come sooner than later.
Bridgett refused to leave anything else to chance. Every afternoon she made of point of checking the Help Wanted ads online in the towns at least a hundred miles from Ramblewood. She’d jump at the first offer. For now, she kept her plans to herself, not wanting to risk anyone trying to talk her out of it. She wanted to secure a job before she left town. Her ultimate goal was to open her own restaurant, but until she found one she could afford, she’d make do managing someone else’s.
Bridgett grabbed the plates and headed for her customer’s table at the front of the luncheonette. When she passed Lark she whispered, “Take over counter duty for me.” The other waitress nodded.
Bridgett had been hesitant when Maggie Dalton, The Magpie’s owner, had hired Lark Meadow a few weeks earlier. Lark had rolled into Ramblewood on the bus. Disheveled, with not much more than a duffel bag and a guitar, Lark had said she was on her way to New Mexico after a disastrous string of Nashville auditions. She’d sold everything she had owned to take a gamble on her big dream and no longer had a home to go back to. Refusing to turn the woman away, Maggie had helped Lark rent a studio apartment above the florist’s shop across the street.
Bridgett had a hunch the newcomer was on the run, but if Maggie wasn’t concerned, she wouldn’t pry, either. Lark seemed to appreciate the privacy and she’d turned out to be a welcome addition to The Magpie. Considering Bridgett planned to leave town soon, she felt less guilty knowing another waitress was already trained and in place.
Bridgett took a few more orders before she noticed Abby packing up her wedding explosion. The normally perky pint-size blonde’s shoulders slumped as she mumbled a quick “see you later” on the way out. Bridgett sighed, wishing she hadn’t been so abrupt with her sister. If only Abby hadn’t asked her to stand up for her at the wedding.
Bridgett wanted to get to know Abby on her own terms, but Abby was relentless. She stopped in the luncheonette every morning for breakfast, called at night to share what she’d learned at her new job and sometimes she showed up at the Bed & Biscuit uninvited. It was too much, too soon.
Through the vinyl magpie-bird cutouts on the luncheonette’s picture window, Bridgett watched Abby trudge to her car and drive away. She hated hurting Abby, but Bridgett wasn’t ready to embrace the happy family-unit idea yet.
“May I have a refill, dear?” Charlotte Hargrove, one of Ramblewood’s biggest gossips, waved her cup in the air. Bridgett removed the coffee carafe from the brewer and wondered how long it would take before her mother called and demanded she be nicer to Abby. Twenty minutes was the norm for Charlotte’s gossip to spread, but it had been known to travel faster than a bee-stung stallion when it was particularly juicy.
“Are things okay between you two?” Charlotte asked when Bridgett arrived with the coffee.
Hesitating, Bridgett tried to figure out how to answer the question without feeding into the rumor mill. “Abby’s a bit overwhelmed with the wedding plans.”
“Won’t she be a beautiful bride?” The older woman’s round cheeks brightened when she spoke. “Tiny as she is she’d probably pass for a cake topper in her gown. I do hope they start a family soon. I bet they’ll have the most darling children.”
And there was the knife twist. Charlotte wasn’t a fool. She knew Bridgett wanted kids. Growing up, Bridgett had longed for a big family, begging her mother to marry and have more children. Ruby had delighted in her daughter’s dreams and shared them with her clients. Because of her mother’s well-intentioned meddling, half the town seemed determined to set Bridgett up on one embarrassing blind date after another.
After many failed attempts and a few short-term romances, Bridgett had learned to say no to any further matchmaking. So she hadn’t found the one. She refused to settle. What was the rush anyway? Although, she did have to admit, it had smarted when her sister had blown into town and snagged herself a husband. Not that Bridgett had been interested in Clay. She never went for the strong silent types. But he and Abby suited each other perfectly.
Bridgett totaled Charlotte’s bill and left it upside down on the table. “They’ll have beautiful children. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Hoping for a mental break, Bridgett headed into the kitchen. From his position at the grill, Bert briefly glanced her way. No one worried about their beloved, yet rough-around-the-edges cook asking too many questions. Bert kept mostly to himself.
“Do you need any help?” Bridgett asked. The breakfast rush had wound down and she’d had enough of the remaining customers’ endless stares. They acted as though she’d break at any moment.
“I’m good.” Bert plated a stack of pancakes and set them on the pass-through. “Lark, table four.” He smacked the silver service bell.
“I’ll take it out.” Since she’d asked Lark to cover the counter, Bridgett could manage delivering one of her orders. Besides, Charlotte was on her way out.
Bridgett had begun waitressing at sixteen and twelve years later here she remained. The Magpie wasn’t exactly her career choice. She enjoyed her job to a certain degree, but she’d meant for it to be a stepping-stone to owning her own place. When Bridgett was nine, she’d stumbled across a weathered Betty Crocker cookbook at a yard sale. Her mother couldn’t cook to feed an ant, so Bridgett had begun preparing their meals out of necessity. Cooking for two had been fine at first, but the more Bridgett experimented with different spices, the more she wanted to share her creations with someone other than her mother. Maggie gave her kitchen time when they were slow. A few of her recipes had been house specials, and her Mexican cemita sandwich filled with pork, avocado, cheese and chili had become a regular menu item. When Maggie had converted the upstairs offices into a second kitchen, she’d asked Bridgett to be her sous-chef during catering events. It allowed her more cooking time and the extra money she made went into her restaurant fund.
Bridgett delivered Lark’s order and started another pot of coffee. Life wasn’t perfect, but whose ever was? Bridgett had been reasonably happy up until recent events, and although she still kept an eye out for Mr. Right, it wasn’t a priority. She had enjoyed her quiet, unassuming existence until she’d headlined the evening news. She’d contemplated dipping into her savings account and leaving town immediately, but her restaurant dream was the one thing that kept her going on most days. Until she could find a better solution, she’d opted to move out of her mother’s house.
When her friend Mazie had offered Bridgett a room at the Bed & Biscuit, she couldn’t have packed fast enough. She needed to break away from the one person she’d never imagined would betray her. Of course, Mazie had given her a room rent-free, but Bridgett refused to be a charity case. Bridgett assisted Mazie in the kitchen and cleaned the inn to repay her friend’s generous hospitality.
Bridgett thought she had made it clear she wanted—scratch that—needed time to think, but very few people seemed to listen. She was confused by the truth and hurt by the lies. Surely a little breathing room wasn’t too much to ask for.
Bridgett clipped another ticket to the order wheel and spun it to Bert. He and Maggie may have taught her how to run a restaurant, but Mazie instructed her on the finer cooking techniques she had learned at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. Bridgett studiously took notes and added each lesson to her own overstuffed dream book.
Unlike most of her friends, Bridgett hadn’t had the desire to go to school to learn a trade or earn a degree. She preferred the hands-on approach. That was the lie she told herself anyway. She couldn’t afford to go to school then or now. Darren had managed to send all three of his legitimate children
