The New Hope Cafe Read Online Free PDF Page A

“You’re
divorced, aren’t you?”
    “Leave her alone, Rosie,” he said.
    “Kids complicate things. At least you didn’t have that, Jonah—”
Rosie caught herself, remembering too late about the babies.
    He wished to hell he hadn’t told Rosie when Suzanne got
pregnant. He’d been so proud he’d gone and crowed to her over the phone. Twin girls. He hadn’t been able to believe it. For
those months it seemed like he and Suzanne both walked six inches off the
ground, grinning at each other like fools whenever their eyes met.
    She was seven months along when it happened. Complications due
to uterine crowding. Not uncommon with multiple births, the doctor said.
    “Divorce is hard,” Rosie mumbled. “That’s all I’m saying.”
    “You managed to say a lot more than that.” He grabbed his plate
and stood, scraping his chair against the floor. “I apologize for airing our
laundry in front of you, CJ.” He took his dish to the kitchen sink and ran the
water hard. He hated that she knew something so private and painful.
    When he turned around, CJ stood there. “Fresh-picked
strawberries for dessert. All I have to do is whip the cream.”
    “No, thanks.”
    “Okay.” She colored. “I picked too many. I could bring them
down to the café. I have a great French toast recipe, if you’ve got the bread I
need.”
    “Just wait tables. That’s plenty.”
    She blanched, so he knew he’d been too blunt. He was always
saying the wrong thing the wrong way. When he’d told her she was in good hands
with Rosie, her eyes had gotten so shiny he was afraid he’d made her cry.
    “Night,” he said, wanting to get out of there before he made it
worse.
    “When do you want me?” she said softly.
    “When do I…” Her words caught him short, gave him that hot
spark again.
    CJ flushed. “In the café. In the morning.”
    “Sure. Yeah. Deliveries start at five, but I don’t need you
until—”
    “I’ll be there at five. And I can do more than wait tables,
Jonah.” There was that glint again. He had a feeling he hadn’t heard the last of
that French toast.

CHAPTER THREE
    W HEN C ARA WENT to say good-night to
Beth Ann, she found her in bed staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, holding Bunny
tight.
    She took a cheerful approach, since her daughter wouldn’t
welcome sympathy or comfort. “Look at you, all cozy in the toothpick room.” She
sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the sheet up to Beth Ann’s chin. “And Star Wars sheets. I’ve got race cars on my bed.
It was Jonah’s room. This room was his little brother’s.”
    “It smells weird here,” Beth Ann said in a scared voice. “Dusty
and old.”
    “You’re not used to it.” Cara brushed her daughter’s hair from
her forehead—one kindness Beth Ann allowed her mother. “Remember the first night
at Grandma Price’s? You hated how it smelled like cigarettes and hairspray.”
    Beth Ann didn’t look convinced.
    “This smell is old wood,” Cara said. “I like it. If you add in
baked bread, that’s how my grandmother’s house smelled.” She paused. “Rosie is
kind of like her.”
    “Did she teach you poker?”
    Cara laughed. “Nope. She taught me how to cook. She did like
jelly beans though. She used to bake them into rolls. Each color meant a
different fortune.”
    “Really?”
    Beth Ann seemed cheered, so Cara kept talking. “Green meant
good luck. Red meant you’d fall in love. Pink meant you’d make a friend.”
    “That’s cool. Could you make those rolls?”
    “When there’s time, sure.” She hadn’t baked in more than three
years. Barrett had poisoned that pleasure. His first act of violence had
happened over a burnt batch of banana muffins.
    He’d come home early and found her registering for college
online. In her excitement, she’d forgotten the muffins. He’d thrown the
blackened rolls at her, one by one, berating her for neglecting her family, for
being selfish and foolish. That had been the beginning of the