Chapter Four
Harper
She could have gone home or swung back to the office to write the story, but Harper's stomach growled, and Cherry's Diner had Wi-Fi.
Harper typed away while sipping black coffee. The sounds of food frying, orders shouted, customers chatting, and the door chiming helped her focus.
When DeeDee, the server, brought her her bowl of oatmeal, she asked, "Sure you don't want anything else, honey?"
DeeDee snapped her gum and smiled down at Harper, who returned her smile. DeeDee was an old high school classmate of Harper's. The two women had been friends back in the day but had lost touch over the years. Since the pandemic ended and the diner re-opened, the two of them had struck up a habit of reminiscing about old times whenever Harper came into the restaurant.
Harper thanked her, and DeeDee asked her what she was working on. "It's Friday. Aren't you supposed to be at the distillery today?"
Harper pointed to the rectangular spiral notebook that rested on the table next to her work-issued laptop. "I'm working for The Dispatch. I'm a real working stiff now, no more family business for me."
DeeDee congratulated her with a friendly side hug and said a complimentary strawberry shake was forthcoming.
"Oh, you don't have to do that, DeeDee." The truth was, although she enjoyed talking to DeeDee and eating the food here, she didn't want any more interruptions. The diner's loaded oatmeal—topped with berries, nuts, and maple syrup—was Harper's favorite food, and it was plenty.
DeeDee insisted. "It's on the house, and I won't take any pushback from you, young lady."
People could say what they wanted about Dockside, but the neighborhood had its bright spots. Cherry's Diner was one of the brightest.
Soon enough, Harper was in a state of flow, soon realizing she had a surprisingly good story. She tied in the angle of a local business person having to scrap their plans because of a global crisis, only to come out of it with bigger and better goals. She weaved in details about the escape room's puzzle (without giving any of it away, of course). Was it possible that Dash had had a good idea in his pea-sized brain when he'd insisted on her being a part of the team?
And on that subject, who had put a bossy horndog pill in that man's corn flakes that morning?
Indeed it had been an accident when he'd grabbed her hand. He had never laid a hand on her before. Dash was hot-tempered but not touchy-feely. The only time she'd seen him hugging his friends was when Holden, the big softy, had insisted on it after ending an argument. Harper could not stand the sight of Dash, but the picture of his friends hugging him warmed her heart. She especially liked that thing his face did when people embraced him. Like he was reluctantly acquiescing to a force greater than himself. Well, he ought to be used to it by now. Since the pandemic, people were of two minds—super affectionate or so germaphobic that they never wanted anyone touching whatsoever.
When Dash's dad passed away in 2020, Harper had offered him a hug on the street—because there had been no wake or funeral—but Dash had only glared at her and quietly accepted her condolences.
She had let it slide because what else could she do? She was the last person to criticize how anybody worked through their grief.
Sooner or later, though, that man would have to come to terms with the fact that people loved him and wanted him to be happy.
Not her. Not Harper. But people in general. Not my circus, not my monkeys. He was insufferable anyway.
The entryway door chimed again, but Harper allowed it to blend into the background while she tore her thoughts away from the aggravating Dash and focused on her story.
Two seconds later, two women slid into the booth across from her. Startled, Harper looked up to see two excited and proud women looking back at her.
"Hi, Mom. Hi, Mom."
Harper's moms, Lora and Desiree Ross had tracked her down.
"Whatcha doing?" Lora asked, her dark blonde hair in a messy bun and her nose pink from the cold outside.
Harper smiled. She knew her moms were both proud and could not wait to bug her on her first day of work.
"Writing my story for the Dispatch."
"What's it about?" Desiree asked. "Big demonstration happening somewhere? Do you need my gas mask?"
Harper laughed. "No," she said and told her what the story was about, her cheeks heating in slight embarrassment.
Lora and Desiree exchanged looks and smiled back at Harper. "Well, you know, you can always come back to the distillery. There's always a space for you there," Lora said.
Harper blinked. "And who is there now, while you two are here, having lunch with me?"
Desiree told Harper that the tasting room was closed that day for renovations.
"That's earlier than expected," Harper said.
"Yeah," Lora said. "The foundation is shot thanks to that tunnel. The other contractors kept stalling and putting me off, but this new guy said he could start work today."
Harper shivered. The stories about the underground tunnels that were dug during Prohibition always gave her the creeps. "They should have filled those in ages ago. Most of the owners of buildings that are still standing from that era have already bricked in the access points anyway. And now we have a sinkhole."
Desiree leaned forward, "It's kinda cool, though, right?"
Harper sighed. Desiree leaned a little more romantic about the seedy history of Newcastle, which had prospered during Prohibition.
"Cool if you think mafia guys are cool, Mom."
Desiree leaned back. "Yeah. There is that."
Harper looked between the two women and finally asked, "Are you two going to sit there and stare at me while I work? Because it's going to be a little distracting."
Lora covered her mouth. "Oh! You're right. We should go. We just wanted to say how proud we are of you."
Desiree nodded, clasping her hands together, eyes shining. "So
