Chapter 1
“Becka Marie? Don’t you ever come out of that kitchen?”
My best friend’s voice, ringing from the front of the café, brought me comfort even when she nagged. She wasn’t wrong. My whole life was wrapped around this damn café, and I was fairly sure I’d be found dead wearing a dirty apron and slumped against Silvy’s precious Viking stove.
The morning sun glared bright against the pale-yellow daisies painted on the walls of the tiny kitchen, telling me I was behind, yet again, on my morning chores. The fragrant scent of fresh blueberry rose from the mixing bowl, waiting to be drizzled over the warm scones, as I flattened the gluten-free pastry dough hard against the cutting table one last time. Then I placed it back into the greased bowl to rest again.
“Back here. Come keep me company.” I prepared myself for Annie’s usual greeting. “I’ve got some orders to finish.” Before I completed the sentence, she rounded the counter, poured a glass of carrot juice, and stood in front of me with a cheeky grin on her pretty, round face.
“Mornin’, sweetheart. How’re you?” Setting the glass down, she brought me into her welcoming arms without concern that my greasy hands might stain her flowing pink tunic and perfectly coordinated leggings.
As usual, she looked like she’d stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. Just the opposite of my dowdy attire. The Grateful Dead T-shirt I wore was inside out, and my favorite old jeans hung loose around my waist, making a pooch where my butt should be. Compared to the nest of ratty brown curls I had pinned to the back of my head, Annie’s playful blonde pixie looked salon perfect. Still, the sparkle in her eyes brought a smile to my tired face, though I was sure I looked more raccoon than human.
I allowed the much-needed hug to last longer than usual, sending up her radar.
“Okay, what’s going on?” She pushed back, holding me by the shoulders. Her discerning stare searched me over for clues. Like a panther on its prey, she was on me. I loved her, but sometimes I wished she didn’t always see right through me.
“I’m really exhausted, Annie.” I turned back toward the table, picking up my knife to chop onions and celery for Letterman’s takeout order.
“Yeah, I can see that, but what else? Come on. Tell ol’ Annabelle what’s going on.” Her worried frown gave me no chance to escape without admitting I was going through my personal hell. Again.
“Okay, okay. Just keep your voice down. I don’t want to worry Silvy.”
“Geez. Why would it worry your mother? What the hell?” She lowered her voice.
“I had that damn dream again last night—the drowning one.” I chopped more furiously as I talked. “I’m going crazy. It’s happening every frigging night.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” Annie swept the round sunglasses off the top of her head and placed them on the table next to her drink.
“It needs to stop. I can’t think when I’m this tired.”
Annie reached across the table to pat my hand. Trying to lighten the mood, she added, “Wait. This is that nasty dream, right?” She grinned and winked when I shot her a dirty look.
“Really?” I regretted mentioning it.
“You mean to tell me you’re having great sex every single night, and you’re complaining?” She picked up her glass and took a slurp, smirking coyly above the rim.
“Yeah, and I keep drowning right after too.” I squinted a warning, hoping she could see that I was looking for some real help. “Stop it! I’m going nuts here.” I shook my head when I saw she had nothing of substance to contribute.
She straightened when she saw my frustrated expression. “Becka, I think you just need to get laid.” She shrugged, plopping down on the short stool at the end of the table. “Of course, that’s no expert opinion, but since it’s been a while, it couldn’t hurt to at least give it a try. Call it, hmmm, therapy. Hey,” her eyes lit up, “I heard some girls talking about sex therapists the other day in the library. Maybe, you should find one of those?” She backed away from my raised knife, snagging a stick of celery from the stack I’d just washed.
“Shut up!” I breathed out. “This dream isn’t about sex. Maybe it’s trying to tell me if I ever do find someone, it’s gonna kill me. It’s freaking me out.” I mixed the chopped celery in with flaky white tuna, brown mustard, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a bit of red onion I’d minced into my grandmother’s fifty-year-old Pyrex bowl.
“Mmmm, that smells divine.” She sniffed the potent aromas mingling with the scent of fresh ground coffee drifting in the air. “Have you talked to your mom about this dream, Becka? She may have some real insight. She’s always reading those dream interpretation books. She’s sure helped my mom.”
As if on cue, Silvy glided gracefully through the low swinging door into the kitchen where we created all the little edible miracles we served at the Health Nut Café.
“Has she talked to me about what?” Silvy looked from Annie to me with a ‘concerned mom’ expression crossing her unlined face. When she tucked her purse under the counter and strapped an apron over her favorite, blue-flowered peasant dress, I marveled at my mother’s innate poise and confidence. How her long, silver braid lay so perfectly down her yoga-toned back as it had since her early thirties. She was stunning and confident, everything I wanted to be.
“I guess not,” Annie looked away as she nervously stirred the remaining carrot juice with the chewed end of the celery. “Sorry,” she silently mouthed when I caught her eye.
I had no strength to hide my exhaustion from either of them anymore. I couldn’t blink away the welling tears before they slid down my cheeks. Get it together. Jesus.
“Becka, what’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart.” Silvy walked two steps toward me before realizing how out of sorts I really was. “What is it, honey?” she asked again, steadying my shaking hands so the bowl wouldn’t slip and fall to the floor.
Waiting patiently, she didn’t say another word until I got everything out. It must’ve taken me ten solid minutes of purging, but she didn’t flinch until I had my say. Naturally, I downplayed the intensity of the passion I had been sharing on the moonlit beach with the dark, familiar stranger nearly every night for months now, but I divulged all the rest, hoping she had some sage advice. Something had to give with this nightmare, so I could finally rest.
“Becka.” My mother’s voice was soft with genuine concern. She wiped a loose tendril of light brown hair away from my watery eyes. “The universe guides us through our dreams. Sometimes they let us see things our conscious mind won’t let us see. This dream might be telling you something important. I’m not sure what. That’s for you to figure out. I can tell you this much, even though there is death involved, I don’t believe you should fear the message it’s trying to send. Pay attention to the details. Keep your eyes and your heart open.”
She paused for a moment to lay a motherly kiss on my forehead, and then she glanced at Annie and winked. “Maybe, it’s telling you it’s time to stop fussing so much over this restaurant and find yourself someone to love.”
She stopped and forced my eyes to meet hers again after I turned away in a huff. This relentless goal of hers had grown tiresome. Why does she think I need to be in love to be happy?
“Silvy, just because you and Daddy had a storybook romance, doesn’t mean everyone is that lucky.”
“Daddy and I didn’t have a storybook romance, Sweetheart. We worked on it every day, but it was worth it,” Silvy said with a tinge of sadness in her voice that made me regret being harsh with her. “I miss him every single minute, and I thank God for letting me have him as long as I did,” she said, this time looking at me with the concern of a mother wanting her child to be happy.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” My voice cracked. “I miss him too.”
Silvy smiled and wiped my tears. “Don’t be sorry, Sweetheart. Just remember dreams can’t harm you, but if you’re avoiding something in your life, those dreams may continue until you finally face up to whatever it is.” She ran her finger along my jawline. “Pay attention,” she repeated, turning and pointing her finger in the air. “The answer is near.”
She couldn’t see me frown as she grabbed some flatware from the drawer and left the kitchen with a satisfied smile on her face. It was as if she knew what my dream meant but wouldn’t tell me. It was frustrating. She’d always made me and my younger brother, Rich, figure things out on our own. This time I could really use a straightforward answer.
“I just want the damn dream to go away. I don’t need a man complicating my life. I have no time for all that. Dream man or a real one,” I whispered through gritted teeth after Silvy walked away.
Annie reached across the table again and squeezed my hand. “I know, sweetie, but if it helps at all, I think she’s right.” She watched me work for a moment before adding, “Look at it this way. At least the cosmos is letting you have a good time before it torments you. It could be worse. What if there was no sex? That would suck.” She winked and clucked her tongue.
Candy swung open the back door just in time to save Annie. “Morning all,” she greeted, tossing her tote bag down and picking up the box filled with the day-old food items I’d packed for Paulo and his mother.
“Paulo’s outside. This ready for him?”
“Yeah.” I pointed the knife toward the containers of fresh squeezed orange juice sitting next to the sink. “Why don’t you put a bottle of that orange juice in too?” I paused for a second and then grabbed a piece of Silvy’s flourless chocolate cake to place on top. “And this as well. We have way too much of this. Paulo needs to help us get rid of it.” I winked at him as he poked his blush reddened face into the open doorway.
“Good Morning, Paulo. How are you this morning?” I smiled at his obvious excitement. He loved my mother’s cake.
“Just fine, Miss Becka. Thank you.”
I nodded to Candy and waved the knife toward the juice.
Candy grabbed a full bottle and shoved it into the box. Paulo, not yet in his teens, licked his lips in anticipation. His clothes were worn but tidy, and his thick black hair was clean but in need of a trim. Candy smiled as she handed the food to the very appreciative little guy and sent him on his way with our well-wishes.
“So much for day-old, huh, boss?”
“They need it more than our customers.”
Annie watched as this rough-around-the-edges single mother we’d adopted handed our shy Paulo the box filled with food. Paulo and his mother were Rich’s latest project. I did what I could with food. It wasn’t much, but they were always very thankful.
“That’s why I love working here. You’re good people!” Candy strapped on a bright orange apron, perched her purple, cat eye glasses to rest on her spiked, blonde head, and washed her hands like a doctor preparing for surgery. She winked playfully at us as she bumped open the swinging door with her ample bottom, ready to start her routine.
“Morning, George,” she greeted our grouchiest customer, friendliness oozing as she entered the dining room. “You need me to top that off for ya?” Laughter erupted from the patrons, so I knew she’d made one of her famous funny faces to entertain them.
“She makes me smile every time I see her,” Annie said, listening to Candy carry on with the regulars as if they were part of her own family.
“Yeah, she’s great. And a ton of help.”
Annie turned back to me and watched a second longer. “She’s right, you know. I’m surprised you or Rich ever make any money taking on all these charity cases. I know you don’t really need her to run this place. And what’s up with the little boy? Rich donating his time to help them, I suppose?”
“Yeah, you know Rich. I’m not sure he’s gotten paid for half of the cases he’s taken since he passed the bar.” I smiled, proud of my brother and his big heart. I realized that something out front had completely distracted Annie from our conversation.
“Hey!” I said, mildly irritated for being ignored. “Did you hear me?”
“What do we have here?” Annie questioned, tilting her head to get a better view over the counter. “Becka, I think your mom’s holding out on us.” The wicked purr in her voice caused me to put down the bowl and scurry up beside her to have a look through the kitchen window to the dining area. Whatever interested Annie Stone had to be something to see.
Against the glare of the front windows I could make out the image of a tall, youngish, casually dressed man, peering thoughtfully into my mother’s friendly face as she nervously rattled on about something. An easy smile stretched across his attentive face, showing interest in her every word.
“Let’s go see about this.” Without warning, Annie grabbed my hand and pulled me abruptly through the swinging door, causing it to bang loudly against the wall. Silvy and her mystery guest immediately turned to see what happened.
“Oh God,” blurted out of my mouth before I regained my footing. My hip hit hard against the food counter, bumping coffee over the brim of George’s cup. He grumbled a curse word that I seldom heard anymore. My face burned with embarrassment as I apologized to George for being so clumsy.
“Honestly, Annie,” I scolded out loud.
“Oh, sorry,” she apologized, grabbing my elbow for support. “Are you okay?”
I could see she felt awful, so I gave her a quick smile to reassure her I wouldn’t kill her for embarrassing me. At least not yet.
“Becka, honey, are you okay?” My heart sank when I heard the undeniable flip flop of my mother’s Crocs quickly approaching. Would it have killed her to just ignore me?
“I’m fine, Silvy.” I did my best to sound calm, glancing at my mother in frustration and noticing her fair stranger had followed her. Candy, being gracious enough to ignore my clumsiness, stood some ten-feet back, blatantly checking him out from behind.
“I’m okay. Really.” I pulled my elbow from Annie’s star-struck grasp, trying to gain the composure to offer a proper introduction. I said a silent prayer, hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt.
“Hello.” I held up my hand to shake. “I’m the graceful Becka Clemmons.”
I felt the warmth radiating from him as his long fingers closed over my hand. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties at most. Gorgeous thick, sandy-brown hair was tucked loosely behind his ears and curled just below the lobe on each side. The scar along the left side of his chin seemed somehow misplaced on his clean-shaven face. His lips stretched shyly across a smile he worked hard to conceal.
Awkwardness crept back as the silent seconds rushed by. With a deep, cleansing breath, I finally looked him in the eyes to see why he wasn’t talking.
His brow furrowed as if searching for the right words to say. When his gaze finally captured mine, the playful concern and warmth staring back struck me to the core. Complete disorientation washed over me like a warm rain, so much so that the air constricted in my lungs. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his no matter how hard I tried.
Oh God, what’s happening to me? This is ridiculous.
“Who are you?” My words fell off as the remaining breath in my lungs dissipated along with every bit of reason in my mind. Dizziness and confusion took over as blackness swallowed me. I felt Annie’s hand on the small of my back, trying unsuccessfully to keep me on my feet, and then I was out.
~ ~ ~
When I opened my eyes, I was mortified to learn that not only had I fainted at the feet of Jonathan Parker from the new Parker Antique Books moving in next door, but I’d been laid on the kitchen cutting table by the very same. The sharp pain and the taste of blood from my busted lip was nothing compared to the pain of my humiliation.
“Becka, honey, are you all right?” Silvy asked frantically, patting my face. “Oh, thank God. You nearly scared poor Mr. Parker to death.” Her voice attempted to calm my growing discomfort as the hair clip holding up my shoulder-length mess of curls dug into the back of my head. Something wet and stinky was folded across my forehead. Annie nervously massaged the fingers of my left hand. Everyone crowded around me, making it hard to breathe.
“What the hell?” I asked with disgust, removing the rag that I’d used to wipe the onion scraps from the cutting board. Lovely. Not only was I sprawled across a table that creaked under my weight, but I smelled of onion. I wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.
When I lifted my head to relieve the piercing pain at the back of my skull, the young Mr. Parker moved in to help me. Cradling my neck in one hand, he removed the offending clip with the other, then gently laid my head back down on the table. The gesture was so natural, it didn’t occur to me to stop him.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Annie’s mouth gape wide open just as she whispered, “Oh my.” She dropped my hand and scurried around the table with the others to watch in silence.
It seemed like every other person, aside from Mr. Parker, took a giant step backward. We were momentarily in our own little bubble. It was damned strange and oddly comforting.
“Thank you,” I whispered, accepting the clip he placed into my palm.
“My pleasure,” he replied in a deep voice, focusing directly on me as though there was no one else in the room. Those worried eyes? This man? Who the hell was he, and why did he have this effect on me?
Panic began to rise when I remembered I’d fallen to the floor like a swooning fool only a few short minutes before. Breathless and embarrassed, I struggled against dizziness to sit up. I stumbled from the table to distance myself from Silvy’s reaching hands and this man who had the bizarre power to render me unconscious.
“Becka Marie, you need to stay put until you’re steady.” Silvy stepped dangerously close to catching me, her voice frantic. “I wonder if this has something to do with your lack of sleep?” She looked from me to Annie, finally landing her gaze on Mr. Parker. “This dream of yours is causing all kinds of problems, isn’t it, Sweetheart?” She tipped her head toward Jonathan Parker as if he was the answer to my dream.
“No,” I answered a little too abruptly, shaking my head in warning. “No, Silvy. Nothing to do with anything. I’m fine. I just need to eat. I’m okay.”
The dream. Why did she have to mention the damn dream?
“Annie, can you walk me home?” I pleaded nervously, waving for her to follow. She nodded and moved quickly beside me, understanding.
Avoiding eye contact with this mysterious Mr. Parker, I backed toward the door. “Thank you, Mr. Parker—ah—for all your help.” I offered my thanks, but I was careful to keep my distance.
He made no move from where he leaned against the cutting table, electing instead to evaluate me quietly with a knowing smile on this face. “Please call me Jonathan.”
I continued to move away. “Silvy, can you call Rich if you need help today?” I asked without waiting for an answer. “And can you finish Letterman’s order? It’s there. Almost done.” Once I made it through the swinging door, I turned and hustled through the dining room with Annie trailing behind.
“Becka, slow down,” Annie yelled, when we reached the street in front of the Health Nut Café. “You just passed out. You need to take it easy.”
She was right. I felt a little woozy, but I needed to get away from the intensity. Away from that man. Away from those eyes.
“What the hell was that all about, anyway? Can you tell me what just happened in there?”
I stopped and leaned against the wall in front of what would be Parker’s Antique Books. I peered into the window at the stacked boxes waiting to be unpacked. “I wish I knew.”