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The door jingled with the arrival of another customer. I walked through the kitchen doors and greeted her with a smile. “Good morning! What can I get for you?”
I’d never seen her before, but that didn’t mean much. So many people had come and gone in Sweetwater Springs since I grew up here. I’d only been back less than a year, and I was always running into people I’d never met. She stood there eyeing all the pastries in the display case as well as the lunch specials listed on the chalkboard hanging above the counter.
“Our soup today is loaded potato. We also have smoked turkey and provolone on a freshly baked croissant and tossed salads with a nice selection of house made dressings,” I suggested.
She looked to be about my age, very pretty and well-put-together. Her beautiful, red hair fell in waves over her shoulders. She tapped a manicured nail on the display case as if the rhythm helped her mind decide on what to have for lunch, the bright orange polish catching the light beaming through the front windows.
“Hmmm. . . soup does sound inviting. I’ll have a bowl of the soup and a side salad with ranch dressing. And a glass of sweet tea,” she added.
“What a cute bag,” I commented as she plopped her oversized purse up onto the counter to search for her wallet to pay. I rang up her total while she continued to dig around inside. Exasperated, she started pulling things out onto the counter.
“I just hate this big ol’ bag. Things just disappear into the abyss.”
She pressed her bright orange lips into a thin line, and one by one, she took out sunglasses, car keys, lipstick, an old, worn, green planner, a cell phone and finally a wallet. She paid in cash and chose a table in the very back corner.
With Macy still getting ready for the interview, I went to the drink station to get her tea and delivered it to her table. I hurried into the kitchen, took a salad from the cooler, drizzled it with ranch dressing, and ladled up a bowl of soup. I garnished it with cheese and bacon, grabbed some flatware and placed it all on a tray. Slow down, Glory. I placed the soup in front of her. I could imagine that dumping a bowl of hot soup over a customer wouldn’t be a great look for a magazine article.
Macy re-emerged looking beautiful and refreshed. Her brown curls framed her face and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
The doorbell jingled and I turned to see a young man walk in, a large black bag strapped over his shoulder. He held the door open with his hip while he struggled to maneuver a large camera tripod through the doorway with one hand. He was looking down at his phone in the other hand. He looked up to see us staring at him and quickly put his phone away.
“I’m looking for Macy Harper. I’m Dennis Whitlow from Deep South Eats magazine.”
“I’m Macy. Here, let me help you,” she said hurrying over to take the tripod from his hand so that he could catch the camera bag that was about to slide off his shoulder.
“Thanks.” He flashed her a big smile as he deposited all his things on the nearest table. “Let me take a quick look around and I’ll decide the best spot for some pictures.” He surveyed the large space and stopped when his eyes landed on the redhead at the table on the other side of the room. He casually sauntered across the dining area to her table where she sat with her head down, immersed in her social media account.
“Hello, Lavender.”
I looked wide-eyed at Macy and mouthed silently, “That’s Lavender?”
Lavender looked up from her phone and what began as a cordial smile quickly morphed into a look of fury boiling over in her emerald green eyes. “What are you doing here? I made it very clear to your editor that I never wanted to see you covering this competition again.”
“Well, it looks like your name doesn’t carry as much weight as you seem to think,” he smirked. “I was already coming to interview this lovely lady here,” he glanced over at Macy, “for our feature in the December issue, when we realized your little baking contest was being held here. The boss asked me to go ahead and write up a piece about it while I was here.”
“Absolutely not! I won’t have it!” She jumped up sending the chair crashing back into a nearby table. “If you think I’ll let you anywhere near this competition, you’re sadly mistaken. I’ll make sure you never work in journalism again.”
Macy and I stood in silence as she turned and stomped toward us at the register.
“I’ll take one of the chocolate croissants to go,” she said curtly.
Macy smiled. “Absolutely!” Lavender handed us the money. “I hope you enjoyed your lunch.”
“I did until this no-talent, hack writer ruined it. I was surprised to find such a gem of a place in this little, podunk town. Can you give me directions to something called the Lakeside Motel?” She wrinkled up her nose like she smelled something bad when she said it.
After Macy gave her the directions, she crammed the pastry container down into her big ol’ bag, turned on her heel and walked out the door, brushing past two ladies on their way in.
They walked over and began looking over the menus.
“I’m not sure if we should take that as a compliment or an insult.” Macy looked at me and shrugged as she hurried over to Dennis to get started with the interview.
I turned my attention to the customers. “Good morning ladies. What can I get for you?”
They both ordered coffee drinks with a pastry and handed me coupons for free drinks that had been included in the baskets.
“Don’t you worry yourself for a second about anything that woman says,” the first lady said under her breath as she leaned over the counter.
“You just have to ignore Lavender,” the other one said. “She may have a sweet name, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“From my momma’s description I had pictured her as a wrinkled up old sour puss.”
“Well, your momma got it right, except for the old part. Who’s your momma?” one of the ladies asked.
“Annie Miller. She’s the Alabama chapter president.”
“Oh, we know Annie! She’s the sweetest thing. She’s done a real good job organizing this year’s event. I know it’s gonna go off without a hitch. I’m Sarah Rollins. I’m from Jackson, Mississippi. This is Louisa Baptiste from New Orleans, Louisiana.”
“It’s nice to meet you ladies. My name is Glory Harper, and that’s my daughter, Macy. She’s the owner of this bakery.” I motioned across the room where she and Dennis were already deep in conversation.
“It’s a beautiful place. She’s done a great job,” Sarah complimented. “And I absolutely love the Christmas decorations. It’s so perfect for the vintage feel of the place.”
It was then that I noticed a whimper and a tiny little nose poking out of Sarah’s large shoulder bag. My eyes widened. “Awwwww! What do you have there?”
Sarah pulled her bag around to her front, cradling it underneath with one hand and slightly unzipping it with the other. I watched as a long, black and brown nose pushed its way out until I could see little, beady eyes and floppy ears. “This is Roxie the Doxie,” she said as I reached to give Roxie a little scratch behind the ear. “I hope it’s okay to have her in here. She has major anxiety issues. She can’t stand to be left alone so I try to take her with me whenever I can.”
“I suppose it’s fine as long you don’t get her out or let her down.” I could see Roxie was all decked out in her finest Christmas sweater. “She’s adorable, but what will you do when you have to be at the competition? You can’t bring her with you, so you’ll have to leave her in the motel room, right?”
“I’ll only be away from her for a few hours, but she has some anxiety medicine that her vet prescribed for her. I’ll give her a dose of that, and she’ll sleep the whole time I’m gone. Even if she wakes up, she’s usually so loopy, she’ll just laze around in her bed.”
I wasn’t sure what Josie’s policy was on pets at the motel, but I hoped she had cleared it with her. She would have a fit if an anxious dog destroyed one of the new bedspreads they had just put in all the rooms. I decided it wasn’t my business and just prayed little Roxie took a nice little nap.