The Moment We Began (A Fairhope New Adult Romance) (21 page)

He searches the sleeping bag for my clothes, then
tosses them to me.

“Come on, get dressed,” he says, a
smile playing at his lips. “I don’t know about you, but
I’m suddenly very hungry for pancakes.”

My stomach growls at the thought, but I frown at
the clothes in my hand. “We can’t go back to the same
diner wearing the same clothes we wore yesterday,” I say.
“Plus, I desperately need a shower.”

Mason shakes his head and laughs. “If this
trip is about pushing boundaries, then I dare you to forget, just
once, what other people might think of you,” he says. “We
can grab breakfast, then come back and shower, I promise. But just
this once, screw what anyone else thinks about what you’re
wearing or what you look like and just go with the moment.”

“I’m all for pushing boundaries,”
I say, “but this is not just about what other people think.
This is about feeling clean and not totally disgusting when I’m
eating breakfast.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says.
“I’ll get your bag so you can change clothes, but the
shower has to wait.”

“Deal.”

He unzips the tent and steps outside. I lay back
against the ground and pull the sleeping bag up to my chin. It smells
like him and I breathe in, a satisfied grin playing at the corners of
my mouth.

Mason and I decide to stay for a while.

We fall into a rhythm in this little beach
community. A lot of the campers are there for just a night or two,
but a few of them, like us, are there for a week or two. The lady in
the Taj Mahal tent with her red cups and vodka is named Linda. She
and her husband, Dodger, are from Indiana, but they like to spend a
few months every summer here on the gulf. We’ve spent several
nights over by their tent playing cards. Linda keeps trying to get me
to drink some of her vodka, but I keep playing it off, saying I don’t
drink anymore. Mason doesn’t question it.

The girl Mason was talking to that first day, left
at the end of the weekend, and I was honestly glad to see her go.
There was something about the way she looked at Mason that made me
want to drop-kick her.

Most of the people we’ve met have been super
nice, though, and I realize Mason was right. People do treat us
differently than they would have if they knew we came from money.
It’s a strange thing, really. I’m the same person either
way, but the way they see me is different. To them, I’m just a
normal girl hanging out with her boyfriend on a camping trip. There’s
nothing to prove. I can just be myself.

Back home, I was always special. People were
afraid to insult me or get on my bad side, but these people just say
what they want to say and they aren’t worried about what I’ll
think of them. They just act like themselves.

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact difference,
but I feel like I’m one of them rather than always apart. I
also feel like I don’t have to constantly work so hard to
impress everyone. I can just sit back and not be the center of
attention and it’s okay. It feels good, really.

We spend a lot of time on the beach and every time
I put on my bikini, I stare at my belly, expecting to see some kind
of change. It’s still flat, but for how much longer? My breasts
have definitely gotten more tender over the past few days.

I’ve noticed a few other changes, too. Like
little cramps and tugs in my belly. And I get tired a lot easier.
Some days after spending an hour at the beach, all I want to do is
curl up in the tent and sleep for the rest of the day.

Nighttime is my favorite. Mason and I snuggle up
next to the fire talking for hours. Some nights we have sex and some
nights we just hold each other, but I feel closer to him with each
passing day.

Every morning we get up and head to Dottie’s
for breakfast. Mason gets coffee every day, but I lie and say I’m
trying to cut back. I don’t think it’s good for the baby
and I don’t want to take any extra risks.

We’ve gotten to know the regulars there
pretty well, but mostly, I’ve fallen in love with Delores.

Or rather, Delores’ cooking.

She’s an artist. I’ve eaten food
cooked by some of the world’s premiere chefs and have never had
anything taste so amazing as what she cooks right here in her greasy
little kitchen.

Her husband, Buddy, is often the one cooking, but
I’ve learned that almost all of the recipes belong to Delores.
She’s been cooking since she was ten years old, because her
mother had a degenerative bone disease and was in a wheel chair
through most of Delores’ childhood. That left Delores, as the
oldest of five children, to take on chores like cooking and cleaning
and when she was old enough, driving.

She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known.
She has a lot of attitude and pretends to be tough, but on the
inside, she’s a jelly donut. So stinking sweet.

More than once, I’ve seen her handing out
food to children out back. This, above all things, makes me love her.
When I ask her about it, she always tells me to mind my own business,
but I know what she’s doing. None of those children ever pay
for the food and sometimes she loads them up with bags and bags from
the kitchen. The grateful look in the eyes of those kids tells the
real story there.

This morning, while Mason and I are finishing up
our food, I overhear a piece of a conversation between Buddy and
Delores about the diner’s finances. They aren’t arguing,
exactly, but I can tell they’re stressed about something.

Delores is sitting at the counter with a stack of
receipts. Buddy is on the kitchen side, leaning over the counter.
Sometimes Delores says something that makes Buddy lower his face into
his hands.

“What’s up with you this morning?”
Mason asks. “You’re so quiet.”

I lean closer to him. “I’ve been
trying to listen in on their conversation.”

I nod my head toward the counter, trying not to be
too obvious. Mason turns and looks, and I cringe.

I grab his hand. “Don’t look,” I
say. “I don’t want her to know I’m listening.”

“I can hear you, girlie,” Delores
says, not even bothering to turn around. “Don’t think I
haven’t noticed you eying me all morning like a nosy-pants.”

I twist my body to the side. “You’ve
been turned around the whole time,” I say. “There’s
no way you’ve seen me looking.”

She taps the shiny napkin dispenser with her
pencil.

“Oh,” I say.

“Oh,” she repeats, mocking me.

I grab my juice and stand up. I walk over and sit
a couple of seats down from her. “Since I’ve obviously
been eavesdropping anyway, you want to tell me what’s got you
guys whispering so much over here?”

She frowns at me. “How many times do I have
to tell you that you need to stay out of my damn business?”

“Maybe I can help,” I say.

She rolls her eyes and throws her hands up. “Well,
Buddy, we didn’t realize we’ve had a financial consultant
eating breakfast in our diner every day for the past week and a
half.”

Buddy eyes me. “I don’t know, Delores.
She looks like she might be the college type. She might be camping
out at our beach, but she’s wearing three hundred dollar boots.
Maybe she could help. God knows we need somebody’s help.”

Worry gnaws at my stomach. “What’s
wrong? Is the diner in some kind of trouble?”

Delores clenches her jaw and the muscles in her
face tense.

Mason comes to stand beside me. He puts his hand
on my arm. “Don’t be rude, Pen. If they wanted to share
their private business with you, they’d have asked for your
opinion. Come on, let’s get out to the beach. It’s
supposed to rain this afternoon and I want to enjoy the sun while
it’s out.”

I’m not giving up that easy. Maybe it’s
really none of my business, but I probably could help them. My dad
taught me a lot about money management growing up. Besides, she’s
doing something good for those kids and now I have a soft spot for
this run-down place.

“I know a thing or two about running a
business,” I say. It’s just about the most personal thing
I’ve told them about who I am. “I’d be happy to
take a look if you want.”

Delores looks at me, then at Buddy. He nods at her
and she throws her hands up in the air.

“You might as well,” she says. “But
the numbers are going to add up the same whether it’s me doing
them or some fancy college girl.”

She stands and pushes the stack of receipts toward
me.

I look to Mason, eyebrows raised.

“Go ahead,” he says. “I don’t
know that you should get involved, but if you want to try, go for it.
I’m going to go swimming for a while. Maybe stop by the dock
and see if anyone’s catching anything today.”

“Okay,” I say. I grab his hand and
give it a squeeze. “Say hi to Malcom for me, will ya?”

Malcom is one of the old guys we’ve made
friends with while we’ve been here. He’s out there
fishing every day, rain or shine.

“Will do,” he says. I can tell from
the tone of his voice that he’s not happy with this, but he’s
just going to have to deal with it.

This place has become a home away from home for
us. I would hate to see it close down.

When Mason leaves, it’s just me, Buddy and
Delores left in the place.

“So tell me, how long do you think you’ve
got?” I ask.

She eyes me. “What are you talking about?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I heard you tell
Buddy that you thought you didn’t have much time left before
the bank came calling. I want to know how long you’ve got.”

She looks to Buddy and again, he nods.

“If we’re going to let her take a
look, we might as well tell her the whole deal.”

“Fine,” Delores says. She pulls a pack
of cigarettes out of her apron and lights up.

There’s no smoking allowed in restaurants in
this state, but I’m not about to say anything. Besides, it’s
her place. I just don’t know how bad second-hand smoke would be
for the baby. I stare at the cigarette and she raises an eyebrow,
then puts it out without saying a word.

“According to this letter we got this
morning, we’ve got sixty days until they start proceedings to
shut us down,” she says. Her hand trembles slightly as she
pours herself a fresh cup of coffee.

I don’t show it on my face, but only having
sixty days means it’s gotten pretty bad. A lot of times, the
bank will work with a small business like this for a long time as
long as they can pay a little bit. Especially when it’s one of
the only businesses of its kind in such a small community.

“Well, let me take a look and see what I can
find.”

I get to work for the rest of the morning and
Delores brings me any paperwork I ask for along the way. By noon,
I’ve determined that Dottie’s has been losing money
consistently for about three years now. Just a slow trickle, but over
time, they’ve managed to dig themselves into a pretty deep
hole.

I think about all those kids who bring home food
to their families because of Delores’ kindness.

“How long have you been giving food to the
kids?” I ask when Dottie comes to sit back down beside me.

She hesitates. This is obviously something she’s
been doing under the table, and I can see she doesn’t want to
talk about it.

“How long?” I ask again.

She closes her eyes and takes in a breath. “Three
years,” she says. “Give or take. I used to sneak some
food to some of the poorer families in town when Dottie was still
alive, but if she’d ever found out, she would have fired me in
a heartbeat. But when Buddy and I took over, it started small and
just grew.”

I nod. Her voice is wobbly, and it’s the
first time I’ve seen her close to tears.

“I know I shouldn’t give away our
profits like that, but if you saw the way some of these kids live,”
she says. “It would just break your heart, I’m telling
you.”

“Okay, but you’ve at least got to
start charging for everything people order. Like drinks and sides and
stuff.” I look at my notes again. “I’ve looked at
all the numbers, and I’m telling it to you straight. Unless you
have some miracle surge of tourist to this area, you’re going
to fold.”

Buddy rubs his forehead and Delores grips the
counter.

“This place is all we’ve got,”
she says. “We took out a second mortgage on our house just for
the down payment on this place. I’m scared if we lose Dottie’s,
we’re gonna lose our house, too. I don’t know what we’re
going to do. We’ve been struggling for so long, just to stay
afloat, but this summer just wasn’t what it needed to be. Too
much rain this season and too many business along the strip closing
down. Everyone’s been moving on to the bigger coastal towns.
Now that we’re getting toward the end of the season, I’m
scared as hell. We don’t get any visitors around here during
the winter months and there’s really only a couple of weeks
left of the summer rush, and that’s if we’re lucky.”

“If you stopped giving food away for a few
months—”

“No,” she says. She puts her hand on
my arm, and I think it’s the first time she’s ever
actually touched me.

I look up and meet her eyes. She wants me to see
how serious she is about this issue.

“Without this diner, those kids would near
starve in the summers,” Buddy says. “When school’s
in, the kids get breakfast and lunch, but during the summer, they’re
lucky if they eat once a day. What Delores does for those kids is…”

His voice trails off.

“Yes, but if lose the diner completely,
you’ll never be able to help them,” I say.

My heart is breaking for them. This is the kind of
thing I have been telling my mom about forever. She’s so set on
sending money to help starving children overseas when there are kids
in our own communities who go without eating for days.

The fact that Delores helps so much when she has
so little makes me feel guilty for not doing more with my own money.