Chapter 26: Chapter 26

As soon as they were clear of the crowds around the lighting ceremony, Dak slowed down enough so that Memory didn’t feel as if she was running to keep up. He also let go of her hand, which Memory disliked more than she would’ve ever voiced. He looked both ways as he led her across the street on the north side of the square. Vick’s Diner was only a few blocks this direction, and even though it was cold, moving made it feel warmer.

“Where’s your car?” she asked, partially making conversation and also wondering if he intended to walk all the way to the diner or was just headed to his vehicle.

“In the lot next to the diner.”

“How did you know I’d say yes?” She crossed the street, and they took to the sidewalk. There was no traffic since most everyone else was still chatting, but she felt safer out of the roadway.

“I didn’t know what you’d say. But I had to eat either way,” he said, shrugging. “I can’t exactly cook a meal at the inn.”

“Right.”

“And while the sugar cookies are good, I can’t live off of them.”

“True.” She hadn’t thought about how boring it must be to have to eat out every single meal for however long he’d be in town. She should’ve invited him over for dinner. Of course, that would be difficult since she was a terrible cook, and he’d probably assume it was a date....

The diner wasn’t busy at all, not yet anyway. Dak held the door open for her, and Julie, the same waitress who’d served her the other night when Ellie had joined Memory and her father for dinner, came by the entryway, carrying a tray of drinks to a booth on the left side of the door. “Hi Memory! Hi Dak! Have a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll be right with you.” She smiled and hurried on her way. Memory turned and looked at Dak, her eyes wide.

“What?” He had that amused look on his face again.

Memory headed for the same booth she always tried to get whenever she came in with her dad, the one at the end on the right in the center aisle, near the counter but not next to the windows, which would be chilly this time of year. “Nothing,” she said. “I was just about to ask if you’d been here before, but apparently so. This one okay?”

“Sure,” he said, taking off his coat.

She slid into the side facing the door, and he sat across from her. Memory remembered the battle that had ensued at the coffeeshop and wondered if she could get away with staying bundled up. Seeing as though it would probably get a little warm if she did, she decided she’d better go ahead and take her coat off. With a deep breath, she pulled off her hat, hoping her hair wasn’t too staticky, unwound her scarf, and pulled off her gloves. He was watching her, and she knew what he was thinking without him saying anything at all. But he did anyway. “Do you need a hand?”

“I’ve got it,” she assured him, hoping it was true. She pulled one arm out easily enough and then managed to get out of the other one. He chuckled, and she considered kicking him under the table but kept her feet still.

“Ceremony over then?” Julie asked, chomping on some gum like she was the stereotypical diner waitress from TV.

“Yep. It’s probably about to get busy in here,” Dak said, smiling up at her.

“In that case, do y’all know what you want?” She had menus in her hand, just in case they needed them.

Memory didn’t. “I’ll have the grilled chicken sandwich, with fries, and a sweet tea, please.”

Dak eyed the menu and then returned his gaze to the waitress. “What do you recommend?”

“Roy just made a fresh batch of chicken and dumplings. Those are always good.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dak agreed.

“Unsweetened tea?”

“You got it,” Dak replied. Julie nodded and went to put their order in without writing it down, and Memory fought to control her face. “Why are you wrinkling your nose at me?”

“Sorry,” she said, trying to regain control of her face. “It’s just... unsweetened? Really?”

“Hey, all that extra sugar isn’t good for you, you know,” he replied, sounding more like a nutritionist than a real estate developer to Memory.

“Noodles are carbs. Carbs turn to sugar as soon as they hit your bloodstream.”

“As soon as they hit my bloodstream?” he echoed, shaking his head at her. “While I think it’s true that carbs turn into sugar, I’m not planning on injecting them.”

Memory narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing. Two glasses appeared on the table, along with two straws. “Shouldn’t be long,” Julie said as a crowd of people poured in the door.

Dak glanced over his shoulder at the door. “She’s gonna be busy.”

“I’m sure there are more servers around here somewhere, but yes, it will be crowded. Lots of people come in for dessert after the lighting.” She tore the wrapper off of her straw, rolling the paper between her fingers and fidgeting with it, as she dropped the straw into her drink, not sure what else to say. She took a sip of her drink, glad that she’d chosen the sugar, and set her glass back down, trying to think of something interesting, but every topic that popped into her head sounded silly.

“Ellie and I had dinner here the other night,” he said, also seeming at a loss for words.

“You did?” Memory was surprised. “She didn’t mention that.”

“Yeah, she spent most of the time talking about you, so....”

“Me?” She didn’t know what to say to that. “Well, I was under the impression she’d relayed every conversation she’d ever had with you to me word for word, so I’m shocked that she didn’t mention the diner.”

“Word for word?” A bit of color began to creep up his neck, into his cheeks, and Memory felt a little bad for mentioning it.

“Not word for word, I guess. I was just saying, she talks about you a lot.”

“Oh, okay.”

“We had dinner here together Monday night. She must like it here.”

“It’s better than the fast food joints down the road.”

“True.” She had no idea what she would do if she had to eat out every meal. “When we were here, I had the chicken and dumplings, and she mentioned that she once added too much water to the dumplings when she was making it for her husband. It was a funny story.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Dak said, laughing. “She didn’t tell me that story, but she did say she once sugared the Thanksgiving turkey instead of using salt.”

He was still laughing, but Memory’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Wait—what? Ellie said that?”

“Yes... what’s the matter?” Dak took a drink of his tea, no longer laughing, a bit of alarm on his face.

“Nothing, it’s just....” Contemplating whether or not she should tell him the truth, she went back over the conversation she’d had with her dad and Ellie the other night at the diner. Had they mentioned her grandmother’s turkey story in front of Ellie? She didn’t think they’d been talking about it when Ellie was there, but she remembered Ellie saying other than putting too much water in the dumplings, she was a good cook.

“It’s just what?”

She sighed, dropping her head and shaking it slightly. “My grandma did that once. To the turkey. It’s just odd.... Grandma also put too much water in the dumpling mixture.”

“Huh.” Dak took a drink of his tea and mulled that over for a moment. “Well, maybe bad cooks have more in common than we realize.”

“Maybe, but I’m a terrible cook, and I’ve never done either one. Not that I’ve tried to make a Thanksgiving turkey or dumplings.... But Ellie told me she was a good cook, other than the dumplings.”

“Maybe Ellie doesn’t want to admit she’s not so handy in the kitchen. I don’t know. It is a strange coincidence.”

“It really is.” That’s all it could be, though. Obviously, Ellie wasn’t her grandma. That would be impossible. It just seemed like they had an awfully lot in common, and whenever Ellie was around, Memory found herself missing her grandmother less than when she wasn’t. Deciding she needed to change the subject, Memory asked, “How has your property hunt been going?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to broach the topic, but she could hardly eat an entire meal with the man and not discuss it.

Julie brought their food over and plunked it down before he could answer. “Need anything else?” she asked already taking a few steps away from the table. They were getting slammed, and while three other waitresses had appeared, all of them were rushing off to help new customers.

“I think we’re good,” Dak said as Julie flew off to take a drink order.

Memory reached for the ketchup at the end of the table and squirted some on to the corner of her plate for her fries as Dak surveyed his food. “Dumplings too watery?” she asked, trying to make a joke.

“Nope, they look good,” he replied, placing his napkin on his lap. Memory did the same and then dug into her fries, wondering if he’d just choose not to answer her question. It was probably just as well. They should avoid a disagreement if they could, what with it being a crowded public place and all.

Dak took a few bites of his dinner and then washed it down before he said, “I’ve seen several historic homes this week, but I don’t know.... None of them have quite what I’m looking for.”

“And what’s that?” Memory took a bite of her sandwich, noting the chicken was slightly dry, and then set it back on her plate, waiting for him to finish chewing so he could answer her.

“Well, I’d really like a space big enough for events. One room that would house at least fifty people, maybe more. I haven’t found a building that has a space big enough for that yet.”

She nodded, dipping another fry into the ketchup. “It might be hard to find that in the historic district. A lot of those houses were built after the days of cotillions had ended.” As far as she knew, her grandmother’s house was the only one in town that had a ballroom, and she wasn’t about to tell him about that house.

“Some of them have basements that are large enough. I could refinish one of them. But stairs aren’t ideal for what I had in mind.”

“What’s that?” Part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to know—and part of her wanted to add a sarcastic comment about city folk not being able to handle stairs.

Dak was in the middle of taking a bite, so he finished before he said, “I’ve been thinking about opening a senior citizens center, a place for the older members of the community to get together with friends, enjoy activities and events, and even have a meal or two every day. It seems like a lot of them only see other people on Sundays at church, and the town doesn’t currently have a center, so I think it would really be useful. We could even provide transportation, a bus, or something like that.”

Memory stared at him for a moment, food in her mouth but not chewing. She wasn’t sure how to respond. Ellie had mentioned something like that to her the other day when she was singing Dak’s accolades, but she didn’t think it was true. She still wasn’t completely convinced this wasn’t just his way of winning her over.

Remembering she was eating, she finished what was in her mouth and asked, “How will that make you any money?”

He shrugged and looked away from her for a moment, and she realized she’d hit a nerve again. Perhaps she’d been too blunt. While she considered rephrasing, he said, “Not everything has to be about money, Memory. I am considering moving my business here, too, maybe finding some historic homes that need repairs so we can fix them and make them livable again—or turn them into retail space, restaurants, whatever the town needs that they don’t have now, but also gets some of these gems back to being useful. However, that’s not my primary focus right now.”

Memory felt small, like she’d completely gotten the wrong impression from him initially, and he had just put her in her place. She took another bite of her sandwich and dissected everything he’d said, wondering what would compel a person to go to so much trouble for a community he’d never lived in unless there was some sort of way to turn a big profit. “What about the factory?” she asked. “Could you use that for anything?”

“Not me personally,” he replied, picking up his napkin and wiping his mouth and hands as if he were finished. His plate wasn’t empty, but she had a feeling her topic of conversation had taken away his appetite. “I know people who might have some use for it, though.”

“Something that would bring jobs back?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t mention it to anyone I didn’t think would want to do that.”

“What sort of people?” She was just about full, too, but she ate one more fry before scooting her plate away.

“I know some furniture manufacturers that are looking to expand. Some of the corporations that we work with for our high rises.”

“Are they furnished? I mean, your apartments—do they come furnished?” She wasn’t sure her question was any clearer than his statement had been, but he seemed to understand what she was asking.

“Not all of the units, but some of them are. We have show units, and then usually the more expensive apartments have an option to come already furnished.”

“Oh.” Memory wasn’t sure what else to say. The idea of someone using the factory building for something useful was promising. She just still couldn’t quite figure out what was in it for Dak....

“I don’t think it necessarily has to be a furniture factory again, though. There may be some other interest. I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to anyone yet. I just saw it this morning.”

“You toured the factory?”

“Just the outside of it, along with a few other interested parties.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Memory admitted, wiping her hands on her napkin and tossing it up on the table.