No one in town owned a motorcycle, far as I knew, so when I heard the unmistakable rumble of a Harley-Davidson pulling into the Special-T café, I moseyed to the window. When I saw Jack Harris sitting on that monster like he owned the world, I had to smile.
The kitchen door swung open behind me. I turned to see Legs Anderson carrying hot plates full of eggs and grits, and wondered if she’d heard the bike. She was moving fast toward her tables, but tossed me a quizzical look before I turned back to admire the delicious scenery in the parking lot. The Harley looked damn pretty, too.
Jack Harris strode into the café wearing his just-laid grin and black biker boots and marched past a restaurant full of busy tables like a man with a purpose. The preschool teachers at Let’s Explore eyed his denim-wrapped butt like hot buttered biscuits when he passed by. They exchanged quick, hungry glances and followed his broad back across the room.
Jack came up behind Legs Anderson after she set breakfast in front of Clifford Jones and Old Man Benson and kissed the back of her neck, chuckling when she gave a start.
She tilted her head and grinned up at him. “Sit down and I’ll bring you some coffee.”
“In a minute. I have something to do first.” Jack pulled Legs into his arms, bent her over backward, and kissed her senseless only inches from Old Man Benson’s head. The white-haired, near-toothless old scout gripped his chest like he was having a heart attack, laughing all the while.
Benson and Clifford Jones whooped and hollered when Legs wrapped her arms around Jack’s neck and returned his kiss with equal fervor. The preschool teachers giggled and applauded wildly from their table. All the coffee drinkers at the counter craned their necks to watch the show and some stood to get a better view. An elderly woman I’d never met before, who said her name was Marjorie, rapped a fork against a water glass, demanding another kiss, before the lovers finished their first two rounds.
Soon, all the breakfast regulars tapped their glasses and pounded their feet on the floor, cheering Jack and Legs on. Dishes clattered and utensils rang until I thought the vibrations would cause the café to fall around our ears. When Legs reached down and squeezed Jack’s delectable ass, the crowd went crazy. The couple broke apart, laughing as they did, and the diners laughed with them. Clifford Jones reached into his wallet and threw five dollars down on Benson’s side of the table with a loud guffaw to pay their longtime bet. The old man chortled with obvious pleasure as he tucked the cash into his shirt pocket.
“More, more,” the onlookers screamed.
Jack gave Legs another long kiss and then held her at arm’s length. “Don’t move.” He turned to me where I stood by the counter. “Cloris, you got that box I asked you to hold?”
I nodded, pulled the package from behind a stack of napkins, and carried it across the room. I felt like a bridesmaid at a wedding when all eyes turned to me. Maybe I even blushed a little.
Jack held the gift out to Legs. She smiled and wiped her hands on her apron before taking it. She fingered the pearly paper with the shiny gold bow and tore the folded edges back. The paper and bow fell away, and she laid them on Old Man Benson’s table.
“You fixed it,” she said, smiling broadly now. She held up a seashell-covered box that looked almost as old as me, though it was shiny and clean. “The shells have been re-glued and the box restored.” Her eyes glittered with obvious pleasure. “I’m sure my aunt will be…uh, would have been pleased, too.” She turned to set the box down on the table and give Jack a hug, but he stopped her, mid-step.
“Open the lid.” His blue eyes shone with an intensity I’d never seen in them before. My curiosity piqued.
Legs did as he asked. I craned my neck to take a look inside, but Jack lifted something out and held it close to his heart before I could see what it was.
Suddenly, Jack fell to one knee before her, and all hell broke loose inside the café. Everyone scrambled to their feet, hooting and hollering like the Colts had just scored the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl.
Jack opened the top of a navy blue velvet box amidst the knowing screams and shouts. Inside was a diamond ring so big it sparkled across the room as far as the coffee counter. I was glad to know his sporting goods business was doing well. The floor stomping and cheering that followed nearly lifted the café off its foundations like a killer tornado.
“Will you marry me?” Jack said simply when the audience settled down, his voice filling the air with warmth and strength. A hush settled over the room. Even Old Man Benson covered his mouth with a napkin and belched like a gentleman. It got so quiet after that you could have heard a pin drop. Nobody moved and I guess a lot of people were late for work that day, but I doubt they cared. The townsfolk would be chattering about this event for weeks to come.
Legs stared down at Jack as he held up the engagement ring. Everyone froze like mannequins and held their breath, straining to hear Legs’s reply. Not a utensil clinked or a coffee cup clattered while we waited.
She nodded and grinned, seeming shy for the first time since I’d known her. “Yes, I will.”
Jack placed the engagement ring on her finger and kissed her hand. Wolf whistles and hoots swelled as Legs slid to her knees on the floor with Jack and reached out to hold him. They hugged tight as the café regulars exploded into cheers and whistles and slapped high fives.
Jack and Legs were kissing like mad when I decided it was time to serve fresh rounds of hot coffee and honey-laden biscuits. When the kissing was done, he lifted her to her feet, picked her up, and carried her through the café to his new motorcycle.
On the way out, Legs flashed me a look that said she hoped it was okay to go. I knew she didn’t want to stick me with all the cleaning up—she was conscientious like that, but I didn’t mind. This was her day. I could handle a few extra customers and clear the tables on her behalf.
Last I saw, she was hiking up her skirt to climb on the back of Jack’s Harley. When she flashed those long and lanky limbs, I got reminded again why I nicknamed her Legs. I watched until they disappeared from sight and then turned back to my customers with a satisfied smile.
I bet Ada Anderson smiled with me.
* * * * *
One year later…
Like I said before, Legs had a business degree to make use of and wasn’t going to work as my runner forever.
Before my friend Ada died, I promised to watch out for her niece and keep her in my heart like she was my own flesh and blood. I honored that promise with the deed to Special-T café when my birthday rolled around that fall.
My arthritic knees and feet finally retired me to Florida with the hefty pension I’d saved over the last forty years, plus stocks and bonds to keep me extra secure. I was widowed ten years ago, but with all the gray-hairs in Miami, I don’t expect to be lonesome long.
Legs Anderson Harris owns the Special-T now, and she’s added one of those coffee bars that specialize in fancy drinks that don’t taste like brewed coffee, even though they are. Along with your hot or cold beverage, you can buy a big, la-tee-da cupcake with sky-high icing and three-dimensional decorations for five dollars. Can you imagine? Mothers have been baking cupcakes with vanilla icing and colored sprinkles for decades, and were lucky to sell them for pennies at church and school fundraisers. These days, fussy bakery cupcakes are called “edible art.” Wonders will never cease.
Legs added other items to the Special-T menu, too. She’s got oodles of burgers with different types of cheese and bales full of toppings to attract the younger crowd. Last I heard the café was making money hand over fist. I’m glad. I’m happy too that Jack still comes in for eggs, hash browns, toast, and real coffee every morning before opening his sporting goods store. Legs serves him at his favorite corner table when she gets around to it. Some things should never change.
Rumor has it that Ada stopped haunting the Anderson house the day Jack and Legs got married. The way I hear it, when her niece came through the door with a wedding ring on her hand, winds swept through the house like a storm, taking Ada with them. Some say ghost hunters shooed her out before the big day. Others claim we had overactive imaginations all along. But I know the truth, because I knew my best friend.
Ada went to the other side to give true love plenty of room to grow.