AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her furious hiss has me laughing on the way out.
But my joy fades. I get into my squad and take the long drive away from Cash’s log ranch house to my beach cottage on Boiler. Heatstroke is on the cusp of fall, and I leave my window down and breathe in the smells. A distant campfire, a soft whiff of mesquite, and the salt of sea air.
I don’t love anyone except my family and this town. But Heatstroke doesn’t love me back.
Inside my cottage, I head to the kitchen and root around in the cupboard for cat food before pouring some into a bowl and setting it out on the back porch for the stray cat I’m trying to convince to live with me. Then I switch on the TV and flick through to a music channel. One of Cash’s songs is playing, and I grit my teeth.
It pisses me off that Cash doesn’t think I can do it. Or that I shouldn’t do it.
Fuck.
All of my siblingshavesomething.
Cash is a fucking famous country music star. Hannah was a straight-A student and is a librarian. Leo plays rugby for the Eagles. Fuck, even Lily is doing what she wants. What she loves. She’s a reality TV star, for fuck’s sake.
And what am I? The brother nobody takes seriously.
Fuck it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to run for sheriff. I can’t be the only Taylor in my family who doesn’t do the family proud.
After a shower, I place my camera on its tripod, set up the timer, and then sit down on the edge of my bed, grasping the white sheets and staring dead-on. The camera clicks.
I go to bed alone.
Four
MARCI
“You’re an angel, Marci.”
Todd blinks rheumy eyes at me over his plate of sunny side up eggs and the mug of black coffee at the counter in my diner.
I smile at him. “How’s Cora doing?”
“Oh, she’s having a blast working at the library. Always got her head in a book and a cup of coffee halfway to her mouth. Not that I can talk,” he says, lifting the cup and taking a sip. “You make the best coffee in the country. I’ve got good news, though.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I started a job as Heatstroke’s only taxi driver. So, you need a ride, you give me a call,” he says.
“That’s amazing news, Todd. Congrats!”
I sweep back to the open window that looks in on the kitchen. My chef, Grant, frowns at me from behind the grill, halfway through cooking another morning special.
“You going to keep letting him do that? He’s going to have to pay his tab at some point. Unless you’re planning on turning this place into a soup kitchen.”
“Have I ever been late on your salary, Grant?”
“No. But that don’t matter,” he says, flipping a sausage criss-crossed with grill marks. “I’m more concerned about the overall wellbeing of the restaurant.”
“We’re fine.”
But it’s a lie. We are most definitelynotfine. The Heartstopper, my father’s legacy, is emptier than I’d like it to be. We might be popular with the locals, but not everyone can afford to eat out. And when the tourist season officially ends, we’ll be plunged into another punishing fall.
I’m already starting to panic. And plan.
There’s got to be a way to drum up more enthusiasm for the diner, and I’m determined that this season is going to be the difference-maker.
I grab my phone from inside my purse and set it on the countertop, casting my gaze around the place, the linoleum, the bright red booths, the retro-styling, and the pictures of my father on the walls, many of those images with customers who loved him.
