The Good Wife(79)
“No! Don’t!” Sarah’s eyes suddenly burned, too, and she moved forward to give Alyssa a huge hug. “Don’t be sad, not yet. I’m not going anywhere for a while. I’ll be here at least three more weeks—”
“Three weeks! That’s nothing.”
“We will just have to make a plan to get you, and the kids, out to see us in California soon.”
* * *
The morning rush at Mama’s Café was over and the lunch crowd hadn’t yet begun to trickle in. Lauren took advantage of the quiet moment to talk to the cook about the lunch specials and how things should be prepared, as well as the presentation. She hadn’t been happy at all with the way breakfast had gone. Even if they were slammed, they couldn’t do sloppy, and never ugly. Food had to look good and taste good, as first impressions mattered.
Emerging from the kitchen, she glanced at the glass cabinet displaying the day’s homemade desserts. They had five pies and three cakes. She’d made every one this morning, and even though it wasn’t even noon yet, the cherry pie was already half gone, the lemon meringue was short two slices, and the entire hummingbird cake had disappeared. Lauren suspected it’d been bought earlier, but she hadn’t seen it go and she approached Phyllis, one of the waitresses who opened the café with her every morning, who was at the cash register.
“Where did the hummingbird cake go?” Lauren asked as Phyllis bent over her notepad, totaling a bill.
“Sold it,” Phyllis said, glancing up at her before looking down again, double-checking her math. “Someone came in and bought it for her bridge party.”
“How much did you charge?”
“Thirty dollars.”
“She didn’t balk?”
“Nope.” Phyllis tucked the notepad back into her apron. “And that’s still less than what we’d make if we sold it by the slice.”
“The cakes are doing well,” Lauren said as the café door opened. A young couple entered, hand in hand. They were long-haired, scruffy, but happy-looking. Bette appeared, two menus in hand, and seated them.
“Very well,” Phyllis agreed. “Yesterday a lady came in, right after we opened, and bought the candy bar cake for her husband’s birthday. She said she came early to be sure she got the cake but thought maybe we should consider doing special-order cakes.”
“I don’t know how Mimi would feel about it.”
Phyllis gave her a pointed look. “I think we both know that Mimi doesn’t care what you do as long as she keeps making money.”
“True.”
“The bakery items do really well. Have you seen the pies? Some of them are already half gone.”
“I saw.”
“We’re developing a reputation.”
Lauren grimaced. “As long as it’s a good one.”
“Of course it’s a good one! Why would you say that?”
Lauren brushed her hand across the counter, seeing a sheen on it, and made sure it wasn’t sticky. It wasn’t. “Normally I only hear the bad stuff.”
“That’s because you always want to be told about the bad stuff.” Phyllis gestured to Bette that she saw the young couple Bette had seated in Phyllis’s section. “Which reminds me, someone sent back the grillades and grits earlier.”
Lauren frowned. That wasn’t good. The grillades and grits were new items on the menu, and hadn’t been ordered very many times yet. “Was there something wrong with it?”
Phyllis shrugged. “He didn’t say anything bad about it, just took a bite and then didn’t want it anymore.”
“Did you offer something else?”
“I did, but he said he was fine with the biscuits.”
That really wasn’t good. Lauren’s frown deepened. “You refunded him the grillades?”
“He told me not to. But he’s still here. Should I?”
“Where is he?”
Phyllis pointed to a table by the window. “That’s him. Spartacus. Over there.”
“Spartacus?” Lauren repeated, amused.
Phyllis’s gray head bobbed, her brown eyes dancing. “That’s what Bette called him. He’s the big guy in the booth in the back. The one who looks like a superhero.”
Lauren hadn’t seen him, at least not until now. And now that she’d seen him, she couldn’t believe she’d missed him.
He was big—at least six three—and built. Broad shoulders, thick biceps, wide rib cage. Nice face, too, not that she was looking. Lauren hadn’t dated since before Blake died. Didn’t think she ever would again.
“I was just about to give him his bill,” Phyllis added. “Do you want me to take off the grillades and grits?”