Page 21 of Holding Ground

I’m not sure why it gets under my skin so much that he has such a low opinion of me, but it does.

Whatever. I’m not here to make peace with Elliott. I’m here because I have a job to do, and today that involves checking out the Hollow Pine Café and chatting with the owner.

Half an hour later, I park my car on Main Street and make my way along the sidewalk to the café.

Directly across the street is a hardware store and the Bait & Tackle shop that seem to share a small parking lot. The weight of someone’s attention presses on me as I make my way up to the door of the café. When I turn to investigate, I spot three older men with coffee thermoses in hand sitting on lawn chairs in front of the Bait & Tackle store, all staring at me.

Unsure what to do, I raise a hand, and they return the gesture.

I’ll have to make time to stop and chat with them at some point.

I step inside the café decorated by someone committed to several competing aesthetics. There are antlers on the wall beside a huge framed photo of the Rat Pack and a pink neon sign that says OPEN. Checkered curtains top off the overall look, adding a grandma vibe to the place.

The woman behind the counter is maybe fifty, maybe older, and has on bright red lipstick the same shade as a firetruck. Her dyed blond hair is pinned up in a way that appears effortless, but I know it probably took her at least a half hour. She’s pouring coffee for a man in a flannel jacket.

“I told him you’d never catch me on one of those reality dating shows, airing out all my dirty laundry for the whole world to see. None of those relationships ever work out, and you can’t tell me any different.” She finishes pouring and looks at me. “Hey, sweetheart. Go ahead and sit anywhere.”

I slide onto a stool at the counter a few seats down from the man. It seems he’s just finishing his meal because no sooner have I sat down than he stands and throws some cash on the counter.

“Thanks, Rick. Don’t be such a stranger.” The woman gives him a flirty smile and slides the bills off the counter, straight into the pocket of her apron. It’s such a smooth, practiced maneuver that I can tell she’s probably done it a thousand times.

“Coffee?” She’s already walking toward me with the coffeepot in hand.

“Please.” I pick up the coffee mug in front of me and turn it over, and she pours it. “Thanks.”

I lift the mug to my lips and take a sip. My eyes close of their own volition at the mouthful of heaven sliding down my throat. I’ll have to get a coffeemaker for the bunkie.

When I open my eyes, the woman in front of me is smirking. “People expect crappy diner coffee. I love to surprise ’em.” She winks, then extends her hand. “Dottie Kerns. I own this place.”

I take her hand. “Emelia Greene. I’m⁠—”

“The one who works for a developer. Staying in Elliott’s bunkie. From Boston, but if I’m hearing right, not originally? You’re prettier than they said. Gotta admit, I don’t love the competition.” She laughs and sets down the pot. “Oh, look at you, unsure what to say. This is Echo Lake, sweetheart. The Thermos Crew filled me in.”

My mouth opens, then closes. I’m not sure what to say. I mean, news never traveled this fast in Sunrise Bay.

Dottie waves her hand in front of her. “They don’t mean harm. Just a bunch of old men with nothing but time on their hands. You eaten?”

“I don’t eat breakfast.”

She makes a buzzing sound. “I’ll bring you some eggs. Or do you prefer toast or pancakes? Don’t say toast. You look like you could use some pancakes. Heartier for the bones. Maybe with some strawberries and whipped cream on top.”

“Um…okay, the pancakes, I guess?”

“Good girl.”

Dottie disappears back into the kitchen, reappearing less than a minute later. She leans on the counter across from me, chin in hand, studying me with frank curiosity.

I might have come here to chat her up and get a read on her and her feelings about a developer coming into town, but she’s obviously just as curious about me.

“So how’s the bunkie?”

“The bunkie’s great.” I take another sip of the delicious coffee, trying to figure out the flavors hitting my tongue.

“And how’s Elliott handling having you fifty feet from his back door?”

“I think ‘handling’ is generous.”

Dottie laughs—a real one. A loud bark that slips into a giggle and it’s enough to have two people sitting near the window glance over. “Oh, I like you. He’s a good man, Elliott. Quite the looker too. But he can be stubborn and bullheaded.” She taps the counter once. “He doesn’t do change, if you get what I mean, but don’t tell him I said that.”