Jim Howard and Mary Brooks in Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter
After a leisurely drive up to Florence, and a walk along the harbor front stores, Jim returned to Winchester Bay late in the afternoon. He went to the Fisherman Hideaway Tavern-Café for dinner.
The bartender, Mary Brooks, saw him come in and moved down the bar as he took his seat. “Welcome back, Jim,” she said. “The usual?” “You remembered me,” he said somewhat surprised. She placed a glass of iced-tea on the bar in front of him as if to prove it.
“Never forget a face or what you ordered,” she said. “That’s my strong suit.”
“Is it possible to order a burger from the café and eat it over here?” he asked.
“I can take your order for that,” she said. “Do it all the time.”
“Then, I’d like a burger with a slice of real cheese on it, lettuce, onion, and pickle. They can leave off the spread though. And, if they serve pie over there, a slice of any kind of pie.”
Mary had not written down any of what he had said. “They use Bandon cheddar. Sharp or mild?”
“I’ll try sharp.”
“I’ll tell the cook. I think you’ll especially like the pie.” She went through the kitchen door to place the order.
“Why will I especially like the pie?” he asked a few minutes later when she returned.
“Because, I made it. I make the pies here in the afternoons for a little extra money on the side. I’ll bring you my peanut butter cream.”
“Where did you come from, Mary? I didn’t know anyone could bake a peanut butter cream-pie other than my mother!” Jim said.
She laughed. It was low, and Jim thought the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. “Your mother bakes pies too, I gather,” she said. Her smile lit up her face.
“The main thing that kept me on the farm was my mom’s pies, fruit cobbler with sweet cream. Umm. Good.”“So I’ve got some pretty hefty competition, I see,” Mary said teasing him.
“Well, I consider her the best pie baker there is. But until I try a slice of yours, I’ll withhold judgment.”
After Jim had finished his burger and pie, he sat back contentedly and washed it down with a second glass of ice-cold tea. Mary came back by to see how he was doing. Not a crumb remained on his plate.
“So? How do I measure up in the pie making contest?” she asked.
“I’d say it’s at least a tie. At the moment, I’d say you have an edge. While I’m staying at Winchester Bay, I may become your best customer, subject to availability of funds, of course.”
Mary laughed again in her rich, melodious laugh that matched her pretty face, and Jim wanted a tape recording of it, so he could enjoy listening to it, over and over again. It was like icing on the meal that he had just finished. It had been a perfect day, and he felt content. For just a little while, he had forgotten his shyness around a beautiful woman.
“I suppose you are just starting your shift,” he said impulsively.
“Why, Jim, are you suggesting that if I were getting off soon, you would be asking me out?” she asked.
“I guess you get asked out by every man who comes in here,” Jim said his face suddenly beginning to turn red.
“Not really. Bartenders are usually safe from being hit on. It’s the waitresses that have to put up with every lonely guy who comes in,” she said amused because of his rapidly spreading blush.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve had such a perfect day and a perfect piece of pie. And your laugh is music to my ears,” he continued. His blush deepened.
“You like my pie and my laugh?” Mary asked in surprise. She had never heard that pickup line before.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “Those, are the top of the things I’ve enjoyed today. I drove up the coast enjoying some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen, and then came in here to your beautiful, perfect face, musical laugh, and pie to die for. I’ve found paradise,” he said sincerely.
Mary studied his face for a moment. She had become good at reading men in the five years she had worked as a bartender. She was positive this young stranger was being completely sincere. He wasn’t flattering her to get something from her. What a change from what she was used to. She took a second look at him. He was good looking in an exotic way – high cheek bones, long, raven black hair. He was either part Native American, or had a little Asian blood. He had a little darker complexion than most of the men who came in. He was soft spoken with a slight accent, maybe southern, was polite. And, he was a friend of Charlie’s.
“And all you’ve had to drink is ice-tea,” Mary laughed. “You are a breath of fresh air in this tavern, Jim Howard. If I were at the end of my shift, I might just go for a walk with you. Take that as a compliment, because I don’t go for walks with my customers.”
“Do you ever have a day off?” Jim asked shyly.
“Wednesdays. That’s when I do most of my housework, shopping, and relaxing.”
Autographed copies of Incessant Expectations by Kenneth Fenter available at arborwoodpress.com also available at Amazon.com
Models photos from Dreamstime.com
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