Page 79 of Stolen Dreams
“Sounds perfect.” I glance down at her name tag. “Thank you, Trudie.”
Plucking a menu from the holder at the host stand, she leads me to my seat. “You’re most welcome. We should be thanking you for visiting our town.”
Blending in is out of the equation. At least in places the townies frequent. Noted.
“It’s a lot to take in.”
Trudie smiles and rests a hand on my shoulder. “I suppose any new place can be overwhelming.” Her hand falls away and she gives me the menu. “Today’s special is the French toast casserole with mixed berries and cream cheese drizzle. The perfect festive treat.”
With a cheek-stinging smile, I thank her, and she tells me my server will be with me momentarily.
These people are so fucking delusional. Does anyone actually believe this is reality?
Every shop in this town is independently owned and appears to be thriving. From the pictures online, all the government and community buildings are made of stone, flawlessly carved idols and monuments scattered throughout the town. The church looks like it’s from the Gothic medieval era, the library not much different. The streets and sidewalks are clean enough to eat off of. And the founding families have no issue with sharing the fact they’re rolling in money. Well, most of them.
Were it not for the mountain ranges, bay, and ocean surrounding Stone Bay, this place would’ve lost its shine long ago.
Perhaps that’s why I’m here. To help it along. Nothing brings me more satisfaction than breaking people and putting them in their place.
“Good morning.”
I glance up from my menu to see a pretty blonde woman across the counter, a bright smile on her face. “Good morning,” I greet and glance down at her name tag. “Kirsten. What a lovely name.”
The corners of her eyes twitch the slightest bit. “Thank you.” Her smile shifts, still present but a touch uncomfortable. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”
“Coffee would be wonderful.”
As if she’s done it a million times, she turns, takes a few steps, grabs a full pot of coffee, and returns to my seat at the counter. She flips over the mug on my place setting and pours until the caffeinated brew nears the top. “Do you need more time to look at the menu?”
Saying her name made her skittish. Antsy. Aloof. She hides it well, though.
“No, I’m ready.” Not wanting to draw more attention to myself, I give her my gentlest smile. “Trudie sold me on the French toast casserole.” I hand her my menu.
“Good choice. Shouldn’t be long.”
She walks off on quick feet, stopping at a kiosk to enter my order. I study her out of the corner of my eye as I add a few packs of sugar to my coffee. A man close to her age with dark curly hair sidles up to her and says something I can’t make out. A moment later, he moves down the counter alley and gives me an artificial smile as he passes.
In trying to appear friendly, I’ve made myself a target. But not with Trudie.
Something happened to the blonde woman. And perhaps the dark-haired man she spoke with. They watch out for each other. Protect one another.
Rather than draw more attention, I do what most people do nowadays. Get lost in one of the apps on my phone. Mindlessly scroll until a plate of food is set in front of me.
As I eat, I covertly scan what little of the restaurant I can see.
Elderly folks sip from mugs and chat with neighboring tables, uncaring how long they occupy their spot in the restaurant. Children scarf down food fast enough for astomachache. Young adults sit in clusters with more than one carafe of coffee on their table, eyes sleepy and heads heavy.
A streak of blonde catches my eye as I swivel back toward my plate. I pause long enough to know it’s my server, and she’s secured in another man’s arms. A black short-sleeve shirt hugs the thick muscles of his arms and chest, the wordPOLICEemblazoned on the sleeve and across his broad back.
I drop my gaze to my breakfast and eat faster than the kids nearby. Focus on clearing my plate and the reason I came to this pretentious town in the first place. To collect.
Shoveling down another bite, ready to get out of here, I make the mistake of looking for the server. When I spot her, she’s still with the officer. And his studious gaze is firmly locked on me, head tilted and eyes narrowed.
Instead of waiting for the check, I grab my wallet, take out enough cash to cover my meal, and set it under the mug. Doing my best to appear unbothered, I wipe my mouth with a napkin, drop it on my empty plate, and rise from my seat. I force my shoulders to relax as I take slow, sure strides toward the door.
Trudie thanks me for stopping in as I near the door. I wave, don my hat, slip on my sunglasses, and exit the quaint restaurant without a word. I don’t look over my shoulder. Don’t meet the eyes I feel boring into my back.
I’ve already drawn too much attention. Time to accomplish what I set out to do.