Wishing on Willows: A Novel (8 page)

“I assumed … I thought …” His bumbling did not help the situation.

She looked at Ian. “Get right to work on what?”

“I was hoping to talk with you about this later, Mrs. Price.” He glanced at Caleb, who was now leaning against his mother, his uninjured arm wrapped around her leg. “Did something happen to your son? I could’ve sworn he wasn’t wearing a cast yesterday.”

Her attention flitted to the boy, then back to Ian, her eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings. “What were you hoping to talk to me about later?”

He searched for a way to explain away Mayor Ford’s premature words. This was no way to approach Robin about her café—on a Sunday, outside of church, of all places. But she would not be distracted. She rested her hand on her son’s shoulder and met his eyes directly. The other men stared too.

“I was going to speak with you about buying your café.”

Her face went slack. “Buying my café?”

“For the condominiums we talked about last night.”

Robin looked at each of the men, all of whom were fidgeting—Mayor Ford worst of all—and her expression turned suspicious. “Why didn’t you mention any of this then?”

“I was—”

“You were what? Spying?”

“No, I wasn’t spying.” What a ridiculous idea. What was there to spy on?

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t give you what you want. I’m not interested in selling.”

“I’ll make sure you profit from the transaction.”

She raised her chin. “I don’t care about profit.”

Ian turned to Evan. Perhaps her husband would be more rational. “You might want to reconsider.”

Evan’s forehead broke into wrinkles, so Ian pounced on his uncertainty. “I won’t argue with you. Willow Tree Café is a fine establishment. I can tell you’ve taken great care of it over the years, but you’ve got a family to think about.”

“I think you’re mixed up about—”

“Trust me, Mr. Price, I’m not wrong. I’ve seen plenty of businesses like Willow Tree. Owners hold on too long and end up with outstanding debt. I’d hate for this to happen to you guys. I’m not sure what—”

“You can stop right there, Mr. McKay.” Robin’s words came out firm, confident. Gone was the vulnerable woman behind the piano. “My business is not about money.”

Ian took her in—the stiffness of her posture, the subtle jut of her jaw, the fierce protectiveness burning in her eyes—and his competitive juices started to flow. He wouldn’t let this woman cost a bunch of people their jobs. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Maybe not, Mrs. Price, but it’s kind of hard to run one if you don’t have any.”

How’d we do?” Robin unrolled the napkin from her silverware while Caleb bounced beside her in one of the booths at Val’s Diner, making growling noises as two plastic dinosaurs waged war in his hands. The ghost of his toy combine haunted the fun. He had abandoned it on his nightstand this morning, something he hadn’t done since he unwrapped the gift for his third birthday last July. Robin rested her chin on her hand and leaned forward. “I have a good feeling about this month.”

Amanda tapped papers against the tabletop. “You say that every month.”

“Yes, but this month I feel it in my gut.”

“You know what I wish you felt in your gut? The desire to keep better track of your inventory. Because it’s impossible to keep an accurate tally when your records are about as organized as a junk drawer.”

Robin held up three fingers in a Girl Scout’s pledge. “I promise to do a better job. I’ll make it my personal goal. Now lay it on me. How did we do?”

“Pretty much the same as last month.”

A thin layer of disappointment settled over her spirit. Thanks to her mother’s inheritance and Micah’s insurance policy, Robin didn’t pay much attention to numbers. Her café was about community and fellowship, none of which could be measured by a profit and loss report. Still, Ian’s ominous warning outside Grace Assembly hovered fresh in her mind.

“Why the frown?” Amanda asked.

“If this keeps happening, I’m going to run out of money.”

“That’s the beauty of Roy, right?”

Robin exhaled. Amanda was right. And smart. Per her request, Robin
had taken out a line of credit from Roy Hodges, her banker, a year after opening the café. It prevented her from dipping into her savings account when a dry spell hit.

“And just be thankful you don’t have a mortgage to pay. It could always be worse.”

True. She had it better than many businesses along the riverfront, especially on the south end. There was no reason to worry. She’d told Mr. McKay she wouldn’t sell. End of story.

Megan set three plates of steaming food on the table. Today she wore a purple T-shirt that said
The Bell Jar
. “A stack of hot cakes, eggs and bacon, and one ham-and-cheese skillet.”

The salty-sweet aroma of bacon and syrup wafted up Robin’s nose, filling her with renewed optimism. She picked up her fork and cut a tick-tack-toe into Caleb’s pancakes while he bounced in his seat. “Thanks, Megan. It smells great.”

“Can I get you anything else? Water refills? Coffee?”

Amanda tapped the white mug and saucer set in front of her. “I’ll take a refill.”

As soon as the waitress left for the coffeepot, Robin leaned over the table. “You do realize you’re part of the problem. Even my accountant doesn’t mind a cup of overcooked Folgers.”

“Hey, if you’re genuinely concerned, you know what I think you should do?” Amanda pointed her butter knife at Robin. “Open the café on Sundays. That would help business.”

“I was kidding about the coffee.”

“I think it’s a good suggestion. Worthy of consideration, at least. You could close the café early on Saturday like you do every other afternoon and open Sunday morning instead.” Amanda shoved a forkful of ham, egg, and melted cheese into her mouth.

Caleb drenched his plate with blueberry syrup. Robin stopped him before he poured the entire bottle onto his breakfast. “I’m not asking anyone to give up their Sunday and there’s no way I’m shuffling Caleb off to day
care another day of the week.” Her son looked up from his food with sticky lips and round eyes. A glob of pancake fell from his fork and landed on his plate.

“I could watch the little rug rat,” Amanda said.

Robin shook her head. Caleb would never forgive her, and she’d never forgive herself.

“I’m just saying. Willow Tree is struggling, and you close your doors on the one day that people are most likely to go out for a relaxing cup of coffee. It’s not exactly an intelligent move.”

“Sorry. Not doing it.”

Amanda lifted her shoulder and speared a piece of ham. “You’re opening this afternoon.”

“That’s different. It’s a special occasion. I want to introduce folks to the new director of One Life. If I sneak in a little business while I’m doing it, then that’s a double bonus.”

“I thought you weren’t charging.”

“I’m not.”

“So how do you figure you’re going to ‘sneak in a little business’?”

“I’ll wow everyone with amazing food and drink, and they’ll come back the next time as paying customers.”

“Or”—another bite of egg and cheese paused near Amanda’s lips—“you could charge your guests today and they become paying customers without you having to lose money first.”

Megan stepped up to the side of their table and poured black liquid into Amanda’s cup. Robin dipped a slice of buttered toast into her egg yolk and took a bite. The greasy combination slid over her tongue, crunchy and warm.

Pulling at her messy knot of hair, Megan leaned close. “I’ve never done this before but I’ve always wanted to. Nine o’clock.” She mumbled the words from the corner of her mouth.

“What?”

Megan jerked her head toward the front door. “Nine o’clock.”

Robin glanced off toward the left. The food in her mouth lost its flavor. She forced the lump down and watched Ian McKay, looking just as polished
as he had an hour ago, stroll through the front doors of Val’s Diner. Good grief, the guy was everywhere.

Megan scurried behind the counter. Robin dabbed her lips with one corner of her napkin and turned her attention to Caleb, who had a pterodactyl in one hand, his fork in the other. She saved the plastic creature from the plate of sticky pancakes as a shadow loomed over their booth and Amanda kicked her under the table.

“Fancy meeting you here.” The familiar timbre of Ian’s voice—rich, deep, cultivated—grated on her. No one sounded that refined without careful practice.

Amanda set down her silverware and brought her cup beneath her chin. “You’re looking just as upmarket today as you were yesterday. Even better without coffee dripping down your front.”

Ian snapped his fingers. “It’s Amanda, right?”

“The one and only.”

“It’s a pleasure meeting you again.”

“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine.” The steam from Amanda’s coffee cup swirled around her chin. “How’s your business going? Well, I hope.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “He wants to tear down Willow Tree and build condos. That’s his business.”

“Seriously?”

Robin gave her a yes-that’s-right-so-you-better-stop-flirting look. Just because Amanda was newly single didn’t mean she needed to fall for this man’s charm.

Mayor Ford finished his conversation by the door, seated his wife at a table, and joined them at the booth, looking no more comfortable than he had outside of church this morning. “I sure hope you didn’t feel like the rug was being pulled out from under you earlier, Robin.”

“It was definitely a surprise.” She turned in her seat and addressed Ian. “I’d introduce you two, but you’ve already met. Amanda’s my accountant. And my sister-in-law.”

He slid his hands in his pockets and winked, like this whole thing was funny. “So she has insider information. That could come in handy.”

The mayor barked. Caleb looked up from the sticky mess he was making with his pancakes. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, honey,” Robin said.

Amanda folded her hands beneath her chin. “You two can join us if you’d like.”

It was Robin’s turn to do the under-table kicking. What was Amanda thinking? They most certainly could not.

“Thanks for the invitation,” Ian said, “but we have to finalize some plans for our meeting with town council on Friday.”

Worry gathered in the pit of Robin’s stomach, ruining a perfectly delicious brunch. “Why do you need to meet with town council?”

“Mayor Ford would like to add the condominiums to the development plan for the south end of the business district.”

Betrayal joined forces with her worry. She looked at Mayor Ford—a man who came to the grand opening of her café and had returned every Saturday morning after. “You want to knock my café down?”

His ears turned red.

The visible discomfort made her equally uncomfortable, but she couldn’t let him off the hook so easily. “I thought you supported Willow Tree.”

“I’m sorry, Robin. It can’t be helped. I’m proud of what you’ve done with the place. It’s a fine establishment. It’s just in an unfortunate location.”

“And One Life?”

“I have an obligation to look out for the town’s greater good.”

Something strong and fierce pushed aside Robin’s worry. Greater good? How could bulldozing a ministry that served people like Molly be for anyone’s good? She lifted her chin and met Ian’s gaze. “You do know you can’t force me to sell, don’t you?”

He raised his eyebrow like she was nothing more than a tired child refusing to go to sleep. Like all he had to do was wait and the place that had given her such a sense of purpose over the past four years would nod off into oblivion. “I’m not going to use force.”

“Of course not.” The mayor gave Robin an uneasy smile and patted his
belly. “We’ll find a way to work this out. Until then, I’m starving. We should probably get to it, Ian. Robin, I look forward to your meet and greet later today. What a welcoming gesture for the new director.”

Heat filled her chest. The mayor complimented her for welcoming the new director of One Life, yet he had no qualms about tearing it down? Didn’t he realize the illogicality of such praise?

Ian dipped his head. “We’ll be in touch. Have a lovely meal, ladies.”

Robin glared after him.

“It should be illegal,” Amanda said.

“What?”

“That smile.”

The heat in Robin’s chest expanded. “Who cares about his smile? He wants to knock down my café.”

Amanda tapped her finger on the profit and loss report. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to listen to his offer.”

Robin yanked off her oven mitts and threw them down on the counter. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temples. After Val’s Diner, she’d baked an entire pan of strawberry-rhubarb muffins and two dozen of Caleb’s favorite chocolate gingerbread cookies, and she still couldn’t get the picture of Ian and his raised eyebrow out of her head.

Lord, why do I feel so unsettled about this?

Caleb’s little fingers grazed her forearm. “Are you taking a nap, Mommy?”

She opened one eye and found the face of her boy, head tilted up as he smiled his father’s smile. “No, silly man, I’m praying.”

“About my cookies?”

She opened her other eye and cupped his chin. “I’m praying for my sanity.”

He scrunched his nose. “What’s sanity?”

Robin laughed, then plucked the strawberry-rhubarb muffins from the pan and set them onto a large cooling rack on the prep table. The meet and greet had officially started, and as much as she wanted to avoid Kyle and whatever awkwardness their lackluster date left behind, it was time to get out there and mingle. As if hearing her thoughts, Bethany popped her head into the kitchen/supply room.

“We’re filling up fast and everybody’s raving about your lemon bars.”

“Just as long as they don’t have to pay for them.”

The door swung on its hinges, breaking apart the chatter filtering inside the kitchen. Bethany stepped over the assortment of Tonka trucks Caleb
had dug from the toy chest she kept in the kids’ corner below the loft. “I’m the cynic, remember? Not you.”

Caleb dropped to the floor and raced a truck in circles around Bethany’s feet. Robin untied her apron and flopped it on the counter next to the oven mitts.