1
Kenzie
“Two specials today, meatloaf and chicken fried steak,” I say with a robotic tone and a wide yawn.
Mr. Martino’s head tips. “Today’s Wednesday, Kenzie.”
I look across the room at the bank calendar with the big black numbers. “Well, look at that. It is Wednesday.”
I’m losing days of the week, great.
But when every day is just like the last one, it’s bound to happen.
And that means it’s only two days to Valentine’s Day. The day for lovers. That’s just another dream.
“So today is fried chicken and roast beef specials like every week?” the octogenarian says with a lopsided grin and a smartass tone.
Nothing ever changes.
I sigh. “Exactly. I’ll give you a minute to think.” I walk away.
I know what he’s going to get. He gets the same dish every Wednesday. Roast beef special with double corn, no mashed potatoes.
Who doesn’t like mashed potatoes and gravy? That’s practically un-American, right?
I put the order in. If he doesn’t want it, someone will or maybe I’ll actually get to eat a lunch for once.
Ha. That’ll never happen.
I don’t know why I even say the specials. Ninety-nine percent of the people in this room have been here every Wednesday for the last hundred and twenty Wednesdays that I’ve worked here. Used to work at the Briggs’s hardware store, but Jameson Briggs, the elder of the Briggs clan who own everything in this dozing-off town, thought it wasn’t right for a girl to work in what he saw as a “man’s job.”
I roll my eyes at the memory.
But being a waitress is perfectly fine, apparently.
Essie Travers slips through the door, followed by Thad Underwood twenty seconds later. She sits at the counter and he takes a seat four seats away. He swivels on the circular, red leather topped stool as if he’s taking in the room, but in reality, he’s taking in Essie. They’ve played this little flirting game for the last year. It’s cute and it’s clear they like each other, but thus far only a few pleasantries and nothing more. I hope they actually talk to each other one of these days, but I know better. Hoping doesn’t get me or them anywhere. And taking a leap to doing something different is hard to do. There’s a fear that’s been drilled into me from childhood.
The bell rings in the window from the kitchen. “Sheriff’s order up!”
And then there’s that.
I deliver Sheriff Colt Briggs’s lunch to the sheriff’s office-slash-jail-slash drunk tank on the weekdays at noon sharp. It’s myGroundhog Day.
I grab Mr. Martino’s meal off the ledge and walk it to him first. I have five minutes before I need to leave to get the meal to Colt on time. I could walk there in my sleep.
“Here’s your order.” I place it in front of Mr. Martino and he chuckles.
“I don’t even remember ordering, but it’s exactly what I wanted. Thanks, sweetcheeks.”
Yes, I know. And don’t call me sweetcheeks!
“You’re welcome. Enjoy,” I say with a smile that feels plastered on my face.
My boss, Caitlin, points to the bag. “You want me to…” Her eyes catch on something behind me and I hear the five-inch heels announcing a presence that’s not what I need right now.
It’s fifty-degrees out and most people are still bundled to the hilt, but she wouldn’t dare cover up her latest pedicure from the big city of Denver.
I spin. “Hello, Mom.”