Sweet Waters by Julie Carobini Read Free Book Online Page B

oak-framed chalk board that rests on an easel just outside the Grill’s front doors. Holly’s crêpes are listed on it, as are a plethora of new items not found on the menu, such as mango muffins, peach fritters, and my new favorite—peanut-butter smoothies. I’ve begun asking for this even when it’s not listed.
    Holly bustles around the place, her pouf curls pulled into a loose ponytail. While her aunt’s been recovering from that nasty fall we all witnessed, the poor thing’s been running the place herself. Well, she hasn’t been completely alone. That’s another thing that changes by day: the help. Apparently Holly has lots of friends, because each day a new coffee-pouring teen appears at our table to rattle off the specials, refill our mugs, and slip the bill under a plate. It’s disconcerting not to be recognized when you’ve sat in the same spot for a week, and yet, sadly for me, not all that uncommon.
    Holly rockets past, her sneakers slapping the linoleum, a flowing knit scarf flapping behind her before she halts and spins back toward us. She flops down beside Camille, tosses her ponytail off her shoulder, and exhales. “Can I join you two ladies?” she asks after the fact.
    â€œPretty wild day for you,” I say.
    â€œYeah, you got that right. And it’ll only get worse, ’cuz when Auntie finds out what I’ve done with her diner, I might just have to find me another job.”
    I start to chuckle, but quiet myself when no humor appears on her face. “I can’t imagine anyone getting upset about the way you’ve run this place. Camille and I have been here every day—”
    â€œI noticed.”
    Camille pipes up. “I don’t even look at the menu anymore. Just play eeny-meeny with your specials, and I think those pumpkin-bourbon muffins are my favorite. This place should be in a magazine.”
    Holly exhales again. “Auntie’s old-school ’bout that. Says if people want to hear about us, they’ll listen to their friends. Problem is, most of those old battle-axes she cooks for want the same old thing: eggs with toast and some kind of meat.”
    Both girls stare at me. “What? My eggs are poached, and I bet most of your customers order them scrambled.”
    Holly glances off into nowhere. “Yeah, that and sunny-side-up. Every old one of ’em.”
    Camille’s gaze meets mine. I open my mouth to speak when Josh strolls up to the counter. Before he takes a seat on a stool, he nods in my direction. I look away and clear my throat. “So, how’s your aunt’s recovery going?”
    â€œEh, she’s fine. She carried on so much that they thought she broke her hip, but she’s just sore. She’s home now and in bed, trying to get over the sciatica from the fall.”
    Peg’s fall. That day will be forever etched in my mind as the event that sent one sure-footed and forgetful fireman careening over the counter. And into my mind. I try to concentrate on my eggs, but realize that Camille looks bummed.
    â€œSo she’ll be back soon?” my sister asks, no doubt foreseeing the loss of her beloved daily specials.
    â€œYeah. Don’t think I’m ungrateful. My aunt raised me. I’ve been hangin’ out in this diner since I was a tot, and lovin’ nearly every minute of it. I just . . . I just would like to try new dishes sometimes. Jorge and I have had too much fun this week.” She lowers her voice. “Don’t tell my aunt. Wouldn’t want her to think I’m glad for her pains—which I’m not.”
    Camille slaps the table. “That’s it then! We’ll vouch for you. I’d die if I had to eat the same ol’, plain ol’ every day.” She darts me a stare. “And my sister starts her new job at the inn today, so she’ll tell every one of those guests to get their behinds into this grill, and ask for the