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 to Ivy League schools. Abby’s parents had sent her to college—seven years’ worth for her to become a physical therapist. Out of Darren’s five children, Bridgett was the only one without a career or college degree. Her jaw tightened. Jealousy wouldn’t solve anything. She had the strength and determination to make it on her own. And she would make it, too. Someday.
Bridgett bussed a table, mentally envisioning the floor plan of her own restaurant. As she nudged the kitchen door with her hip, the bells above the entrance jingled.
“Welcome to The Magpie.” Halfway through the door to the kitchen, Bridgett caught a glimpse of the man standing just inside the luncheonette’s entrance. The plates precariously balanced on her arms began to slip. He smiled at her. “Oh, my stars,” she whispered, struggling to prevent the stack from crashing to the floor.
Quickly depositing the dishes in the kitchen, she ducked down and made her way to the pass-through to sneak a peek at the man without appearing too obvious.
“What on earth are you doing?” Bert asked from the grill.
Bridgett shushed him and attempted another glimpse. The man was definitely easy on the eyes—gorgeous brown eyes—almost familiar in a way, but she was positive she hadn’t seen him before.
Crap. Lark greeted him and led him to the counter. Bridgett crouch-walked to the door, stood and took a deep breath.
“He’s just a man, sweetheart,” Bert chuckled as he plated another order. “Don’t get yourself in a state. Go on out there and act natural.”
Since when did Bert give relationship advice?
Bridgett couldn’t bear to turn around and see the expression on the cook’s face. Shoulders squared, she casually entered the dining area and strolled behind the counter.
“Thanks