CHAPTER 9
Darby
I’ve been living in Whynot, North Carolina for just over two weeks now, and it’s high time I’ve had breakfast again at Central Café. This isn’t my first time here as I visited once before with Jake and Laken. But it is my first time as a resident of Whynot, and I’ve been told that all the best gossip is filtered through here.
I thought it was hilarious when two nights ago, Colt told me Central Café was the place where he heard I removed my grant application from consideration. I thought he may have been pulling my leg, but that night Larkin assured me the gossip mill in Whynot is a fully functioning news source.
To take best advantage of any potential gossip I might eavesdrop in on, I choose to sit at the diner counter that runs the length of the restaurant. It’s got a white Formica top with gold speckles and aluminum swivel stools with red vinyl seats. I also make the choice to sit at the counter because I notice Floyd sitting there, the owner of the hardware store who protects the town by night with his shotgun. While I don’t know this for sure, my gut instinct is he’s a major source of gossip.
Now, I am not a gossiper by nature. But I find it fascinating this is such an everyday part of life in this area, and I kind of want to experience it. Larkin told me how when her brother Lowe was in a battle with his wife over their current house that she had bought from the family, she knew all about their courtship and dating not from her brother but from the gossip mill.
When I sit down right beside Floyd, he turns to look at me. I get a polite nod but before he can turn away, I stick my right hand over to him. “Hi. I’m Darby McCulhane. The new operations manager at Farrington Farms.”
He grunts and then grumbles, “Pleasure to meet you. Saw you and your daughter coming out of Sweet Cakes the other day.”
He takes my hand in his big meaty paw and gives it a vigorous shake.
“Want some coffee, honey?” a woman says from behind the counter. She looks to be in about her fifties, and she wears a classic waitress uniform in buttery-yellow polyester with a white Peter Pan collar. She has iron-gray hair parted down the middle and secured at the back of her neck in a tight bun covered by a hairnet. Her name tag says Muriel.
“I’d love some coffee. And a breakfast menu.”
She doesn’t move to get the coffee, but rather leans her hip on the counter in front of me and says, “You’re Jake’s kin, aren’t you?”
I smile at her in return. “His sister-in-law. Well, sort of. He used to be married to my sister Kelly. But they remained great friends and so Jake is still a great friend to me. In fact, I still consider him to be a brother.”
“That’s sweet. He seems like a nice fella, and sure does put a twinkle in Laken’s eye,” she says with a swoony sigh. Then she leans in closer to me, lowering her voice to a whisper. “But I sense trouble in paradise. I think it’s going to be mighty hard for those two with long distance separating them.”
I try to moderate my grin, elation coursing through me. I have now been officially inducted into the Whynot gossip mill. When I lean in closer to her, I note Floyd even leans toward us so he can listen. “I think they’re going to be just fine.”
Muriel just blinks at me, seemingly waiting for me to say something juicier than what I just did. I glance at Floyd to find him staring at me as well, and there’s no mistaking the expectancy in his eyes.
I shrug and give them an apologetic look. “Sorry. I’m just not privy to any deeper information at this point.”
“But you’d share with us if you were, right?” This from Floyd in his deep baritone voice.
“Absolutely,” I say with confidence, although I’m not quite sure I would. I guess it depends on the subject matter. For example, if I had inside information Jake was going to do something epically romantic, I’d spill the beans to my new friends. But if I felt that their relationship could be going south, I’d keep that close to the vest.
“You know Andy Forrester is sweet on you,” Muriel says, and it takes me a moment to realize we’ve switched gossip gears.
“Oh, well,” I start to stammer. “I’m not… well, you see… now isn’t a good time to—”
“You’re not in the market,” Muriel concludes.
“Not really,” I mutter but for some strange reason, I think about Colt Mancinkus and my denial seems a little out of place.
“Andy’s a good guy, but you’re still trying to get over that total jerk of a husband,” Muriel continues.
I rear backward over her proclamation, almost flinging myself off the barstool. “Excuse me?”
Muriel nods knowingly, her eyes swimming in sympathy. “You know… because he was all controlling and didn’t let you pursue your dreams. Held you back so your life was unfulfilled.”
How in the hell would she know anything about Mitch? I mean, her information is accurate, but I’m totally thrown for a loop.
“Andy was in here a bit ago,” Floyd says by way of explanation.
Then a light bulb goes off in my head. Andy had given Larkin and me a ride home Saturday night, which I thought was an odd thing for a police officer on duty to do, but whatever. I was close to drunk. So was Larkin. And we talked.
A lot.
I shake my head with a smile, not able to be mad at anyone for poking in my business when I was so loudly proclaiming it. I look to Muriel and then to Floyd. “It’s a complicated situation, but one I’m finally free of. I’m just happy to be starting a new life here in Whynot.”
My words must be definitive enough they don’t invite more questions. Muriel turns away. Grabbing a white ceramic mug from a stack, she also snags a coffee pot from a burner on the back counter. As she pours for me, I flip through a menu Floyd slid over my way.
“I’ll take two eggs over easy, some hash browns, and a side of bacon.”
Muriel is shaking her head and clucking her tongue. “You got to have biscuits and gravy.”
“But I don’t want biscuits and gravy.”
“Yes, you do,” Floyd says from beside me. “Trust me on this.”
I turn back to Muriel and incline my head. “Fine. I’ll take a side of biscuits and gravy. But I want my eggs, hash browns, and bacon as well.”
Muriel winks at me. “I like a girl with a hearty appetite.”
“Me too,” a deep voice says from my other side, and I turn to find Colt sliding onto the stool to my right. An electric zing of awareness ripples through me and by my reaction to his presence, it’s clear that perhaps I have some interest where he’s concerned.
It’s a warm day for early October, and the forecast said it was going to get into the mid-eighties. Colt is wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a faded navy-blue T-shirt with running shoes. I’m going to guess he’s not working on the farm today.
“Good morning,” I say with a smile.
Muriel clearly doesn’t need to ask Colt what he wants. She merely slides a cup of black coffee in front of him and says, “Your order will be up in a jiff, sugar.”
“Thanks, Muriel.” Colt then leans forward to look past me to greet Floyd. “What’s up with you, Floyd? I haven’t seen you around lately.”
Floyd turns to Colt and I lean back in my stool, so they have a clear line of sight to each other. I notice he’s got a tiny piece of egg stuck in his beard. “Been trying to chase off those damn coyotes that are coming into town. They seem to be hanging out behind Mainer House. I don’t want to kill them, but just hoping to scare ’em off with a few shotgun blasts. Mely yelled at me the other night that I’m scaring her half to death, though. Maybe I can set traps for them.”
I find it incredibly sweet and endearing this big bear of a man who prowls around town with a shotgun has too tender of a heart to shoot coyotes. Just another example of the complex layers I’m finding to the people around here.
“So how bad was your hangover on Sunday?” Colt asks me, and I turn away from Floyd to look at the impossibly handsome man sitting beside me.
I give a shake of my head. “Not hung over at all.”
Colt’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s impressive. You and Larkin put away quite a few beers Saturday night.”
“It was over a long period of time. And I drank plenty of water before I went to bed,” I admit.
He nods at me sagely, knowing that staying hydrated is the best way to defeat a hangover.
Floyd pushes off his stool and mutters, “I’m out of here. You folks have a nice day.”
Colt and I give farewells, and Muriel blows him a kiss from behind the counter. She then turns around to the counter behind which a cook is frying up all kinds of delicious-smelling things and grabs two plates he had just put up there. Muriel places our breakfast orders in front of us and I have to admit, the side of biscuits and gravy looks really good.
I start to cut into it for a bite, and Colt shakes his head. “You got a doctor that up first, Darby.”
“Doctor it up?”
He grabs a bottle of Texas Pete hot sauce from a condiment tray before him and slides it to me. He doesn’t say a word, but just nods to the bottle.
I shrug and take it, twisting the cap that is crusted with dried hot sauce off. After I put a few liberal dashes of red peppery liquid over the gravy, I dig in.
Colt and I both eat in silence for a few moments and I try hard not to moan in delight from how good the food tastes. There is nothing quite like finding a really good diner for some scratch country cooking.
Colt sets his utensils down and takes a sip of his coffee. When he sets his mug back on the counter, he turns slightly on his stool to face me. “So how are things going over at Farrington Farms? I heard a rumor you’ve got Carlos making some cheese.”
I chuckle and wipe my mouth with my napkin. “Yeah, with the farm leasing out most of the land, there’s just not an awful lot to keep Carlos busy full time. He suggested using the goats milk to make cheese the way the original owner did. I thought it was a good idea, so he’s been spending a lot of time in the kitchen.”
“Carlos is a good man,” Colt tells me. “He did some work on our farm before he had to go back to Texas because of a sick family member. You can’t go wrong with him whether it’s in the kitchen or working the farm.”
I nod and pick my fork back up again. “What about you? When are you going to actually start building up your vineyard?”
“Already started actually,” Colt says, and I can hear the excitement in his voice. It makes me glad he got the grant. “We’re spending the rest of this week building the trellises and will be planting the vines next week. I hired on some extra crew with part of the grant money.”
“How many acres?” I ask.
“Well, I can expect anywhere from two to ten tons of yield per acre once the vines start producing. I can get two barrels of wine out of a ton of grapes. It would be a minimum of fourteen hundred bottles of wine per acre if the yield is low and over five thousand if it’s high. I’m thinking I’ll start with ten acres.”
I whistle low and look at him with round eyes. “That’s quite an endeavor.”
Colt gives me a nod, and I can see some anxiety in his eyes. “I’m leveraging everything on this. The entire grant as well as removing some of the land we had previously leased. So the income into the farm is going to drop. But I figure go big or go home.”
“Do you have any plans to supplement the income somehow?”
Colt gives me a confident smile. “I’ve been wanting to do this winery for several years now and to prepare for it, I have been increasing our cattle operation. It’s going to be a little bit tight for the next couple of years, but it’s manageable.”
“It sounds like you’ve really got all of your ducks in a row, Colt. I have a feeling this is going to be an enormous success for you.”
His eyes pin me in place and his voice gets a little low. “Seriously, Darby. I want to thank you again for stepping back from the grant. I couldn’t have done this without it. You may not realize this, but your actions have probably saved my family.”
A large lump of emotion sticks solidly in my throat, and I take a sip of coffee to try to dislodge it. I blink my eyes hard so I don’t cry, and offer Colt something else. “Would you like any of my help or advice on the nutrient side of things? I’m kind of brainy and geeky when it comes to that stuff.”
Colt gives a booming laugh and picks up his coffee cup. He looks at me across the edge after he takes a sip and says, “I would love for any help or advice you can give me. In fact, if you have time this week, I’d love for you to come out and look at things.”
My lips involuntarily peel back into a big smile, completely charmed by Colt’s enthusiasm and gratitude and let’s face it, his gorgeous good looks. “How about tomorrow?”
“It’s a date,” Colt says.