocean Breeze Café. He could see several other cars there already, which implied that the restaurant would be fairly crowded. He liked that. More people meant less chance of him being noticed by Sally.
He cleared his throat as he stepped inside the café. He would just sit down at a little table, and gesture to one of the waitresses when they walked past…
“Hi, Oscar!” Sally approached him with a big grin on her face. That morning, she was wearing a pink sweater with daisies sewn across it, and she had a hot pink clip in her hair. “Welcome back to Ocean Breeze Café.”
Oscar did his best not to scowl. He didn’t want to be rude again, but he just couldn’t believe that she’d waylaid him the second he walked inside her restaurant.
“Thanks,” he said, his tone bark-like despite his best efforts. “Could I have a table?”
“Of course!” Sally gestured toward the dining area. “I’ve got just the table for you.”
She led the way toward a little table on the side of the room. There was something on it, and at first, he couldn’t figure out what on earth it was. Just before he sat down, however, he saw that it was a large glass jar, filled with real ocean shells and ocean sand.
“What on earth is this?” he asked, feeling appalled. It was right in the center of the table, where his plate was going to go. It would get in the way of his menu. It looked hideous. It looked like something a ten-year-old might have put together. A ten-year-old probably did put it together—this seemed like the kind of place that would willingly display garish art made by children.
“I took your advice to heart,” she said, grinning. He had a feeling that she found him amusing, and he wasn’t sure he liked that. “I decided to put more realistic decorations into the café. This is real sand and real seashells. You can’t get ocean décor that’s more realistic than that. I thought you would really enjoy it.” Her expression was mischievous. She was clearly barely holding back her laughter as she watched his horrified reaction.
Oscar mumbled to himself, unable to articulate anything articulate, he was so flustered. He brushed stray tendrils of sand off the table and sat down, pushing the sand-filled jar as far into the corner of the table as it would go.
“Here’s a menu,” Sally said, still grinning. “Someone will be back to take your order in just a little bit.”
She waltzed away, and Oscar watched her go, feeling flabbergasted. He took another look at the jar and shook his head.
He perused the menu, finding that the sight of the sand and seashells had turned him off of the idea of fish. He looked atthe omelet options and realized that he could get his standard breakfast order, which he’d eaten all the time in the city—a garden omelet with hashbrowns. He liked the idea. Maybe eating something familiar would help him feel less as though he was floundering in the ocean with nothing to cling to.
A waiter came by and took his order, and Oscar sat staring at his phone until his food arrived. He didn’t want to risk looking up and accidentally making eye contact with Sally. She might come over and try to speak with him again.
A few minutes later, the waiter returned and set the hot plate of food down in front of him.
“Here you are! Enjoy!”
Oscar looked up from his phone, feeling hungrier than ever. The waiter walked away, and Oscar picked up his fork eagerly. He speared a piece of the omelet and brought it to his lips.
He knew immediately that requesting his traditional breakfast order had been a mistake. It brought him straight back to all of the business breakfasts he’d shared with colleagues and clients in New York. Now, however, instead of wearing a nice suit and feeling the thrill of the chase in his core, he was wearing a plain brown sweater and jeans and had absolutely nothing to do with his life.
He felt a twinge of bitterness. There he was in a tiny little town where no one knew his name. Well, almost no one. The quaint little place was of no significance, and he was of no significance in it. He felt that Rosewood Beach was a major step down for him.
“How’s your breakfast, Oscar?”
It was Sally. Of course it was. He wanted to feel irritable that she had come over to speak with him, but he felt a kind of flutter in his core that he didn’t understand.
“It’s—” He was about to say, “Fine,” again, but as he looked down at his plate, he felt bitter again and he blurted out a critique. “Dry. Not a good omelet at all.”
It wasn’t true. Or, at least, he didn’t think it was. His mouth felt dry, so that was probably why the omelet hadn’t tasted all that great to him during his first bite.
Sally’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if she could see right through him and she knew that he’d been making up a complaint just for the sake of complaining. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, still smiling cheerfully. “We’ve received a lot of compliments on our omelets over the years, so this omelet of yours must just be a fluke. I’ll relay your feedback to the cook and hopefully we can meet with your expectations next time.”
Oscar watched her genuine smile with disbelief. He didn’t understand how anyone could remain so positive when their establishment had just been insulted—and unfairly, at that. He had a feeling in his gut that she knew that he’d been making up the complaint about the eggs. He felt badly about being so grumpy, especially since her response had been so kind and understanding.
Unsure of what to say, he simply nodded, and Sally left his table with another smile. He watched her go, wondering what kind of magic elixir she put in her coffee every morning which made her so cheerful.
