written for day 5 of the 30 x 31 writing challenge, prompt: coffee shop AU
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Daddy leaves Ralph Angel the farm. Says that he wants the land of his mother and his father and their parents before them to go to the child who needs it the most, which is fine, but that doesn't leave Charley with much to hide behind after her daddy dies. Sure, she helps Ralph Angel financially, but signing some papers and making sure that the farm can officially be his doesn't really count as starting anew. After what Davis put her through, well, she really needs a fresh start.
Then Aunt Vi complains one time too many about the new owners of the High Yellow, and Charley calls up her lawyer, her accountant, and Davis to inform them that she'll be buying a diner down in Louisiana. It doesn't go over so well, but who are they to stop her?
Charley spends most of her time checking in on the diner and the farm. First thing she adds to the diner is an espresso machine. She doesn't have much to do with the farm since Ralph Angel's found him someone to be his farm manager, some set up between him and one of their daddy's old friends. Prosper. He comes in on Tuesdays for the fresh apple jelly with biscuit combo. Gets a cup of coffee and orange juice, but only drinks half the coffee. Tips decent, but won't leave a tip at all if the wait staff doesn't meet his eye when he's talking.
Prosper apparently works with someone named Remy, but Charley hasn't seen more than a glimpse of the other man.
Aunt Vi shakes her head at the thought, clicking her tongue as she does it. She flips through the deposit bags, snipping 'em open. "Baby, you met Remy at your daddy's homegoing. Probably forgot all about it, but he was there. He spoke. Bald man, big hat, kind eyes."
Oh. Okay, so she's gotten a glimpse of the other man, but not actively. "I don't see why it even matters. If Ralph Angel says he has everything under control with Prosper and Remy, then I'll leave him to it. They can handle the auction on their own, I guess. Even if they need my money to do it."
"If you're gonna be like that, you might as well just go. I'm going."
Charley's disbelief bottoms out. "You get to go?"
"I keep Prosper comfortable," Vi says. "He knows me. Knows I won't let any bullcrap fly around here. Ralph Angel will listen, if I need him to."
"Well, it's fine." She takes the opened deposit bags and pulls the money out of them. The High Yellow isn't exactly the most profitable business, but it's been around for ages, since Charley was a little girl. A few kids joked back then that she should work there since the name fit her so well. Maybe they could see her now. Owner of the High Yellow. It's almost like the ultimate way to reclaim something.
Vi glances up when the bell dings on the front. There's a straight eye line from the back of the shop office through to the entryway if you lean forward enough in your chair. "You want to go so bad, then go ask now. Remy just walked in."
Charley leans forward, and, well, she has seen him before. Not just at the homegoing, but at the reception. He'd been talking to Ralph Angel one moment, then gone the next. No word to the rest of the family. But from the way people talk about him, she imagines he meant no disrespect. He probably oozes good Southern charm and respectability.
He's taller than she'd expected. Not necessarily just in height, but in stature, in presence. Holds himself evenly. And he couldn't be much older than Charley herself. Wasn't he supposed to be her daddy's friend, a peer of Ernest's? Maybe in the plaid button down department, but this man has arms toned after years of heavy lifting and farm work. But his hands don't look beat up from where she's sitting. Maybe he moisturizes? Or maybe he just found some secret well of good looks and good skin, and he's hoarding it all for himself.
Not that Charley's looking necessarily. She's clocking him in. It's what you do in business and in competition. Size up the opponent and go for the kill.
"I'll be right back."
Charley slips out from her seat, ignoring the way Vi hums from the back. She wraps around to the front counter where Micah's got his phone serving as a bookmark while he takes the order. That's her son, somehow managing to do it all and get away with it. He's only had a few weeks to adjust to this new life - them living in St. Jo, not having Davis around - but he's only snapped her at twice so they're doing pretty good.
Micah chuckles, tapping his pen against the textbook. "I'm in between schools right now. Don't call the cops or anything."
Charley swoops up beside him, eyes ghosting over his face before landing on Remy's. "That's all my doing, I'm afraid, but trust me, this is like chores for him."
Remy tilts his head up a bit once Charley's there. Even in her heeled boots, he's still taller, but that's nothing she hasn't gotten used to before. His smile tucks into the corner of his mouth on one side but rages free on the other. Is he holding himself back, or is this just how he lives his life? Uneven but never really unstable. And, in a point for that Southern respectability she mentioned before, his eyes stay on hers rather than sweeping down her rather impressive outfit.
"I mean no disrespect," he says, "Just thought you were starting 'em pretty young over here. Not that I should talk. I've been working since I was twelve."
Charley smirks. "No child labor laws in the South?"
"Pretty sure that carried over. Grandfathered in from the bad old days." Remy laughs after he says it, and God help her she laughs too.
Micah's shoulders tense up. She might not've noticed if she weren't practically against him. But he stiffens, and his head drops to look down at his notepad instead of at either of them. She tucks her laugh away. Stands up straighter and whatever part of her had opened up needs to shut back down. She'd only found out a month ago about Davis. And even then, he kept lying to her in the beginning. Claimed he hadn't known Goldie, claimed he hadn't been involved. It's too soon for anything that could look like anything new. Too soon for Micah, and probably too soon for Charley too.
Still, she sticks out her hand. "Charley Bordelon, new owner." The word West sticks in her throat a bit. But she blinks and forces herself to breathe around the space where the rest of her name used to be.
Remy slips his hand around hers. Squeezes and shakes in equal measure. The man's got good home training for sure. Eyes she could get lost in. "Remy Newell, new regular. If you'll have me."
Micah speaks up. "I'm gonna put the order in. Back in a second, Mom." But he doesn't head for the kitchen. He heads back towards Violet. Charley takes her hand back to properly watch him go.
By the time she turns to Remy again, he's removed his hat. "Hope I didn't cause any trouble."
She waves him off. "Micah's adjusting. He's fifteen. He has his moments."
"Don't we all." Remy never stops looking at her eyes. Never strays for the rest of her. Never gives her a chance to pretend his attention isn't solely here for her. Except once, when his gaze snags on the coffee machine behind her. "The High Yellow's selling lattes now?"
Charley sinks back onto her heels to give herself a view of it. "First thing I did. Can't go from one LA to the other without my espresso machine. Want one? It's on the house."
Remy leans onto the counter with his palms flat against the surface. Fingers spread wide, every shining tooth in his mouth on full display. He scans the diner, but nobody's looking their way. He speaks like they are though.
"Keep this up, and people might think you like me."
She leans his way without even meaning to. Mirrors him until they're two reflections of what could be, two hopefuls shadowing a textbook. It's like high school all over again.
"Hm, keep it up, and I just might."
His head tosses back when he laughs. "I bet you say that to all the guys."
"Just the ones I want to come back." She gets the espresso started and glances over her shoulder to him. "Now, I hear you're going to an auction tomorrow."
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