Find Me on 4th Street

By Colleen Kanten Carbol

Upon the graduation of her precocious daughter, long-time single mother Jennifer Landrie recognizes the opportunity she has been longing for. She can now open her very own coffee shop, knowing her employer and best friend Hank Larson will stand behind her. The plan is in motion—that is, until she sets a menu in front of a striking young contractor. When Geoff Armistad flips off his tortoise-shell glasses, Jennifer is immediately dragged into echoes of the past. With eyes as laser-blue as her late husband's, Geoff represents more questions than answers. Furthermore, when feelings blossom for Hank—who may never abandon the memory of his deceased wife—Jennifer finds herself burdened by past grief and future hopes alike. As Geoff is contracted to help with the renovation of Jennifer's coffee shop, Jen's Place on Fourth Street could be the sanctuary of healing each of them needs, if only they would let it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Feb 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9780228884620

Colleen Kanten Carbol

Colleen Kanten Carbol is the author of the inspirational romance novel, Find Me on 4th Street. She discovered her love of writing while communing with the bubbling brook near her childhood home in Red Deer, Alberta. She now delivers home-grown Canadian classics that offer hope for a simpler life in our busy times. She resides in beautiful British Columbia, just a hug away from her children and grandchildren and their menagerie of pets.

Book preview

Copyright © 2023 by Colleen Kanten Carbol

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-8461-3 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-8460-6 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-8462-0 (eBook)

"A father of the fatherless,

a defender of widows

is God in His holy habitation.

God sets the solitary

in families."

Psalm 68:5-6

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Acknowledgements

One

April 19

BECKY NEEDS A NAPPY. LIFT HER OFF MY LAPPY, SLEEPY, SOFT AND HAPPY…

As Jennifer spoke the familiar words and closed the worn book she was reading, the little body in her arms began to wilt. Jennifer gently moved a limp curl away from her daughter’s cheek, and lifted her toward the bed.

Four-year-old Becky tightened her arms around her mother’s neck with a sigh. Wake me up when Daddy gets here, okay? she said. Jennifer murmured her assent, kissing the child’s contented face as she lowered her into her bed. She pulled the blanket up to Becky’s chin and softly affirmed their nap-time benediction. Lord Jesus, bless my little girl and watch her as she sleeps. Becky’s eyes were already drooping. Her mother’s overflowed with devotion.

As she passed the kitchen counter, Jennifer paused to pour a cup of coffee. She set it in the living room next to her faithful old sofa. There the fragrant steam misted toward the petals of a yellow rose, where she sat down and inhaled deeply. Each time before Dawson left on a sales trip, he quietly placed a single rose in a crystal vase and left it on the end-table. He’d also sign his business card with his initials in the form of a kiss, and slip it between the petals—his reminder of the faithfulness he never failed to affirm. A warm wave of delight shivered through her as she pictured her husband’s gentle fingers surrounding the vase.

Today the rose leaned toward a new silver frame into which Jennifer had placed the most recent portrait of her adored family. She admired it unashamedly and surrounded each member with her prayers. Sometimes she giggled through those prayers as Dawson’s laughing eyes caught her glance.

She had been coaxing him for months to grow a beard. By the time he agreed to make his visit to the barber, the developing facial hair had reached an ideal length, and the barber had trimmed it to perfection. Jennifer chuckled, remembering the seductive twinkle that had sparked in Dawson’s blue eyes when he first presented her with his classy trim and sideburns. She hoped he’d keep his new look forever.

Something else caught her attention today. This time, instead of the usual business card, the petals of the rose held a tiny envelope. Jennifer picked up her mug and sat down just as their mixed terrier, Spooky, jumped to the couch beside her with round eyes that begged for attention. As he snuggled near her side, she rubbed his ears, at the same time reaching toward the message-bearing rose. She removed the envelope from between the leaves, caressing it lovingly.

The Lord had been so good to her. For the next moments, she sipped her coffee and contemplated the praises in her heart. God had given her Dawson, the sweetest and smartest man in the world—her first crush, her first date, and the only one she planned ever to love.

Even before they were married, Dawson had begun climbing the corporate ladder of his insurance company. She didn’t expect them to be wealthy any time soon, but the future looked promising. The trip from which he was returning today would undoubtedly be another successful venture.

Jennifer was barely nineteen when he had lifted the entire five-foot-four, 126 pounds of her—wedding gown and all—over the threshold of their new address and into the future. She still felt the thrill of the words: Do you, Jennifer Rose Carradine, take this man for your lawful wedded husband? Yes, yes! She wanted to sing her yes a dozen times.

A year later God had blessed them with Robbie, certified carrier of his father’s dominant genes: laughing cerulean blue eyes and wavy dark hair. They’d hardly been able to wait the three long years for the arrival of his sister, Becky. Life was beautiful. The few spats they had experienced were brief and always educational.

Jennifer was glad that Dawson had opted to take Robbie with him into the Rockies this trip, where he would close a deal with Martin and Martin Insurance in Princeton. She willingly, yet reluctantly, endured regular absences like these—absences that always served to draw her and Dawson closer.

Robbie, you’ll be good for Daddy, won’t you? She’d hugged him, kissing his cheek as he scrabbled into the back of the car. She buckled him into his car seat and slipped around to the driver’s side to deliver a hug and plant a kiss on Dawson’s lips. The lengthening new growth on his upper lip tickled. She stepped away and listened to him gun the motor. As he’d pulled out of the drive-way yesterday she’d taken a deep breath and prayed aloud for her two favourite men in the whole world. Her husband’s eyes lit up when he turned his Daddy-glance backward at his personal traveling buddy. Dawson’s spirits always seemed to be lifted by the companionship of his little son.

Even after the satisfying interaction reading with Becky, Jennifer still felt strangely dragged down with unsolicited heaviness. Although Dawson’s recurring melancholy at this same time each year was always of short duration, it nagged at her heart, nonetheless, as his unspoken memories sometimes threatened to surface. She wished Dawson could forget his perceived mistakes and just let go of whatever tended to bother him. She was so thankful this trip had been only an overnighter. She longed for the familiar reassurance of his arms and the newness of his designer beard. He’d be home soon. Aching to welcome their shared tenderness, she waited impatiently for the sound of the car.

She looked down at Spooky, his tail thumping on the floor. She frowned. It’s not your fault, Spook, she told him as she patted his grey haunches affectionately. I just can’t seem to get enough comfort from your furry little self when Dawson’s away. Never mind. They’ll soon be home and we’ll make it all happy again.

Jennifer turned her focus to the envelope she held. Let’s see what my Sweetie has put between the petals this time. She opened the message with careful fingers. Honey-Rose, she read aloud to their pet. Please schedule a baby-sitter. I want to take you on a long picnic by the stream and talk to you about an ache in my heart. We need some private time. You are God’s gift to my soul. I love you, darling. Daws.

Spooky whimpered and tilted his head upward. Jennifer laughed and scratched his scruffy neck as she reached for her coffee mug. So, Spooky, you’ll get to stay home with the kiddles and I’ll be the one who gets to go out—with Daddy—and have fun.

The ring of the door-bell startled her. She wasn’t expecting anyone this afternoon except Dawson and Robbie. She set her mug on the end-table, hurried to the front door and swung it open.

Jennifer leveled her puzzled gaze at a badge clipped to the lapel of a crisp RCMP uniform. In the distance, beyond the glint of the badge, a police car was parked at the curb. The flashing of red and blue lights would be an image she’d never forget. She lifted her eyes to meet those of the officer looking down at her, and her shock collided with the concern in his somber, silent expression.

Mrs. Landrie?

Ye—es.

May I step inside?

Her heart responded with a thud and made a slow spin to the pit of her stomach.

Mrs. Landrie. The officer spoke reverently as he removed his cap. "I… I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but… there’s been an accident.

Two

Thirteen Years Later

JENNIFER TURNED HER KEY IN THE APARTMENT DOOR, brows lifting in surprise to find it already unlocked. Becky must be home early.

Waves of contentment washed over her as she anticipated the evening amidst the comforts of their two-bedroom apartment and the things that identified as home. Their white Ikea kitchen. The cushy feel of the new seating she and Becky had chosen last year to match the variegated area rug. The uplifting mood of wall colors recently repainted in the muted jewel tones they both loved. She’d been looking forward all morning to a lively chat inspired by Becky’s usually enthusiastic day in high school.

Yoo-hoo honey, I’m home, Jennifer called, dropping two bags of groceries and kicking off her boots just inside the entryway. The place was too quiet and too dark.

She reached unsuccessfully for the light switch and tripped over the backpack on the floor of the dimly-lit hallway. Catching herself in mid-stumble, she rounded the corner into the living area to the sound of deep sighs.

Becky sat stiffly on the sofa-bed, her jacket jumbled on the carpet in front of her. As her mother walked into the room, she flipped her long pony-tail over her head and buried her face in her lap, pounding the sofa seats with dramatic fists.

Jennifer knew her daughter. These moans sounded theatrical.

She dropped to her knees in front of the couch. Sweetie, what is it? Didn’t your test go well? She took Becky’s hands. It can’t be as bad as all that, can it?

Becky lifted her head, wide blue eyes bright and tearless. I’m just mad. I failed my driver’s test! I failed. How could I be so stupid?

Jennifer managed to keep the twitch of a smile off her lips as she said, I’m so sorry. But that was just your first try, wasn’t it? And please don’t call yourself stupid.

"Well, yes, it was my first try. But I aced my written exam—and now this." Jennifer smiled at her daughter’s disgusted expression. Long lashes blinked indignantly below Becky’s dark eyebrows. She had just turned seventeen in May, and the drama of her sixteenth year was back for a re-run. The hope of carrying her own learner’s license had kept her on a high for weeks. Obviously today’s disaster was too good to waste.

You know the answer to this one, Becky. How many times did Edison try to perfect that light bulb before he succeeded?

Oh Mom, the lighting illustration is getting a little tired, don’t you think? She dismissed the suggestion with a toss of her wrist.

Jennifer laughed. All right, it is. But it’s still worth remembering. You already said you aced your written exam and—

But I flopped the important one. Besides, the substitute driving-instructor was a smart-ass.

Jennifer raised her eyebrows. New vocabulary?

I’ve never had an occasion to use it before. As though her own words surprised her, a small giggle escaped. He’s a donkey.

Her eyes began to glimmer with a misting of real tears. I wish I had a dad. Then I wouldn’t have needed that annoying substitute trainer. My daddy could have taught me.

I’m sure he could have. There’s lots he would love to have done for both of us.

"Even you could you have taught me, instead of putting me in that Drivers Training course so somebody ‘licensed’ could be the teacher."

Becky wiped damp eye-lids with her fingertips. And I want to go home, she said. "I’m so tired of this skinny little rented corner of Nobleton. Last year at my party when we were watching The Princess Bride for the umptieth time, we were so sardined in we hardly knew whose popcorn we were eating. She sighed. Silly little bed-sitting room."

Becky’s words cut. Deeply. She longed to just let them go, but that wasn’t easy. Instead, they carried her back in time to Dawson and Robbie’s accident and the searing memory of the empty days that followed. Becky’s young brain had forgotten most things about the early trauma, but she did remember the life the two of them had shared since.

Memory. It’s making her blue—and she’s homesick.

Soon after the funeral, Jennifer had been able to scrape together enough funds to arrange a house mortgage and to keep her and Becky in their own home. Now that first home was gone with the savings safely ensconced in the bank. This small apartment was a less-than-perfect trade-off.

Becky must have seen the distress in her face.

Sorry, Mom. That was only a flashback. She looked as if she felt guilty.

Are you sure? Jennifer hesitated. Maybe it was a mistake to move if it makes you so unhappy.

"Not so unhappy. Just surprised to still be this lonely. It hits me once in a while. I even miss the Day-care kids we were looking after, even though they did take up a lot of my homework time."

A jolt of remorse shook Jennifer’s determined tranquility. Of course this move had been difficult for them. Knowing it was the end of an era meant saying good-bye to all that was familiar. Becky hadn’t quite let all those years go.

Jennifer was finished grieving the loss of their home and memories. She had known for several years that she, too, would look for new adventures when Becky finally found hers, and that they would both need financing for studies. The sudden offer of top dollar for their home last year, even when real estate in the area was slow, convinced her to make the move then, rather than wait until her daughter graduated. Still, she once again felt Becky’s clouds descend upon her shoulders.

I’m so sorry, honey. I wish our choices were easier…

Forget it, Mom. I’m already seventeen. Sure we’re squeezed. We both knew we’d be in tight quarters when we sold our house. I’m just feeling frustrated about my driving test. He tweaked my annoyance button and I think it got stuck.

It’s not going to stay that way, is it?

Nah. It was just the parallel parking. I’ll figure it out for next time.

Jennifer laughed. I had a hard time with that too. Without help from your daddy I’d probably still be driving around the block looking for two spaces. Jennifer brushed Becky’s dark waves away from her forehead, planted a light kiss, and took the groceries to the kitchen counter. And remembered the take-out food she’d left in the car.

Becky would you mind running out to the car for the Japamese food I left in the backseat?

Thanksgiving flooded through her as Becky responded instantly. She was gradually coming out of her allotted term of teen-age rebellion. Jennifer knew their decision to relocate would finally prove good for both of them. Becky would soon graduate and proceed with her plans to attend Vancouver’s University of British Columbia. Either they would move together to Vancouver in a year or so, or Becky would go by herself. Jennifer suspected her adventurous daughter would prefer to test her own wings.

And Jennifer had some important testing of her own to do, too. It really was time to start looking for something to replace her semi-volunteer duties at the thrift store—this time hopefully a better-paying position. And one of these days she planned to rediscover her own postponed dreams of a career.

As they sat down to the table with reheated chow-mien, Becky dropped her chop-sticks and picked up her fork. Her eyes flickered with teasing promise.

"You know, Mom, I will make it up to you some day—when I’m rich and famous."

Jennifer laughed. "And I’ll be happy to let you—when you’re rich and famous.

As Jennifer continued valiantly with her chop-sticks, wrestling with a piece of sushi in the soya dip, she took a moment to ponder.

Have you been thinking about where you would like to have dinner for your Big One? she asked. Remember, I promised you—about this time last year, wasn’t it?—that on your seventeenth birthday I’d take you out for the dinner of your dreams. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?

Becky’s eyes sparkled. "No I sure haven’t. Ever since Grandie’s birthday card arrived, I’ve been reminding myself I’m a whole year older. This last while, I’ve even begun to feel older, too. I got to thinking about it seriously after we got back from Wendy’s last week. Like maybe I’m not just a teen. I’m probably mature enough to appreciate something other than a squished-in pizza party and the kids’ movie we saw last year. She raised her eyebrows in alarm. But don’t misunderstand me! I did appreciate the fun—and the popcorn… and my crazy girl-friends. She grinned. But I’m seventeen! And I’ve been such a kid this past year—even at sixteen.

Jennifer laughed softly. Still young, yes. But kid, not so much. You’ve been proving yourself every day during grade eleven. I’m proud that you’ve made such good grades. And you haven’t bugged me even once about going out with some cute irresponsible guy. Well, maybe once. But you made me very proud when you thought about what I said and agreed with me!

Becky tossed back with a small giggle. Well, you can be sure I wouldn’t have agreed with you if you weren’t right.

Jennifer smiled as she laid down her chop-sticks. So where shall we present ourselves for your dinner?

How about I think about it as I go to sleep, Becky said, and we can talk about it in the morning?

Next morning after ready-to-eat cereal and toast, Jennifer watched her daughter twist her dark curly mop into a pony tail, scrunch up her face, and concentrate on the addition of a silver clip. Becky released her breath. Guess that’ll do.

She turned to her mother, flushed with anticipation. Jennifer gave her a quick hug.

So what did you think about when you went to sleep? She expected Becky to choose some upscale place in downtown Vancouver for her seventeenth celebration.

I went to sleep thinking about our choices, Becky said, "and I woke up still thinking about them. Have you noticed that new little cafe that just opened? It’s called the Rustic Diner. The sign said there’d be specials over the next two weeks. How about we go there?

"The Rustic Diner? Isn’t that where the old Food Mart used to be? Jennifer said, puzzled. Are you sure that’s special enough?"

Sure it is. I’m betting we’ll love it. You, especially. I saw this cute guy at the till when I peeked through the front window last week. Becky’s eyes were twinkling. He wasn’t a teenager, either… Besides, she added, it’s pretty expensive to drive all the way into Vancouver just for an evening out. Even one as hugely momentous as this."

Becky grinned. I’ll wear the new top and skinny jeans I bought at the mall with Grandie’s birthday money. And I’ll wear those gorgeous emerald earrings you gave me. Her blue-rimmed irises flashed with anticipation. We can go to an early movie first, and then have dinner—fashionably late, of course. It’ll be fun.

Sounds perfect, Jennifer said. She smiled, relieved.

But, Becky said firmly, I expect you to get all spiffed up, too. I want you to wear those silver heels from the back of your closet. And that blingy black dress you never put on. Incidentally, you’d better act like you’re the one who owns it, or I’ll be stealing it from you for a date pretty soon. I tried it on the other day, in case you didn’t know it. Jennifer laughed at Becky’s confession.

It was kind of loose most places, Becky said, but if I snugged it in at the waistline I could look nearly as curvy as you.

Jennifer felt thoroughly scrutinized as Becky tilted her head and suggested, Maybe you could even get your hair done up like you wore it for my teacher’s shower last January. Your hair is such a pretty shade of cappuccino you should show it off. Makes the amber flecks in your eyes sparkle.

Becky kissed Jennifer’s cheek and grabbed her backpack. Love you, Mom, she said, and headed out the door to school, leaving Jennifer standing in the doorway amused by Becky’s burst of authority, and surprised by her own surge of anticipation.

The cute guy at the till wasn’t a teen-ager? Was that what Becky said?

Three

IT WAS AFTER EIGHT IN THE EVENING, TWO DAYS LATER, when Jennifer and Becky stepped into the entrance of the Rustic Diner. Jennifer looked expectantly toward its subtly-lit dining room. Her gaze travelled upward to high timbered ceilings, then down toward the seating area. The pine walls, bedecked with ranch-scapes bordered in chunky, rough-hewn frames, made her feel warm and at home. Like she had at her grandparent’s farm.

Becky is right. This is an excellent setting for a seventeenth birthday celebration. Shivers of anticipation tip-toed through Jennifer’s arms and down into her three-inch heels. Yes, it was high time she and her daughter enjoyed a memory-making adult experience together. Thank you, Becky, she said. Looks like you’ve made a great choice. I have a feeling neither of us will be disappointed. Just smell the aroma coming from the kitchen.

She turned toward her daughter standing in the soft light, and recognized blossoming maturity. Becky, the bubbling little girl who always bore an expectation of fun, was undergoing a metamorphosis. The woman emerging from the chrysalis wore invisible butterfly wings and the same air of confidence that had been gently leading her out of her teens.

Emerald earrings winked close to a single dimple near her chin. She had traded her long pony-tail for a loose comb-out of the natural curls she had inherited from her father. Bouncing dark waves spilled over her shoulders like chocolate pudding. A touch of blush was just strong enough to enhance her cheek-bones and the curve of quirky brows that also resembled her daddy’s. Becky had forsaken last year’s hot pink evening bag for a leather one in a subtle gold shade to complement her trendy outfit. Her eyes shone bright and hopeful on this milestone evening.

Jennifer, wearing the requested black shift and heels, stood with satisfied pride beside her daughter. The two had begun to show a closer resemblance, now that Becky stood a whole inch taller than her mother.

Waiting here in the small, dimly lit foyer, Jennifer no longer felt embarrassed by the compliments Becky had paid her. This afternoon she’d managed to snag an appointment with her hairdresser for a rarely-worn up-do. Becky had gasped in pleased surprise. Jennifer decided to add the diamond-drop earrings Dawson gave her on their wedding day. Tonight she felt beautiful. That hadn’t happened very often in the fast-passing years.

What a cool place, Becky said.

For Opening Week the restaurant didn’t look very busy, although most of the round oak tables appeared to have been vacated just recently. A few of the antique lamps above the tables had been turned off. No one else waited with them in the cozy foyer, or paused to view the buffalo painting hanging there. But the warm atmosphere welcomed them, nonetheless, with an irresistible charm.

A balding man in rolled-up sleeves stood at the till, pleasantly chatting up an older couple finished with their dinner. A quiet assertiveness sparkled in his eyes as he rang in their payment and returned their change. Jennifer guessed him to be younger than his half halo of auburn-grey hair suggested. He was clean-shaven and tidy. Maybe just a bit past her own vibrant forty.

Jennifer didn’t know what impulse made her want to stand next to his shoulders to compare height. His steely-grey eyes—or were they dove-grey?—set widely beside his tapered nose, caught and held hers for breathless moments before he turned back to the till. He wasn’t tall, but she felt certain he stood at least four or five inches taller than her own five-foot-four—depending on her heels. He wasn’t heavy-set by any means, but the muscular forearms extending from those white shirt sleeves suggested strength to go with his wiry frame.

Jennifer heard him softly whistling an unidentifiable tune as his patrons left the restaurant. He’d undoubtedly notice her and Becky soon.

Tonight Becky’s flushed face had never looked more radiant. Expectation lit her features. Each time Jennifer glanced at her daughter, she was reminded of Becky’s brother Robbie and their daddy—the son and husband she would carry forever in her heart. She still grieved their absence—especially at these special moments when memory came coursing back. Robbie would have been nearing twenty. Unbelievable. How she missed them. Dawson would have been so gratified today.

But as long as I have Becky around, I’ll always be able to look into your wonderful blue eyes, my darling.

Jennifer returned abruptly to the present as Becky tugged at her lace sleeve.

Hey, Becky whispered, it does smell yumtious in here. I knew this would be the right place.

Yes, I think you absolutely did. Jennifer said.

A cheery server caught their glance and greeted them from the table she was clearing. As she approached, her expression changed slowly from welcome to apology.

I’m sorry, she said. Did you realize we close at eight?

Eight! Oh, no! Jennifer’s high hopes collapsed like her last soufflé. It took her several moments to collect herself and produce a normal sound in her voice box. I should have paid more attention to your hours. I shouldn’t have taken it for granted. Why didn’t I reserve? We wanted this seventeenth birthday to be so special. Jennifer watched her daughter’s hopeful expression wither, and her heart wrenched at the disappointment Becky must be feeling.

While Jennifer considered her options, she didn’t notice the cashier moving away from the counter until he caught her glance and stood to attention. The crinkles around his welcoming eyes made her feel instantly at home; eyes so warm their soft grey shimmered with silver. His wide smile embraced both her and Becky with respect.

Good evening ladies, he said. Abbie is mistaken. Jennifer noticed the server’s start of surprise.

"Just for you we shall designate tonight our special late night. May your meal be as delicious as this lovely young lady deserves on such a wonderful occasion. He turned to the server. Please seat the ladies at the VIP table, Abbie. As soon as they have been served their drinks you may consider your shift finished."

Abby seated them so quickly they hardly had time to feel uncomfortable. What can I get you to drink, ladies?

As Jennifer accepted the menu, she said, Mm..mm… what do you think, Bec? Got a craving for anything special?

The dimple low in Becky’s cheek emerged. Yes, in fact I do, she said. "I think I’d like to start with an icy, icy glass of Perrier with lemon and lime.

No problem, Abby said with a grin. And you?

Jennifer laughed. That sounds just fine. Same, please.

In moments Abby set their drinks before them—tall chunky glasses clinking with ice and rimmed with lemon and lime.

Be right back to take your orders. She smiled. Take your time.

Jennifer let her gaze wander about the inviting atmosphere, turning her menu absently. Every corner of the place, unusual and individualistic, spoke homey. Someone had designed this room with loving detail to the round oak tables, and the quiet western décor warming the fragrant atmosphere. The ambience blended both ageless and contemporary into an irresistible Present that wrapped her into it; as though she had been waiting all her life for this environment, and only tonight had found it. This Rustic Diner had transformed her ordinary little town of Nobleton into a fantasy of possibilities.

Jennifer surprised herself with words that voiced themselves almost without thought. You know, Becky… this place is so appealing I just might have to design one for myself.

Becky giggled. You do that, Designer Mom. But let’s order first.

I’m serious. When you graduate soon, and take your confident little self into the adult world all on your own, what is your mother going to do? I’m going to have to make some changes, too. Maybe I’ll have to go into a business something like this one. That could be fun.

Becky wrinkled her forehead and dismissed her mother’s comments with a grin. This was obviously not on Becky’s radar tonight.

Okay, now. Better concentrate, or Becky will think I left her for la-la land.

As she opened the menu, Jennifer brought herself back to the moment. The title page proclaimed Rustic Diner in letters drawn with fencing; the subtitle Country Organic.

Leading the breakfast list was Creamy Apple Cinnamon steel cut Oats or Blueberry Quinoa with farm cream and brown sugar. She skipped the free range egg options and turned to the next page.

The first suggestion in the entree section was Wild Alaskan Salmon, almond-crusted, dressed with lemon yogurt and served with organic vegetables of the day, followed by Northern grass-fed Buffalo Burger on ancient grains bun—your choice of trimmings.

Hey Mom, Becky said, I don’t know how we’re going to find something to eat in this place, after all. I’m not sure what half this stuff is. And listen to this. They have organic salads. And they serve milk that’s fresh from grass fed cows—and fair trade world-renowned Milano coffee bursting with flavour.

Jennifer tried to look serious as Becky giggled.

Becky pointed a pink-tipped finger at the bottom of the last page. Check this out. All foods served in this establishment are fresh and organic, free from toxins such as MSG, BPH, antibiotics and GMOs… I’ve heard of those things somewhere, I know, but I’ve never paid much attention … Her voice halted and a puzzled frown appeared between her eyes.

Well, Jennifer said, It’s certainly kind of them to give us all this valuable information. Most restaurants wouldn’t waste the space. She’d never seen a menu presented so uniquely. It was, at the least, amusing. She turned her attention back to the entrees. Actually, some of this sounds quite intriguing. Maybe we should go for the wild Alaskan salmon.

Mm… I don’t know. It does sound delicious for a celebration… but I’ve never tried buffalo, either. And you know how much I like hamburgers.

As they sipped their drinks Jennifer heard a quiet, but firm, male voice coming from the direction of the kitchen: No, Abbie, all is well. Thank you for your help. You hustle on home now.

But Hank…

Shush. You have assisted me long enough for one day. I will finalize closing details and see you tomorrow. Off you go!

Abbie did not show up again that evening. Hank did. He approached their table with a wide smile and a meticulous bow that formed a crease in his creamy satin vest. Pronounced shoulders pushed against the western design on his spotless white shirt.

Ladies, at your service—Hank Larson, practicing chef extraordinaire, to personally take your orders. Have you decided what specialty I may conjure up to suit your palette?

Without missing a beat Becky replied, Hello, Chef Larson. So nice to meet you. I’m Rebecca Landrie, otherwise known as Becky. I’m practicing too—to be a good example of a proper seventeen year old. She made a theatrical sweep of her arm toward her mother. Meet Jennifer Rose Landrie. She practices every day as well, to be the best friend any girl could ever want. Jennifer smiled, enjoying Becky’s little drama. Both of us are totally honoured that you’re staying late to practice your cheffing on us.

Delighted to meet you both, Hank said as he made another playful bow. I am so pleased that you are gracing this humble establishment with your patronage. And do feel free to call me Hank. Everyone else does.

He turned first to Becky. Rebecca Landrie, I see that your big sister has accompanied you to venerate this occasion. He directed his grin toward Jennifer. Do I understand that correctly?

Coming from this charming man, the complimentary humour amused rather than embarrassed Jennifer. Yep, gotta stay active to keep up with this daughter of mine.

Becky tossed back at him, Absolutely correct. We all know that forty is the new thirty, right Mom?

Hank feigned disbelief.

I am certain neither of you lovely ladies has any trouble keeping up with the other, Hank said, a lopsided smile turning his lips. He continued to play along, offering food suggestions as they checked their menus once more.

Becky ordered the Buffalo Burger with trimmings.

Jennifer connected with his penetrating eyes and said, Well, for me, it has to be your salmon special.

Hank winked and bowed again. Good choices. You’ll both be thrilled, I promise.

The house salad was an experience in itself, sprinkled with nuts and grated asiago over mixed greens and fresh shredded beets. While they were polishing off the last crispy bite, Hank stepped up, his expression formal.

Now, ladies, is everything thus far to your satisfaction? Does our house dressing meet with your approval?

I’ve never tasted a flavour like this on any salad I’ve ever eaten, Jennifer said.

Hank grinned. I shall return directly with your entre.

He brought their dinners, hot and aromatic, and set them on the table with a Var so guud. Bon apetit.

Awesome, Jennifer said