The Birthday List(86)
Helen was behind the counter this afternoon—studying, since we didn’t have many customers. When she saw us come through the swinging door on Cole’s heels, she slammed her textbook shut and jogged around the counter to catch up. Judging by the huge smile on her face, she must have been clued into Cole’s surprise.
As we walked through the restaurant, Cole reached back and took my hand. His huge smile was infectious as he pulled me outside and around the corner of the building.
My free hand covered my gasp when I spotted the surprise.
Jamie’s truck—gleaming, midnight blue and accented with polished chrome—was parked in the lot.
“It’s done?”
Cole handed me a set of keys. “It’s done. What do you think?”
“It’s perfect.” I was awestruck that he’d transformed an old yellow heap into this beautiful classic. I grabbed Cole’s face with both hands and yanked it down for a hard, fast kiss. “Thank you.”
He smiled against my mouth. “You’re welcome. Go check it out.”
A squeak escaped my lips as I jogged to the driver’s side. I climbed in, filling my lungs with the clean, new smell. My hands stroked the buttery leather of the new cream bench seat before gripping the matching steering wheel. I ran my fingers across the dashboard and down to the new radio. The floor, the door panels, the ceiling—everything was new.
Cole had even replaced the old plastic visors.
I flipped one down, surprised when a photo fell onto my lap. It was the one Cole had found months ago. Cole had kept Jamie in his truck. I smiled at the picture and put it back into the visor just as the passenger door opened.
“Well?” Cole asked.
“It’s incredible. Thank you.”
“It was fun.” He ran his hand over the seat, inspecting his work. “And it didn’t take as much work as I’d thought. The engine was in good shape. My buddy at the body shop did a lot. Mostly I just put in new parts.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit. This truck has taken a lot of your evenings lately.”
He shrugged. “I enjoyed it. It made me realize I need to find a hobby. Something to get my mind off work.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll find another old car and fix it up.”
“Can I pick the color?”
He grinned. “Of course.”
I ran my hands over the steering wheel again. “I pick black.” It was his favorite color.
Cole climbed into the truck and took out his phone, aiming the camera my way. “There. Now you’ve got your picture for the day.” A picture of me in Jamie’s truck was far better than the selfie I’d attempted this morning. “How about a quick drive?”
“Where to?”
He shrugged. “Anywhere.”
I turned the key and smiled, then I drove us around the block and parked behind the restaurant.
When Cole gave me a funny look, I just shut off the truck and slid across the bench seat, showing him with my lips how much I appreciated his work on this project.
By the time we broke apart, I needed more lip balm.
Not long after Cole went back to work, Molly left the restaurant to run some errands before she had to pick up Kali and Max from daycare. It was just me and Helen for the rest of the afternoon and evening, so while she managed the counter, I was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for my chicken noodle soup.
It was supposed to get cold tonight and I thought soup would be a hit with the dinner crowd. Plus, it was one of Cole’s favorites. He was coming back here for dinner and I wanted to do something special for him, given all he’d done to fix up Jamie’s truck—which was parked out back.
Cole had taken my car back to the station so I could drive Jamie’s truck home tonight. As soon as we closed up The Maysen Jar, I was planning on driving around for a bit, listening to Jamie’s favorite country station, then finding a spot to park and cross that item off his list.
“Hey, Poppy?” Helen poked her head into the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I didn’t look up from the carrots on my cutting board.
“That girl is back.”
I dropped my knife and wiped my hands on my apron as I hurried to the door, peeking around Helen.
Sitting in the same seat she always did—tucked into the far back corner of the room—was a young girl who’d been coming into the restaurant regularly for the past few weeks. She always came at the same time, around three in the afternoon, and always wore the same clothes, faded black leggings and an olive-green coat that was two sizes too big and hung to her knees. On her feet were scuffed black ballet flats.
But even though her clothes were old and worn, she’d put effort into her appearance. Her face didn’t need much makeup—her light brown skin was flawless—but she’d dusted her cheeks with a bit of pink to match the shadow she’d used to highlight her large caramel eyes. Her long hair hung nearly to her waist, and she’d added some product to tame the frizz from her ash-brown curls.
“Did she order anything?”
Helen shook her head. “No. She just took one of the free cookies and asked for a glass of water.”
I frowned. The girl never ordered anything. Instead, she came and sat in that corner, attempting to blend into the wall as she read the same tattered book or worked on homework.