Page 121 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
The truck is a symphony of controlled chaos. Uncle Peter and I work the grill with methodical precision, flipping burgers and calling out completed orders. Aunt Charlene moves between the fryer and helping Daniel prep ingredients. Adam and Jenny pack orders, while Rachel takes orders and Lexi handles the pickup window.
“Order up for the Shane!” Lexi calls, sliding a bag across the counter. “Two classic burgers, one veggie!”
“We’re running low on prep for the specialty burgers,” Daniel announces, squeezing past me to grab more containers from our makeshift prep station. His forearms are covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his Louise’s Table t-shirt clinging to his back. Despite the heat and pressure, he’s still grinning like this is the best day ever.
“By the way, I know a couple of food bloggers who are supposed to be here today,” he adds casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Texted them this morning and told them they had to stop by.”
“Of course you did,” I say, unable to keep the affectionate exasperation from my voice. Daniel Wright and his endless connections.
He flashes that boyish smile that probably gets him out of all sorts of trouble. “You’re welcome.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferable?”
“Frequently,” he replies cheerfully, already heading back to his station. “Usually right before they thank me.”
The next hour passes in a blur of burgers and tickets, smiles and thank-yous. I fall into a rhythm with Uncle Peter, the two of us moving between the grill and the fryer. My initial nervousness has evaporated, replaced by a focus that makes time slip by unnoticed.
When I hear a woman tell Rachel that she remembers going to Louise’s Table as a child and she can’t wait for our reopening, I don’t think it’s possible to feel happier than I am at that moment.
* * *
During a brief lull, I find myself at the back of the truck, gulping water from a plastic bottle.
“Man, you and Dad are killing it,” Rachel says, appearing beside me for her own water break. “I don’t think he’s stopped moving since we opened.”
I glance over at my uncle, who’s still working the grill with the same steady focus he had hours ago. “You can tell he loves this,” I tell her. “Being busy, feeding people. The restaurant being quiet these last few years has been hard on him.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem anymore,” Rachel says, nodding toward the window. “Look at that line.”
It’s true; the line stretches well past the neighboring vendor. I spot Daniel chatting with a couple of girls near the front of the line. His food blogger friends, I assume.
“Those friends of Daniel’s have been taking a ton of pictures with him,” Lexi says, joining us with a slight eye roll. “He’s absolutely preening.”
Rachel and I exchange a look at Lexi’s rare moment of commentary on Daniel. “He does enjoy being the center of attention,” I agree carefully.
“Mmm,” Lexi hums noncommittally, but there’s the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes before she turns away.
Adam slides in behind me, his arms circling my waist for a brief moment. “Holding up okay?” he murmurs against my ear.
I lean back into him, allowing myself this small moment of connection amidst the chaos. “Better than okay. This is… this is everything I hoped for.”
“Told you it would be okay,” Adam says, pressing a quick kiss to my head before releasing me.
As I return to the grill, I catch Uncle Peter’s eye. He gives me a small nod, just a slight inclination of his head, but in it I see everything: pride, approval, love. We’re going to be okay, Louise’s Table is going to be okay, and maybe, just maybe, this is only the beginning.
45
Chapter 45
Caitlin
The gravel crunches under my tires as I park beside Adam’s truck. I sit for a moment, hands still on the wheel, taking in the sight before me. It’s been several months since I’ve been out here. First, there were the restaurant renovations and festival preparations, and then the complete flood of customers since our reopening that has occupied my every waking moment. While work on the house had been inching towards completion, it hadn’t been there yet. I thought work had stalled and assumed we’d pick it back up when things calmed down. But the pristine white exterior and freshly painted green shutters tell a different story. Adam hasn’t stopped at all.
I step out of my car into the cool autumn air. The transformation is stunning. The sagging porch has been rebuilt; its weathered boards replaced with smooth new planking. A porch swing hangs from sturdy chains, swaying gently in thebreeze. The overgrown gardens that once threatened to swallow the walkway have been cleared out, the soil freshly turned and waiting for new life. Every window gleams with new glass, catching the afternoon sun.
“How did you…” I whisper to no one, shaking my head in disbelief.
I approach the front steps slowly, running my hand along the new railing. The wood is smooth beneath my fingertips, the paint still smelling faintly fresh. The stubborn door that has stuck and creaked for years, opens smoothly when I turn the knob, no pressure against my shoulder needed to force it open.
